Chapter Two

POV: Damon Voss

“You expect me to wear that?”

Calla stood in the middle of my penthouse like the floor might open up and swallow her. She held up the sleek black gown my stylist had selected, eyeing it like it had teeth.

“It’s Dior,” I said.

“It looks like a napkin with a price tag.”

“You’ll be photographed tonight. This isn’t about comfort.”

“Or dignity, apparently.”

I didn’t answer. She’d already decided I was the villain in her story. Nothing I said would change that.

“You don’t need me to play the part,” she said, tossing the dress on the bed. “You could’ve hired an actress.”

“I don’t want an actress. I want someone no one would expect.”

She laughed under her breath. “So I’m your wildcard.”

“You’re forgettable. That’s different.”

“Glad to know I leave such an impression.”

I checked my watch. “The car will be here in forty minutes. Get ready.”

“I’m not walking into a gala full of billionaires wearing something that shows more skin than fabric.”

“Then wear something else,” I said. “But understand this. Tonight is not about your comfort. It’s about appearances. We show the world that we’re in love. That you belong next to me.”

“I don’t belong anywhere near you.”

“You married me, Calla. That argument’s over.”

She turned away, muttering something I couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

She spun back around. “I said you have no soul.”

“Possibly. But I do have a reputation. And tonight, you help protect it.”

She grabbed the dress and slammed the bathroom door behind her. I heard the lock click.

I turned back toward the window, watching the skyline swallow the sun. Manhattan looked better from this high up. Cleaner. Like the dirt didn’t matter if you stood above it long enough.

Behind me, the bathroom door creaked open.

I didn’t turn.

“You’re staring like a villain in a Bond movie,” she said.

I looked over my shoulder.

The dress fit her too well. Like it had been made for the exact shape of her anger. Her hair was down, curled at the ends. Her lipstick was too red for someone who claimed to hate attention.

“You’ll do,” I said.

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“You want me to lie?”

“I want to know why I agreed to this.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“That doesn’t mean I understand it.”

I stepped toward her. “We’ll arrive separately. Inside, we act like a couple. I’ll take your hand. You’ll smile. We’ll dance once. If anyone asks, we met six months ago. Fell in love. Eloped in Paris.”

“Cute.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. This is cute. A billionaire fairytale with a forged signature and a blackmail wedding.”

“I told you not to speak unless you know what you’re talking about.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you ever love her?”

“Who?”

“Your ex. The one you were supposed to marry before this circus started.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“I’m your wife now. Isn’t that what matters?”

She walked past me toward the elevator like the conversation bored her. But I saw it. The spark in her voice when she poked at the wound.

“You think this is a game,” I said.

“I think you have a lot of people fooled.”

I followed her in. The elevator doors closed behind us.

“I don’t have time to fool people,” I said.

“You fooled me.”

“That’s because you needed to believe the worst.”

She leaned against the wall. “You want me to pretend we’re a real couple, Damon. But you won’t even look at me like I exist.”

I turned to face her. “You exist. You just don’t matter.”

Her eyes flared.

“Let me make something clear,” I added. “You’re here because I needed a name on a certificate. What I do, who I see, where I go — none of it involves you. All you have to do is smile at cameras and keep your mouth shut.”

“And at the end of the year, I disappear.”

“That’s the deal.”

The elevator doors opened into the underground garage. My car was already waiting.

She hesitated at the edge. “And if someone finds out this is fake?”

“Then we both lose.”

She slipped into the car without another word.

I followed, closing the door behind me.

The ride was quiet for the first ten blocks. Calla stared out the window, fiddling with the edge of her clutch. I knew that look. She was memorizing exits.

“You’re thinking about running,” I said.

“Would you blame me?”

“I’d track you down.”

“I believe you.”

We stopped at a red light. A crowd of people crossed the street in front of us, laughing under fairy lights strung across the avenue.

“I used to think rich people had it all figured out,” she said softly.

“They don’t.”

“I can see that now.”

“Enlightening, isn’t it?”

The car pulled up to the hotel. Paparazzi were already waiting. Flashbulbs went off before we even opened the doors.

“You’re up first,” I said. “I’ll meet you inside.”

“You sure you don’t want to rehearse our fairytale one more time?”

“Try not to trip.”

She stepped out, camera flashes bouncing off her skin like sparks. For a moment, she looked like she belonged. Then I saw her hand tighten into a fist.

She was faking every second of it.

I followed five minutes later, walking straight into a wave of microphones and questions. I smiled like I meant it and waved like I cared.

Inside, I found her by the bar, nursing a glass of water.

“No champagne?” I asked.

“I don’t drink with strangers.”

“You’re married to one.”

“Exactly.”

I took the glass from her and set it aside. “They want a photo. Come with me.”

She didn’t move.

I reached for her hand. “Now.”

She let me lead her to the center of the ballroom where the chandelier above us dripped light onto every camera in the room.

I turned toward her. “Smile.”

“I’m trying.”

I lowered my head slightly, brushing my lips close to her ear.

“You’re shaking.”

“I hate this.”

“Pretend it’s just us.”

“There is no us.”

I pulled back and looked her in the eye.

“Then pretend you want me.”

Her mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

The cameras clicked. I leaned in and kissed her.

She didn’t push me away.

She didn’t kiss me back, either.

But her fingers curled against my jacket like she wanted to.

The moment ended as quickly as it began.

People clapped. I smiled for the crowd.

She turned away like she couldn’t breathe.

“I need air,” she whispered.

I let her go.

Fifteen minutes passed before I noticed she hadn’t come back.

I found the nearest staff hallway and followed the exit sign toward the balcony.

She wasn’t there.

She wasn’t anywhere.

I pulled out my phone and called her.

No answer.

I tried again.

Voicemail.

Then a voice behind me made my blood freeze.

“Looking for your wife?”

I turned. My jaw clenched.

The last person I wanted to see stepped out of the shadows with a smug smile.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Voss,” he said. “Because I think she just found out what kind of man you really are.”