Elena's POV
Stop fidgeting with your dress, Adrian says as our car pulls up to the Plaza Hotel. You look fine.
Fine. Not beautiful. Not stunning. Fine.
I smooth the silver dress Belle helped me choose over video call last week. She squealed when she saw it. You'll be the most gorgeous woman there! But Adrian barely glanced at me when I walked out of our bedroom, our shared bedroom that still feels like enemy territory even after two weeks.
Through the car window, I see photographers lined up like an army. Flashing cameras. Shouting reporters. A red carpet leading into the hotel.
My stomach twists. There are so many people.
This is our first public event as a married couple. Adrian's voice is flat. Businesslike. Everyone wants to see if the marriage is real or if I'm desperately faking stability for the board hearing.
No pressure then.
He finally looks at me. Really looks. His gray eyes travel from my face down to the dress and back up. Something flickers in his expression—gone too fast to identify.
You'll do fine, he says. Just smile. Stay close to me. Don't answer questions about our relationship.
The door opens. Adrian steps out first, and the cameras explode with light.
Mr. Blackwell! Who's your date?
Is this your wife?
How long have you been married?
Adrian reaches back for my hand. His grip is firm, possessive, the performance already beginning. I take a deep breath and step out of the car.
The cameras go wild.
Mrs. Blackwell! Look here!
Elena! When did you meet Adrian?
Is the marriage real?
Adrian's arm slides around my waist, pulling me against his side. Smile, he murmurs in my ear. Like you're madly in love with me.
I force my lips into a smile that hopefully looks genuine and not terrified.
We walk the red carpet together. His hand never leaves my waist. Every few steps, he stops to let photographers take pictures. Each time, he looks down at me with an expression that almost looks tender. Almost.
But I feel the tension in his body. See the calculation in his eyes.
This is all performance. Every touch. Every look. Every smile.
We finally escape inside. The ballroom is massive, crystal chandeliers, live orchestra, women in designer gowns and men in expensive tuxedos. Old money and new money mixing like oil and water.
Everyone turns to stare at us.
Adrian Blackwell, someone whispers. I heard he lost everything.
That's his wife? She's so... ordinary.
The marriage must be fake. A desperate move to save face.
The words cut, but I keep smiling. Keep my hand in Adrian's. Keep playing the devoted wife.
Champagne? A server appears with a tray of crystal flutes.
Adrian takes two, handing me one. Drink slowly. We have to stay three hours minimum.
Three hours of pretending. Three hours of being judged.
I take a sip. The champagne is cold, expensive. Nothing like the cheap wine I used to buy.
Adrian! A voice calls out. Male. Friendly.
We turn. A man in his fifties approaches, grinning. Didn't believe it when I heard you got married. You, the confirmed bachelor!
Robert. Adrian shakes his hand, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. This is Elena. My wife.
Pleasure. Robert barely glances at me. Adrian, we need to talk about the board situation. I've been hearing things
Not tonight. Adrian's voice hardens. Tonight, I'm here with my wife. Business can wait.
Robert's eyebrows rise. Right. Of course. Enjoy your evening.
He walks away, and I see others watching. Calculating. Wondering if Adrian Blackwell is really stable enough to run a company.
Dance with me, Adrian says suddenly.
What?
We need to look like a real couple. Dancing helps. He takes my champagne glass, setting it on a nearby table with his. Then he leads me to the dance floor.
The orchestra plays something slow and romantic. Adrian's hand settles on my waist. Mine goes to his shoulder. We're standing too close, I can smell his cologne, feel his breath on my forehead.
Relax, he murmurs. You're rigid as a board.
I'm nervous.
Don't be. I'm an excellent dancer. His lips curve slightly. One of my few remaining talents.
We move together, and he's right, he's a beautiful dancer. Smooth. Confident. Leading me effortlessly across the floor.
For just a moment, I almost forget this is fake.
You're doing well, Adrian says quietly. Everyone's watching. They're convinced.
