The night of the Vane-Vance Gala arrived with a chill that swept through the skyscraper's glass, but inside the master suite, the air was thick with the scent of hairspray, expensive perfume, and silent, mounting dread. Vivienne had returned to finish the job, her hands moving like a sculptor's as she transformed me.
When she finally stepped back, the woman in the mirror was a stranger.
The midnight emerald gown clung to my curves like a second skin, the heavy silk shimmering with every breath I took. The back was a daring plunge, revealing the line of my spine, while the front was a masterclass in structured elegance. Around my neck hung the Vane Heirloom, a necklace of emeralds and diamonds that felt like a cold, heavy collar of fire. My hair was swept up into a sleek, architectural knot, and my red lipstick was the only pop of color against the dark green.
"You aren't a bride tonight, Evelyn," Vivienne whispered, adjusting the fall of my skirt one last time. "You are a dynasty."
A knock at the door signaled the end of my preparation. Silas walked in, and for the first time since this madness began, I saw him lose his composure. He was in a bespoke black tuxedo that made him look like the apex predator he was. He stopped in the middle of the room, his eyes raking over me with an intensity that felt more intimate than a touch.
"Evelyn," he breathed. That was all.
"Is it enough?" I asked, my voice slightly breathless.
"It's too much," he said, finally closing the distance between us. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a ring, not the simple band we had used at the altar, but a pear-shaped diamond the size of a postage stamp. He took my hand and slid it onto my finger. "My grandfather sent this. It belonged to his wife. He said if we're going to lie, we should do it with the best materials available."
The weight of the ring was a physical reminder of the stakes. I looked up at him, my heart hammering. "Are you ready for this, Silas? Once we walk out of that elevator, we have to be the most in-love couple in the world."
"I've spent my life negotiating multi-billion dollar deals, Evelyn. I think I can manage to look at a beautiful woman with something resembling affection."
He offered his arm. "Let's go. The lions are hungry."
The gala was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a venue that screamed old money and absolute power. As the limousine pulled up to the red carpet, the flashbulbs were so bright they left purple spots in my vision. Silas stepped out first, then reached back to help me. The moment I emerged, the crowd went silent for a heartbeat before erupting into a frenzy.
"Evelyn! Look here!"
"Mrs. Vane! Is it true you were having an affair for months?"
"Silas! Was this a hostile takeover of the Vance family?"
Silas ignored them all. He tucked me under his arm, his hand resting firmly on my waist, and led me into the Great Hall. The room was a sea of black ties, designer gowns, and the sharp, calculating eyes of the New York elite.
We had barely made it ten feet when we were intercepted.
Standing in our path was a man who looked like a thinner, meaner version of Silas. He had the same grey eyes, but they were narrow and shadowed by a lifetime of resentment. This was Uncle Julian.
"Well, well," Julian sneered, swirling a glass of scotch. "The blushing bride makes her debut. Or should I say, the blushing opportunist?"
I felt Silas's muscles tighten beneath my hand, but I stepped forward before he could speak. I gave Julian a smile that was all teeth and no warmth.
"Uncle Julian, I presume," I said, my voice projecting just enough for the surrounding guests to hear. "Silas mentioned you'd be here. He also mentioned that your latest casino venture in Macau is currently hemorrhaging cash. I suppose that explains why you're so cranky this evening. It must be difficult to watch someone succeed while you're so busy... falling behind."
Julian's face turned a violent shade of purple. The socialites nearby whispered behind their fans. I had hit a nerve, and the sound of it was music to my ears.
"You little…"
"Julian," a voice boomed from behind him.
The crowd parted as Arthur Vane hobbled forward on his cane. He looked at me, then at the emerald necklace, then at Silas. A grim shadow of a smile touched his lips. "Leave them be, Julian. You're outclassed. Go find the bar."
Julian scurried away like a kicked dog. Arthur turned his attention back to us. "The room is talking about nothing but the two of you. Even the Millers are here, hiding in the corner like wounded rats. You've won the first round."
"We aren't here for rounds, Grandfather," Silas said, pulling me closer. "We're here for the whole game."
"We'll see," Arthur mused. "The first dance is about to begin. If you can convince me there's real heat between you, I might just sign the final papers tonight."
The orchestra began a slow, haunting waltz. Silas led me to the center of the floor, and the hundreds of guests formed a wide circle around us. The air felt heavy, the weight of a thousand judgments pressing down on my shoulders.
Silas took my hand and placed his other on the small of my back. As the music swelled, we began to move. He was a surprisingly good dancer, fluid, powerful, and perfectly in sync with my movements.
"You're doing perfectly," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Just keep looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm the only person in this room."
I looked into his eyes, and suddenly, I wasn't acting. The chaos of the room, the threat of his uncles, and the ghost of Mark Miller faded away. There was only the pressure of Silas's hand on my back and the way he looked at me, not as a pawn, but as something precious.
The dance felt like a conversation without words. Every turn, every step, was a declaration. When the music reached its crescendo, Silas spun me around and dipped me low. For a second, time stopped. I was looking up at him, my heart racing, and I realized with a jolt of terror that I wasn't just playing a part. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted the lie to be true.
He pulled me back up, but he didn't let go. He leaned in, and instead of the chaste peck I expected, he kissed me with a hunger that sent a shockwave through my entire body. It was a kiss that claimed every inch of me, a kiss that told the world and me that I belonged to him.
The room erupted in applause, but I couldn't hear it over the roaring in my ears.
When he pulled away, he looked dazed, his grey eyes dark with an emotion I couldn't name. We walked off the floor, the elite of New York parting like the Red Sea.
But as we reached the edge of the crowd, I saw a familiar face. Mark Miller was standing by the exit, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and desperation. He caught my eye and tapped his phone, a wicked, triumphant smile crossing his face.
My blood turned to ice.
"Silas," I whispered, clutching his arm. "Mark is here. And he looks like he has something."
Before Silas could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, and I saw his face go pale. He looked at me, his eyes full of a sudden, sharp regret.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The hallway," he muttered. "Someone had a camera in the VIP corridor on the wedding day. There's a video, Evelyn. A video of you asking me to marry you because Mark cheated. It just hit the internet."
The room seemed to tilt. The "whirlwind romance" was a lie, and the whole world was about to find out that our "perfect" marriage was nothing more than a business deal made in a moment of desperation.
The lions weren't just hungry anymore. They were closing in for the kill.