I was barely two days into this farce of a marriage, and already, I was tired.

A knock came at the suite door just after sunrise. I had barely slept the night before, how could I? The pristine bed, the cold silence, the weight of the contract I’d signed… it all sat on my chest like a boulder.

When I opened the door, one of Dominic’s assistants, tall, efficient, and annoyingly well-dressed. He handed me a navy-blue envelope.

“Mr. Blackthorne asks that you prepare to meet his family today. You’ll be expected to look presentable. A stylist is on the way,” she said with a tight smile, then walked away before I could even respond.

Great.

I closed the door, tearing the envelope open. Inside was a note, written in Dominic’s precise, slanted handwriting: Play the role. No mistakes.

I wanted to scream. But I didn’t. Instead, I did what I always did… I buried the anger deep and got dressed.

After a while another well dressed guy came and took me.

The estate we arrived at was old money in every sense of the word, white-stone pillars, wrought-iron gates, and the kind of silence that reeked of power. Dominic was at the gate and after I got out of the car he led me inside. He walked ahead of me like this was just another day, while I followed stiffly in heels too tight and a dress I hadn’t picked out myself.

“Smile,” he murmured, leaning in as the doors opened.

I didn’t smile.

We were ushered into a lavish sitting room where his grandmother, Matilda Blackthorne, sat on a velvet armchair like a throne. The rest of the Blackthorne family filled the space with expensive perfumes, polite smiles.

“Darling!” Matilda said with elegance. “So this is the girl.”

“Girl.” wow!

Dominic stepped forward. “Grandmother, this is Olivia.”

She examined me like I was a handbag at auction. “Hm. Pretty. A bit sharp around the eyes. I suppose you’ll do.”

I opened my mouth, but Dominic took my hand suddenly.

“Let’s not waste time,” he said. “We’re here to show the family that this marriage is real.”

Real.

He turned to me, giving me a look I couldn’t read. Then without warning he leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t rough. It was… hell no! I wasn't going to say good.

But what shocked me most wasn’t the kiss itself it was the warmth in his hands, the way his lips lingered on mine a fraction longer than necessary. When he pulled back, I felt breathless and not just from the act.

“Convincing,” someone muttered.

“Barely,” another cousin whispered.

But Matilda smiled. “Very well. If the press believes it, I suppose that’s what matters.”

And just like that, I became part of their twisted masquerade.

Two hours later I guess we were done with the meeting?

“Olivia dear do stay here for the night.” Matilda smiled after looking at Dominic. I nodded.

And finally I was taken to a room to rest for the night.

Dominic left and didn't come back, not like I cared.

I woke up with a headache and then I slowly reached out for my phone.

“Gosh.” I rubbed my forehead.

The media was a hurricane and my eyes widened to the headlines screaming: “Blackthorne Heir Marries Mysterious Gold Digger!” and “Olivia Hart: From Ashes to Heiress?”

Photos of our kiss, my awkward smile, the dress that probably cost more than my entire past apartment, they were everywhere.

I scrolled numbly through my phone, each article worse than the last. The public hated me. I was a social climber, a homewrecker, a schemer. They didn’t even know me, and yet they decided I was the villain.

Meanwhile, Dominic was painted as the tragic hero. The misunderstood businessman tying himself down out of duty.

With a knock the door cracked open and Dominic walked in, calm as ever, sipping black coffee.

“You didn't even have the decency to wait for a respond.” I said.

“It's my room.”

“What if I was naked?” I snapped.

“You're my wife so…?” He said with a smirk and my jaw dropped. “Well, you’re trending.”

“Don’t sound so pleased,” I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. “We expected this.”

“I didn’t expect to be torn apart like this.”

“This is part of it, that little revenge you plan. Don’t pretend to be surprised.”

I set my phone down, trembling. “You could’ve stopped this. You could’ve made a statement, told them I wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what?” he interrupted smoothly. “My wife?”

I hated how he said it. Like I was a line in a play he’d memorized. Like none of this mattered.

“Please leave.” I said and he left after looking at me for a while.

Later that afternoon, we attended a press event, an elegant function filled with photographers, investors, and socialites who looked at me like I’d crawled out from under a rock.

The cameras flashed the moment we entered. I could feel their judgment slicing into my skin.

One reporter shouted, “Mr. Blackthorne, care to comment on your sudden marriage?”

Dominic placed a firm hand on my back. “Olivia and I have known each other longer than the media believes. Our relationship may be unconventional, but it is very real.”

The crowd murmured.

Another question. “People are calling her a gold digger. Any thoughts?”

Dominic’s jaw tightened. “That’s a disgusting label. Olivia has more dignity than most of the people in this room.”

My heart stuttered.

He didn’t have to say that.

I looked up at him, expecting the cold stare, the usual smirk but instead, his expression was unreadable… not soft, not harsh… Just... real.

And it scared me more than the hate ever could.

“Is there going to be a wedding?”

“We already had one.” He said.

“If you don't mind we'd leave it seems my wife is exhausted” and with that he picked me up, “put me down.”

“Shhh.” Without a word he walked out and didn't stop with the press following us until we were inside the car.

After an hour of driving in silence we were back at the mansion, I peeled off my heels, rushed to my room and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

Why had he defended me like that?

I didn’t ask. I didn’t thank him either. I didn’t know how to.

But as I stood up and turned to plug in my phone, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before, it was an envelope.

It sat on my nightstand, no markings, no name.

I opened it slowly.

Inside, a single piece of paper with blocky, black letters:

“You’ll regret wearing that ring.”

What the fuck!

I stared at the paper, my heart thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. The letters were bold, uneven, as if they’d been carved in a rush. Or rage.

I checked the back. Nothing.

No signature. No clue. Just a warning that felt too personal to be random.

I glanced at the door and it was still closed.

Was it Dominic? Some stupid joke? No. This wasn’t his style. His games came with contracts and clauses, not anonymous threats.

I clutched the note tighter, the paper crumpling in my fist as panic scraped against my spine.

Was someone in this house watching me?

My fingers trembled as I opened the drawer of the nightstand. It was empty.

I checked the windows and it was locked.

Then my phone lit up on the nightstand with a new message:

“Nice dress today. Shame if something happened to it.”

My blood ran cold.

I hadn’t given anyone my new number. Not even my mother’s doctor. The SIM card was changed the day I signed the contract.

I backed away slowly, eyes scanning the corners of the room like the walls might whisper who sent it.

A knock echoed through the suite and I jumped.

“Olivia?” It was Dominic’s voice.

You must be fucking kidding me. What the fuck did he want now?