The air in the Great Hall, once filled with the sophisticated hum of triumph, curdled in an instant. I didn't need to see the screen of Silas's phone to know the exact moment the world changed. The sound of five hundred phones chirping and buzzing in unison was the sound of a guillotine blade dropping.
Heads that had been bowed in respect seconds ago now jerked up, eyes wide with the predatory gleam of people who smelled blood in the water. The "whirlwind romance" was being dismantled in real-time, replaced by a grainier, uglier truth.
"Don't look at them," Silas commanded, his voice a low, vibrating growl. He didn't let go of my hand; if anything, his grip tightened until the heirloom emeralds on my fingers bit into my skin. "Keep your head up, Evelyn. If you look down, you look guilty."
"I am guilty," I whispered, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I'm guilty of being a desperate fool in a hallway. Silas, the video… if people see me begging a stranger to marry me, the merger is dead. My father's firm is dead."
"You weren't begging," he snapped, his eyes scanning the room for an exit. "You were negotiating. There's a difference."
But the room didn't see it that way. I could see Mark Miller across the floor, leaning against a marble pillar with a drink in his hand. He wasn't hiding anymore. He was gloating. He raised his glass to me, a silent checkmate written across his smug face. Beside him, I saw Julian Vane already huddled with a group of board members, his hands gesturing wildly as he pointed at his phone.
The "Vulture of Wall Street" was being circled by his own flock.
"We have to go," Silas muttered. He began to move, navigating the crowd with the force of a battering ram. We were halfway to the grand staircase when a wall of reporters, who had been ushered into the "press zone" earlier, broke past the security ropes.
"Mrs. Vane! Was the marriage a contract to save Vance Architects?"
"Silas, did you buy a bride to secure your grandfather's shares?"
"Evelyn, did you even know his last name when you asked him to marry you?"
The questions pelted us like stones. I felt the heat of the camera lights, the suffocating press of bodies, and for a moment, the architectural knot of my hair felt like a cage. I wanted to run. I wanted to tear off this emerald dress and disappear into the night.
Then, I saw my father.
He was sitting in his wheelchair near the flower arrangements, his face pale and his hands shaking as he stared at his own phone. He looked at me, and the disappointment in his eyes was worse than any headline. He had believed in the lie. He had believed his daughter had found a protector, not a business partner.
That was the spark. The cold, architectural steel inside me that Silas had talked about finally snapped into place. I wasn't going to let Mark Miller win. I wasn't going to let Julian Vane scavenge our lives.
I stopped walking.
Silas jerked to a halt, looking at me with shock. "Evelyn, what are you doing? We need to get to the car."
"No," I said, my voice cutting through the noise. I turned to face the cameras, pulling my hand from Silas's and stepping forward. I didn't wait for him to lead me. I led him.
"You want to know about the hallway?" I asked, my voice projecting with a clarity that silenced the nearest reporters. "You want to know if I asked Silas Vane to marry me because my fiancé was cheating on me with my cousin?"
The silence that followed was absolute. Silas moved to stand behind me, his presence a dark, towering shadow. I could feel the heat of him, the silent question in his stance. What are you doing?
"The video is real," I said, looking directly into the lens of the nearest camera. "I did ask him. Because in that moment, I realized that I had spent two years building a life with a boy who didn't understand the meaning of loyalty. I walked out of that bridal suite, and I saw a man who didn't just have power, but had the character to stand by a woman who had been betrayed. I didn't ask a stranger to marry me. I recognized a partner. I recognized the only man in this city who was strong enough to handle a Vance."
I felt Silas's hand return to the small of my back, but this time, he wasn't guiding me. He was supporting me.
"A marriage isn't just about white lace and flowers," I continued, my gaze shifting to Mark Miller, who had stopped smiling. "It's a foundation. Silas and I might have started our journey in a hallway, but we've built more in three days than Mark Miller could build in a lifetime. If you think a three-minute video defines our marriage, you've clearly never understood what it takes to build a dynasty."
I turned to Silas, and for a second, I wasn't acting. I saw the pride in his eyes, a look of genuine, unfiltered admiration.
"Shall we go home, Silas?" I asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Vane," he said, his voice thick with a sudden, raw emotion.
He didn't just lead me away; he swept me past the reporters, his arm draped over my shoulders in a way that was fiercely protective. We didn't look back. We didn't give them another word. We walked out of the Metropolitan Museum of Art like we owned the very ground we stepped on.
The ride back to the penthouse was different from the one to the gala. There was no silence. Silas was on the phone immediately, but he wasn't talking to the board. He was talking to his PR team, his voice like a series of whip cracks.
"I want the narrative shifted. It's not a scandal; it's a power move. I want every female-focused outlet talking about Evelyn's strength. 'The Woman Who Chose Her Own Destiny.' Do you hear me? If I see the word 'victim' in a single headline, you're fired."
He hung up and tossed the phone onto the leather seat. He looked at me, and for the first time, he looked truly shaken.
"That was the most dangerous thing you could have done," he said.
"It worked, didn't it?"
"It worked," he admitted, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face. "You turned a humiliation into a manifesto. My grandfather is probably having a heart attack from pure joy. He's always wanted a granddaughter-in-law who could handle a shark tank."
"I didn't do it for your grandfather, Silas."
"I know why you did it," he said softly. He reached out and traced the line of my jaw, his fingers lingering on the skin. "You did it for the firm. You did it for your father."
"And for me," I added. "I'm tired of being the girl people feel sorry for."
The elevator doors opened to the penthouse, but the air inside was different. The lights were dimmed, and the city lights outside seemed to press against the glass. Silas didn't move toward his study. He stayed in the foyer, watching me as I began to unpin the heavy emerald necklace.
"The video will still be an issue for the board," he said, stepping behind me. His fingers brushed mine as he took over the task of unhooking the clasp. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through me that made my breath catch. "Julian will use it to argue that the marriage is 'under duress' or a sham for the shares."
"Then we'll just have to prove him wrong," I whispered, the necklace falling into his palms.
Silas set the emeralds on the marble console and turned me around to face him. He didn't say anything for a long time. He just looked at me, the "Vulture" finally stripped of his armor.
"The year-long contract," he said, his voice dropping to a low, husky register. "The separate bedrooms. The exit strategy. Do you still want those things, Evelyn?"
The question hung in the air, heavier than the emeralds, more dangerous than the scandal. I looked at the man who had stepped into my chaos and made it his own. I looked at the man who had protected my father and given me a sword to fight with.
"I don't know," I admitted.
Silas leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. "Good. Because I'm starting to think a year isn't nearly enough time to figure you out."
Before I could respond, the front door chime echoed through the penthouse. Silas stiffened, his professional mask snapping back into place. He checked the security monitor on the wall.
"It's Arthur," he muttered. "He's here. And he's not alone."
I looked at the monitor. Arthur Vane was standing in the hall, but behind him were two men in dark suits, lawyers. And in Arthur's hand was a thick, black folder.
"The final papers," I whispered.
"Or the end of the deal," Silas replied.
The "Flash Marriage" had survived the gala, but it was about to face its true architect.