The morning sun in a Manhattan penthouse doesn't just rise; it attacks. It sliced through the gaps in the motorized charcoal curtains, stabbing at my eyes until I was forced to crawl out from under the heavy, thousand-thread-count sheets. For a few blissful seconds of grogginess, I thought I was back in my girlhood bedroom at the Vance estate. I expected to hear the distant sound of my father's mower or the smell of his over-brewed coffee.
Then I saw the dark wood paneling and the stark, minimalist furniture.
The memory of the previous day hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. The altar. The betrayal. The hallway. Silas.
I sat up, my hair a tangled mess around my shoulders. On the nightstand, someone had placed a glass of lemon water and a sleek, silver tablet. My hand trembled as I reached for the device. I didn't even have to unlock it; the notifications were already scrolling across the screen like a ticker tape of my own personal disaster.
THE DAILY BEAT: VANCE-MILLER WEDDING ENDS IN BLOODLESS COUP!
PAGE SIX: WHO IS SILAS VANE'S SECRET BRIDE?
FINANCIAL TIMES: VANE INTERNATIONAL ACQUIRES VANCE ARCHITECTS IN SHOCK MERGER.
I tapped on the lead article. There was a photo, crisp, high-definition, and devastatingly intimate of Silas and me at the altar. It was the moment he had kissed me. In the photo, his hand was buried in my hair, his body shielding mine from the world. I looked like a woman being rescued; he looked like a king claiming his throne. The caption underneath read: A Match Made in Wall Street: Did Evelyn Vance dump the Miller heir for a bigger shark, or was this a long-term affair hidden from the elite?
"Hidden affair," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "If only they knew."
I threw the tablet aside and climbed out of bed. My body felt stiff, a remnant of the tension that had held me together since the moment I saw Mark and Sarah behind that curtain. I walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window and pressed a button on the wall. The curtains slid back entirely, revealing a city that felt like it belonged to me and yet was trying to consume me.
I needed to move. I needed to act. I couldn't sit in this silk-lined cage and wait for Silas to tell me what our next move was.
I retreated to the walk-in closet. Silas wasn't lying; it was stocked with an eerie precision. I pulled out a cream-colored knit dress that looked professional yet soft, paired it with a set of gold hoops, and spent thirty minutes meticulously applying my makeup. I painted my lips a bold, defiant red. It was my war paint. If the world was going to stare at the new Mrs. Vane, I would give them something to look at.
I found Silas in the dining room, which was really just a glass-topped table overlooking the park. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that looked like they were carved from granite. He was eating a piece of dry toast while reading a physical copy of the Wall Street Journal.
He didn't look up when I entered, but he slid a cup of black coffee toward the empty chair across from him.
"You're trending on three continents," he said, his voice flat. "The Miller family stock dropped six points this morning. Your father's company, however, has seen its valuation triple since the opening bell."
I sat down, taking a sip of the coffee. It was strong and bitter. "Is that all I am to you this morning? A stock ticker?"
Silas looked up then. His grey eyes were shadowed, as if he hadn't slept at all. "This morning, you are a victory. But by this afternoon, you'll be a target. Mark's father, Richard Miller, called me four times before dawn. He's threatening a lawsuit for tortious interference. He claims I sabotaged the wedding to steal the Vance assets."
"And did you?" I asked, watching him closely.
Silas set his paper down. "I didn't force Mark to sleep with your cousin, Evelyn. I didn't put a gun to your head in that hallway. I simply provided an exit strategy for a woman who was about to be humiliated. If that results in me acquiring a strategic architectural firm, that's just good business."
"You're a cold man, Silas."
"And you're a smart woman. Don't tell me you'd prefer a warm lie over a cold truth."
Before I could respond, the elevator at the end of the hall chimed. A man in a dark suit, Silas's head of security, whom I recognized from the lobby, stepped out, looking pale.
"Sir," the man said, nodding to me before looking at Silas. "There's a situation at the service entrance. Mark Miller is downstairs. He's... well, he's making a scene. He's demanding to speak with Mrs. Vane. The paparazzi are filming everything."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Mark was here? The audacity of the man was staggering.
"Get rid of him," Silas said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Call the police and have him trespassed."
"Wait," I said, standing up so quickly my chair scraped harshly against the marble. "No. Don't call the police yet."
Silas narrowed his eyes. "Evelyn, sit down. He's looking for a reaction. He wants a photo of you looking distraught so he can spin a narrative that I'm holding you hostage."
"I don't want him to see me distraught," I said, my voice vibrating with a sudden, sharp clarity. "I want him to see me happy. If we hide, we look guilty. If I go down there and face him with you at my side, we control the story."
