The announcement went live at precisely noon.
Elara didn't see it happen.
She was still seated in the back of the car, hands folded in her lap, staring at the passing city as if it belonged to another life—one she'd just stepped out of without ceremony or goodbye.
Lucas hadn't said a word since they left the lawyer's office.
He didn't need to.
His phone buzzed steadily in his hand, screen lighting up again and again as messages poured in. Assistants. Advisors. Board members pretending surprise. Media outlets pretending restraint.
Elara felt each vibration like a countdown.
Finally, the car slowed.
She looked up. "Where are we going?"
"Home," Lucas replied.
She stiffened. "Your home."
"Our home," he corrected smoothly, without looking at her.
The word landed harder than she expected.
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed again. This time, he answered.
"Yes."
A pause.
"Release the statement."
Another pause.
"Include the photograph."
Elara turned sharply. "Photograph?"
Lucas ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"You'll see it soon enough."
Her pulse spiked. "You didn't tell me there would be pictures."
"You didn't ask," he replied calmly. "And it's done."
Her nails dug into her palms. "This was supposed to be controlled."
"It is controlled," Lucas said. "By me."
As if summoned by his words, her own phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Then continuously.
She hesitated before picking it up, dread curling low in her stomach.
The first notification was from a news app she barely used.
BREAKING: Billionaire CEO Lucas Harrington Announces Surprise Marriage
Her breath caught.
She tapped the article.
There it was.
A photo taken outside the lawyer's office—Lucas stepping forward, one hand placed at the small of her back, guiding her through the doors. His expression unreadable. Hers startled, mid-step.
Intimate.
Possessive.
Unmistakable.
She looked like something that belonged to him.
Elara's throat tightened. "You planned this."
"Yes," Lucas said.
"You didn't tell me you'd touch me."
His gaze flicked to her. "I didn't touch you."
"You—"
"I guided you," he corrected. "There's a difference."
She swallowed. "You crossed a line."
"No," he said calmly. "I drew one."
The car pulled into a gated driveway flanked by iron and glass. Guards nodded as they passed. The city noise faded, replaced by silence so pristine it felt curated.
Elara stared as the estate came into view—sleek lines, towering windows, a structure built to intimidate as much as to impress.
Her chest felt tight.
"This is where I'm supposed to live?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"With you."
"Yes."
The car stopped. The door opened.
Lucas stepped out first, then extended his hand—not offering, not asking.
Waiting.
She hesitated.
Every instinct screamed at her to keep her hands to herself, to maintain some illusion of autonomy. But the driver was watching. Cameras were probably hidden somewhere. Staff undoubtedly already aware of her existence.
So she placed her hand in his.
The contact was brief.
Electric.
Lucas's fingers closed around hers with subtle firmness, his thumb pressing lightly against her knuckles—a silent reminder.
Public.
Inside, the house was immaculate. Too immaculate. Polished floors, curated art, light filtered just right.
A woman approached immediately. "Mr. Harrington. Welcome home."
Her eyes shifted to Elara with careful neutrality.
"This is my wife," Lucas said without hesitation.
The word again.
Permanent. Public. Final.
The woman inclined her head. "Mrs. Harrington."
Elara flinched internally but forced herself to nod.
Lucas's hand settled briefly at her waist as they walked deeper into the house—not enough to be overtly intimate, just enough to be unmistakable.
Her skin burned where he touched her.
"You're doing that on purpose," she murmured under her breath.
"Yes," he replied just as quietly. "You need to learn what belongs to the public and what doesn't."
"And what belongs to you?" she asked.
His hand tightened slightly before releasing her.
"Everything else."
They stopped in front of a staircase that curved upward like a question she wasn't sure she wanted answered.
"You'll have your own rooms," Lucas said. "Separate bedrooms. Separate bathrooms."
Relief flickered—brief, unwanted.
"But," he added, "we'll be seen entering and leaving the same space when necessary."
She looked at him sharply. "You're enjoying this."
Lucas studied her for a moment, eyes dark.
"No," he said. "I'm managing it."
A staff member cleared their throat. "Sir, the press is requesting a comment. They want a live appearance."
"Of course they do," Lucas said. He turned to Elara. "You'll stand beside me."
"I haven't agreed to—"
"You have," he interrupted. "Read the contract."
Her stomach twisted. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't speak unless spoken to," Lucas replied evenly. "You smile. You look at me like you trust me."
"That's not—"
"Negotiable?" he finished. "It is not."
They moved to the study, where a camera crew was already setting up.
As they waited, Lucas leaned closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"This is where people will test you," he said. "They'll look for cracks. Weakness."
Her jaw tightened. "And if they find it?"
"Then I close ranks," he said. "But don't confuse protection with gentleness."
She met his gaze, something defiant sparking despite the fear. "You don't own me."
Lucas's lips curved faintly.
"No," he said. "I own the narrative."
The light blinked on.
The reporter smiled brightly. "Mr. Harrington, congratulations on the surprise marriage. May we ask—how did you meet your wife?"
Elara's breath hitched.
This was it.
The lie that would define her.
Lucas didn't hesitate. His hand settled at her back again, warmer this time, more deliberate.
"At a charity event," he said smoothly. "I noticed her because she wasn't trying to be noticed."
The reporter laughed. "And you, Mrs. Harrington?"
All eyes turned to her.
Elara felt Lucas's fingers press lightly—guiding, grounding, warning.
She forced a smile.
"He noticed me," she said softly. "And I didn't look away."
Lucas's grip tightened for a fraction of a second.
Approval.
The interview ended quickly after that.
As the crew packed up, Elara exhaled shakily.
"I didn't agree to that line," she said.
Lucas looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"But you said it," he replied. "And it worked."
She crossed her arms. "This isn't a marriage."
"No," he agreed. "It's leverage."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"And today," he added, "you became valuable."
Her heart pounded.
Not loved.
Not cherished.
Valuable.
As he walked away, Elara stared after him, the weight of the role settling deeper into her bones.
She was no longer invisible, she was Lucas Harrington's wife.
And the world was already watching.