"Smile, Olivia. The cameras are watching."
His whispered words slid like ice down my spine.
Alexander’s hand tightened on mine, his grip firm but devoid of warmth.
We stood under the glaring spotlight of a hundred flashing cameras, the air heavy with champagne and artificial congratulations.
"You make it sound so natural," I murmured, my lips frozen in a practiced smile.
The wedding dress clung to me like a chain, suffocating in its pristine perfection.
Every lace and pearl was chosen to scream opulence, yet all I felt was a hollow ache.
"Practice makes perfect," he replied smoothly, his face an unreadable mask.
Perfect.
That was Alexander Steele’s world.
Perfect deals, perfect lies, perfect control.
And now, I was his newest acquisition—a bride sold to the highest bidder under the guise of saving my family’s legacy.
My stomach twisted as the officiant’s voice rang out. "You may kiss the bride."
"Play along," Alexander whispered, his lips barely moving.
Before I could flinch, he leaned in.
The kiss was mechanical, brief, and cold—an obligation, not a promise.
Applause erupted around us, but all I could hear was the pounding of my pulse and the soft murmur of his next words.
"Welcome to the game, Mrs. Steele."
His voice was a warning, a reminder that this wasn’t a fairy tale.
The reception blurred into a haze of polite smiles and meaningless toasts.
Alexander floated through the crowd like a king among subjects, leaving me trailing in his shadow.
Guests congratulated me with thinly veiled envy or pity, their eyes sharp and probing.
I wondered how many of them knew the truth.
"You’re quite the actress, Olivia."
I turned to find a woman with crimson lips and sharp eyes holding a flute of champagne.
Her smile was as predatory as the man I’d just married.
"Do I know you?"
"Not yet," she said, her tone dripping with amusement. "But you will. Everyone in
Steele’s orbit eventually does."
Before I could respond, Alexander appeared at my side, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Ms. Calloway," he greeted her, his tone curt.
"I trust you’re enjoying the evening?"
"Always," she purred, her gaze flicking between us.
"Your wife is... captivating."
I wanted to laugh.
Or scream. Instead, I offered a polite nod, the weight of their unspoken words pressing against my chest.
Hours later, when the last guest had left, we stood alone in the cavernous penthouse.
The silence between us was deafening, thick with unsaid things.
"So, what now?" I asked, my voice brittle.
"Now," Alexander said, unbuttoning his cufflinks with meticulous precision, "you learn the rules."
He stepped closer, his gaze as sharp as the edge of a knife.
"Rule one: This is not a marriage."
The air felt colder.
"Rule two," he continued, his voice low, "Don’t embarrass me."
My breath hitched, but I refused to look away.
"And rule three," he said, leaning in so close I could feel the heat of his breath, "never forget why you’re here. This is business. Nothing more."
My heart sank, his words cutting deeper than any blade.
"Understood?" he asked, his tone as unyielding as steel.
I met his gaze, my defiance flickering like a dying flame.
"Understood," I whispered.
But as he turned away, the smallest crack appeared in his facade—a flicker of something raw, something human.
It was gone in an instant, but it was enough to make me wonder who Alexander Steele really was beneath the armor.
For now, though, I was trapped in his game, with no clear way out.
