The heavy double doors of the dressing room swung open.
Ferris stepped inside. He was dressed in a razor-sharp, custom black suit that hugged his broad shoulders perfectly.
His eyes swept past the stylists and landed directly on Colette.
His footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second.
The pure white gown clung to her narrow waist, cascading down to the floor. The makeup hid her bruises, leaving behind a face of breathtaking, tragic beauty.
A sharp, undeniable jolt of heat hit Ferris's chest. For one dangerous second, he was completely captivated.
Then, the memory of Ellie's smiling face crashed into his mind. The heat in his chest turned into a block of solid ice.
He waved his hand, dismissing the entire styling team. They scurried out, closing the door behind them.
Ferris walked up behind Colette. He placed his large, warm hands heavily on her bare shoulders. His grip was possessive, his fingers digging slightly into her skin.
He leaned down. His warm breath brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
"The game starts now," he whispered to her reflection in the mirror. "Do not mess this up. Or you will pay for it."
Colette kept her eyes downcast. Her long eyelashes hid the burning hatred in her pupils.
He grabbed her cold hand and forcefully tucked it into the crook of his arm.
They walked out of the dressing room, moving in perfect sync down the plush carpeted hallway toward the sunroom.
The sunroom had been transformed. Hundreds of white champagne roses filled the corners. Professional lighting rigs and cameras were pointed at two velvet chairs.
Paige Turner, America's most ruthless and respected broadcast journalist, stood up with a bright, welcoming smile.
The moment Ferris crossed the threshold, his entire demeanor shifted. The cold monster vanished. In his place stood a deeply enamored, charming husband.
He pulled out Colette's chair, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back as she sat.
The red light on the main camera blinked on.
"We are here with Ferris Vance and his new bride," Paige began, her voice smooth. "Tell me, Ferris, how did this whirlwind romance begin?"
Ferris reached over and took Colette's hand. He laced his fingers through hers, his palm burning hot against her icy skin.
He looked deeply into Colette's eyes and spun a flawless, poetic lie about love at first sight and finding light in the darkness. His acting was so perfect, even Paige looked genuinely moved.
Then, Paige leaned forward, her eyes sharpening.
"Colette," Paige said, dropping the friendly tone. "Two years ago, you were at the center of a horrific scandal. Sitting here now, in this house... how do you live with that past?"
The color drained from Colette's face. The heavy makeup couldn't hide the sudden, violent trembling of her hands.
Her chest heaved. Her throat closed up. The urge to scream I was framed! clawed at the inside of her mouth.
Ferris felt her panic. He moved instantly.
He wrapped his long arm around her shoulders and pulled her flush against his chest, physically shielding her from Paige's piercing gaze.
"The past was a terrible misunderstanding," Ferris said to the camera, his voice thick with protective devotion. "The truth is, our love is stronger than any rumor."
To sell the lie, he tilted her chin up and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead.
Under the cover of the romantic gesture, his fingers dug brutally into the muscle of her shoulder, a silent, agonizing threat.
The pain snapped Colette back to reality. She forced her lips into a stiff, trembling smile for the camera.
"Cut!" the director called out. "That was beautiful. We got it."