Right. Performance. Not real.
Elena. A female voice cuts through the music.
I look over Adrian's shoulder. My blood runs cold.
Vivienne Blackwell glides toward us in a red dress that looks painted on. Her dark hair cascades over bare shoulders. Her smile is sharp as broken glass.
May I steal your wife for a moment? she asks Adrian sweetly. Girl talk.
Adrian's hand tightens on my waist. Elena and I are dancing
It'll just be a minute. Vivienne links her arm through mine before I can protest. Come, let's powder our noses.
She pulls me away from Adrian. I glance back—he's watching with hard eyes, jaw clenched.
Vivienne leads me to a quiet corner near the balcony doors. Away from crowds. Away from witnesses.
You look lovely tonight, she says. Still smiling. Still dangerous. That dress really suits you.
Thank you. I try to pull my arm free. She holds on tighter.
I wanted to say—you're very brave. Marrying Adrian so suddenly. Her green eyes bore into mine. His last girlfriend disappeared rather mysteriously, you know. Car accident. Very tragic.
My stomach drops. What are you
Sylvaine was her name. Beautiful. Smart. Loved Adrian desperately. Vivienne's smile widens. Then one day, her brakes failed on the highway. Terrible way to die, don't you think?
Are you threatening me?
Threatening? Vivienne laughs. Of course not. I'm just sharing family history. Adrian attracts tragedy. People close to him have a habit of... ending badly.
Before I can respond, strong hands grip my shoulders.
Adrian. His voice is cold fury. Stay away from my wife.
Vivienne's expression doesn't change. We were just chatting. Getting to know each other. After all, we're family now.
We're not family. Adrian pulls me behind him, creating a barrier between me and Vivienne. And if you come near Elena again, I'll make sure Marcus knows exactly what you did to Sylvaine.
Vivienne's mask slips. For one second, pure hatred flashes across her face. Then she smiles again.
Enjoy your evening, Adrian. Elena. She walks away, red dress swirling.
I'm shaking. Adrian, what did she mean
Not here. He takes my hand, leading me back to the dance floor. We'll talk later. Right now, smile. Marcus is watching.
I look across the ballroom. Marcus Blackwell stands near the bar, his cold blue eyes fixed on us. Calculating. Waiting for us to fail.
Something is very wrong here. Vivienne's threat. Marcus's surveillance. The way everyone watches us like we're performing animals.
I need air, I whisper.
Five more minutes. Then we can
No. Now. I pull away from Adrian, heading toward the balcony doors.
Elena
But I'm already walking. Through the crowd. Past staring faces. Out onto the balcony where cold night air hits my face.
I grip the railing, trying to breathe. Trying to process what Vivienne said.
Brakes failed. Terrible way to die. People close to him end badly.
Was that a warning? A confession?
Mrs. Blackwell? A server appears with a tray. Champagne?
I should say no. Should go back inside. Find Adrian.
But my hands are shaking and my throat is dry and I just need one drink to steady my nerves.
I take the glass. Thank you.
The server smiles and disappears.
I bring the champagne to my lips. Take a long sip.
The taste is wrong. Bitter underneath the sweetness.
The world immediately tilts.
No. No, something's wrong.
I try to call out, but my voice doesn't work. The balcony spins. My legs turn to water.
The champagne glass slips from my fingers, shattering on stone.
Elena? Adrian's voice sounds far away. Underwater. Elena, what's
My knees buckle. I'm falling.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.
Adrian's face swims above me. His eyes are wide. Terrified. Elena! Stay with me. Don't close your eyes. Don't
But the darkness is pulling me under.
Poisoned. The champagne was poisoned.
Call an ambulance! Adrian's scream echoes. Someone call a fucking ambulance!
Hands everywhere. Voices shouting. Cameras flashing.
Through the chaos, I see one face clearly.
Vivienne. Standing in the balcony doorway. Smiling.
She did this.
Then everything goes black.