"Performance?"
Clive's expression shifted instantly - whatever brief calm he'd found just moments ago vanished without a trace.
A performance?
She thought this marriage - to him - was nothing but an act?
Like he was some desperate man begging for someone to play pretend?
Paisley, meanwhile, kept speaking, entirely unaware of the temperature drop in the room. For a summer afternoon, the air had turned to ice.
"Yeah," she said, composed. "In front of the press, around your family at the Harrington estate - I'll be the perfect wife. No drama, no trouble. And when the day comes that you want someone else to wear the title of Mrs. Harrington, I'll walk away. Quiet and clean."
She meant every word.
In her mind, she was doing him a favor.
He had someone else in his heart, didn't he? That woman who showed up crying at their wedding, the one he disappeared with right before the vows?
Paisley thought she understood: he'd only married her because the family demanded it. So now she was offering him a way out - a logical, mature arrangement.
So why did Clive suddenly lose it?
Before she could react, he stepped forward and slammed her against the wall.
The shift was instant.
One second he was silent. The next, the room shrank under the weight of his fury.
His hand pressed beside her head. His body caged hers. His breath was ragged, furious.
"Paisley," he growled, voice low and dangerous. "You're mine. For life. Even in death, you'll be buried with the Harringtons. I'm not divorcing you. Don't even think about running."
His eyes were dark, wild - like a lion cornering prey. Terrifying. Unrelenting.
Paisley's heart raced.
Where had she misstepped? Why had her calm proposal triggered such rage?
But one thing was clear: if he thought he could lock her up again like before, he was dead wrong.
Still, she knew from experience - pushing him when he was like this would only make things worse.
So she changed tactics.
Her voice softened. "Clive... it hurts. Please don't hold me like this. Let me go, okay?"
The tears in her eyes weren't fake - but they were strategic.
Some things never changed. Playing soft still worked better than fighting fire with fire.
Sure enough, his grip loosened. His eyes flicked across her face, lingering on the shimmer in her lashes.
A beat passed.
Then without a word, he turned and walked out.
As the door shut behind him, the warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by ice.
He didn't want a divorce?
Fine.
Let's see how long he could handle her playing by her own rules.
*****
Next day, in a café.
Paisley flipped through the documents Clive's secretary, Patrick Carter, had put together - his likes, dislikes, ideal woman, even the tiniest quirks were all there.
Just then, she received an anonymous email. Attached were pictures of a man and a woman dining at a super exclusive, couples-only restaurant - you had to book it a week in advance.
No prize for guessing who the man was: her husband, the same guy who'd just said he'd never divorce her.
The woman? Paisley remembered her well. That same tear-streaked face who'd caused a scene at her wedding - unforgettable.
Figures. Men say one thing and do another. Staring at the screen, all she could think was: what a joke.
So what did she do? Called up her closest guy friend, Lucas Morgan. Guy was a genius hacker - she needed someone skilled to dig into Ethan's company finances.
And let's be honest, she wasn't just looking for dirt. This was payback.
If Clive could flaunt his dinner dates, so could she.
Time to remind him that she wasn't someone to be taken for granted.
