---

If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be standing in a diamond-studded gown worth more than my yearly salary, about to marry my boss in front of half the city, I would’ve laughed in their face.

Now, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, laughter was the last thing I could manage.

The woman looking back at me wasn’t me at all. She was porcelain — sculpted, flawless, unreal. The dress fit perfectly, of course. Everything Adrian Voss touched did. Ivory silk wrapped around my body like armor, the neckline elegant but modest. The lace shimmered under the hotel’s chandelier lights. My hair was pinned up, a few curls left loose to frame my face — the perfect balance of soft and sophisticated.

And yet, I felt nothing but emptiness.

“You look beautiful,” my friend Claire whispered beside me. She was one of the few colleagues brave enough to come close. “But you also look like you’re about to throw up.”

“I might,” I admitted with a shaky smile.

“You sure about this, Evelyn? You don’t even know him.”

I turned toward the mirror again, trying to fix a loose strand of hair. “Knowing him wouldn’t make this any less of a mistake.”

Claire frowned. “Then why are you doing it?”

My chest tightened. “Because mistakes don’t pay hospital bills.”

Before she could respond, the door creaked open. My heart jumped — I thought it might be Adrian’s assistant or the wedding coordinator.

But it wasn’t.

It was her.

Veronica Hale.

Her entrance was as sharp as her perfume — a cold floral scent that filled the air like poison. She was stunning, of course. Tall, perfectly dressed in a sleek black dress that screamed power. Her lips curved into a smirk as her gaze landed on me.

“Well,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “If this isn’t the charity case of the century.”

Claire froze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, but Veronica didn’t even glance at her.

My fingers tightened around my bouquet. “What do you want, Veronica?”

She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “To make sure you understand what you’re walking into.”

“I think I do,” I said evenly.

Her laugh was low and cutting. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

She circled me like a vulture, her reflection moving behind mine in the mirror. “Adrian doesn’t marry for love. He marries for strategy. When he’s done using you to fix his image, he’ll toss you aside — just like everyone else.”

Her words landed like blows, each one finding a bruise I didn’t even know I had.

I forced my chin up. “Maybe. But until then, I’ll play my part.”

“Bold,” she sneered. “But you’ll regret it. He’ll ruin you, Evelyn. Men like Adrian don’t change — they consume. And when he’s done, there’ll be nothing left.”

I met her gaze through the mirror. “Then I’ll burn quietly.”

For a moment, her expression faltered. Then she smiled again — that same cruel, confident smile. “You’ll see. You’ll wish you’d walked away when you had the chance.”

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving the faint scent of expensive perfume and venom behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Claire touched my shoulder gently. “You don’t have to go through with it, Evelyn.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, I do.”

Because Veronica was right — I was walking into a storm. But if I turned back now, I’d lose everything.

And my son needed me to survive it.

---

The ceremony was held at The Grand Imperial Hotel — a place so opulent it made royalty look poor. Black suits filled the hall, every seat taken by investors, business moguls, and people whose faces I’d only ever seen in newspapers.

Flashes went off as soon as I stepped out. Reporters swarmed, cameras clicking like machine guns.

> “Mrs. Voss! How does it feel to marry one of the most powerful CEOs in New York?”

“Is this a love match or a business move?”

I forced a polite smile, my stomach twisting.

And then, I saw him.

Adrian stood at the altar — tall, composed, every inch the billionaire the world worshipped. A dark suit tailored to perfection, his expression unreadable.

When our eyes met, something flickered — not warmth, not affection, just acknowledgment. Like he was looking at an employee who’d shown up on time.

My pulse fluttered painfully.

The ceremony began. The words of the officiant blurred into background noise. “Do you take this man… do you take this woman…”

We exchanged rings. His fingers brushed mine — just a second of contact, but enough to send a current through my skin.

When the officiant finally said, “You may kiss the bride,” the room held its breath.

I turned toward him, hesitating. For the sake of the cameras, for the story we had to sell, I tilted my chin slightly — ready for the briefest, most formal kiss imaginable.

But Adrian didn’t move.

He simply looked down at me, eyes cool, impassive, then turned toward the crowd and shook the officiant’s hand instead.

The audience clapped. The photographers cheered.

And I stood there, frozen, the rejection burning hotter than any spotlight.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Veronica smirking near the back of the room. She mouthed one word:

> “Told you.”

I forced my lips into a smile and slipped my hand through Adrian’s arm as we walked down the aisle together, two perfect strangers pretending to be in love.

---

Hours later, after the champagne toasts, the staged photographs, and endless fake congratulations, Adrian and I left the hotel.

The limousine ride was silent. He sat on his side, staring out the window. I kept my hands clasped tightly in my lap, staring at the glittering ring on my finger.

It felt heavy — not because of the diamonds, but because of what it meant.

When we reached his penthouse, I stepped out and stared up at the towering building. Glass and steel stretched into the clouds — his empire, cold and perfect.

Inside, the elevator opened into a living space that looked like something out of a magazine: black marble floors, white leather furniture, city lights spilling in through tall windows.

“Your room’s down the hall,” Adrian said shortly. “Second door on the left.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

He walked toward his study, already loosening his tie. “We’ll have to attend a charity gala next week. My assistant will send you the details.”

“Of course,” I said, my voice low.

He paused for half a second, his back still turned. “You did well today.”

I blinked. “Thank you… I think.”

His tone softened — barely. “You held your ground. Most people would’ve cracked.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He gave a faint, humorless smile. “Take it however you want.”

Then he disappeared into his study, the door closing quietly behind him.

---

I found my room easily — spacious, elegant, lifeless. The city view was breathtaking, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I took off my wedding ring and set it on the nightstand, staring at it as if it might bite me.

My phone buzzed — a photo alert from a news site.

“Adrian Voss Marries His Assistant — Power Couple or PR Stunt?”

There was a picture of us walking out of the hotel. I was smiling. He wasn’t.

I laughed bitterly. The world already had its story.

Sinking onto the bed, I whispered to the empty room, “What have I done?”

Through the walls, I could hear faint movement — the sound of Adrian pacing in his study.

For a moment, I thought I heard him stop near my door. The silence stretched, heavy and strange, like he was on the other side of it, debating something.

Then his footsteps retreated.

And I lay there in the dark, surrounded by luxury, feeling more alone than I ever had in my life.