Silas studied me for a long beat. A small, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "You want to twist the knife."
"I want to bury it," I corrected.
Silas stood up and reached for his suit jacket, which was draped over the back of his chair. He didn't put it on; he just carried it, moving toward me. He stopped just inches away, his presence looming. "If we do this, you have to be perfect. No tears. No screaming. You are the woman who traded up, and you've never been more satisfied with a purchase."
"I can do that," I said.
The ride down the elevator was silent. Silas didn't touch me, but he stood close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. When the doors opened into the lobby, I could see the chaos through the glass doors. A crowd of photographers were pressed against the velvet ropes, and in the center of the madness was Mark.
He looked terrible. His suit was wrinkled, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot. When he saw the elevator doors open, he lunged forward, only to be caught by two of the building's security guards.
"Evelyn!" he screamed. "Evelyn, look at me! He's using you! You know he's only doing this for the shares! You can't let him do this to us!"
The cameras flashed in a blinding strobe light. I felt Silas's hand slide around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. It was the same possessive grip from the altar, and I leaned into it, playing the part of the adored wife.
We walked out of the glass doors. The noise was deafening, shouted questions, the clicking of shutters, the frantic energy of a scandal in motion.
We stopped five feet from Mark. Silas didn't say a word; he just stood there like a monolith of power, his face a mask of bored indifference.
I looked at Mark. I didn't see the man I had loved for two years. I saw a stranger whose desperate ego was crashing down around him.
"Go home, Mark," I said, my voice clear and loud enough for the microphones to catch.
"Evie, please," he begged, his voice cracking. "I made a mistake. Sarah meant nothing. It was just... pre-wedding nerves. We can fix this. You don't have to stay with this monster. He doesn't love you! He doesn't even know you!"
I let out a soft, pitying laugh. I looked up at Silas, who was looking down at me with a gaze that, for the cameras, looked like pure adoration. I reached up and smoothed the lapel of his shirt.
"You're right about one thing, Mark," I said, turning back to my ex. "Silas doesn't know everything about me yet. But he knows how to be a man. He knows how to keep his word. And most importantly, he knows how to keep his hands off my relatives."
The crowd "oohed" in a low, collective gasp.
"You're a Vance," Mark hissed, his desperation turning to malice. "You're a snob. You'll realize soon enough that you're just a trophy to him. He'll drop you the second he gets his grandfather's money!"
"Then I'll be a very wealthy divorcee with my dignity intact," I replied coolly. "Which is still a much better position than being the wife of a man who cheats in his own bridal suite. Now, please leave. You're upsetting my husband."
Silas took that as his cue. He stepped forward, his shadow falling over Mark. "You heard her. Get out of my sight, Miller. And tell your father that if I see your face near my wife or my property again, I won't just take your shipping lanes. I'll take your house out from under him."
Mark looked like he wanted to spit at us, but the security guards began to haul him away. The photographers surged forward, but Silas's team moved in, creating a human wall.
Silas led me back inside. The moment the glass doors closed, the silence returned, thick and heavy.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My knees felt like they were made of water. I reached out to grab the edge of a marble planter to steady myself, but Silas was faster. He caught my elbow, his grip firm.
"You did well," he said. His voice was different now softer, less guarded. "That line about the relatives... that was inspired."
"I told you I was angry," I whispered, looking up at him. "I didn't realize how much I needed to say that to his face."
"Anger is a great motivator, but it's exhausting," Silas said. He didn't let go of my arm. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for a long, quiet moment. For the first time, I didn't see the billionaire or the shark. I saw a man who was genuinely intrigued. "You're not what I expected, Evelyn Vance."
"And what did you expect?"
"A pawn," he admitted. "Someone I could move around the board while I dealt with my family. But I think you might be a player in your own right."
The elevator doors opened again, but we didn't move.
"Don't get too comfortable, Silas," I said, finally pulling my arm away. "I'm only playing this game because our goals happen to align. The second they don't, I'm gone."
"We'll see," he said, the dangerous smile returning to his face. "But for now, we have a gala to prepare for. And if you thought Mark was a problem, wait until you meet my uncles. They make the Millers look like Sunday school teachers."
As we ascended back to the penthouse, I realized the victory in the lobby was small. I had crushed my ex, but I was still bound to a man whose secrets were deeper than the ocean. And as the elevator climbed, I couldn't help but wonder if the kiss we'd have to perform at the gala would feel as "fake" as the one at the altar.
The war had moved from the hallway to the boardroom, and I was right in the line of fire.