Chapter 4: Playing the Part

The penthouse smelled of cold glass and something sterile, like a showroom no one actually lived in. My suitcase felt embarrassingly small as I wheeled it across the marble floor, the clack of its wheels echoing against ceilings that were probably taller than my entire apartment building back home.

"Your room is the second door on the left," Alex said without looking at me. He was already shedding his jacket, loosening his tie with the kind of efficient brutality that made me feel like part of the furniture. "The gala is at seven. A stylist will be here at four. I expect you downstairs, ready, at six-thirty sharp."

"Sharp," I repeated, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. "Got it."

He paused then, finally glancing at me. His eyes were the color of a winter ocean, cold and deep, and they swept over me like I was a line item on a balance sheet. "You'll need to do better than that tonight. The Blackwood Foundation gala is the most important event on our social calendar. Every major donor, every business partner, every journalist who matters will be there."

My stomach twisted. "And they'll all be looking at me."

"Precisely." He turned away, striding toward what I assumed was his study. "Don't give them anything to talk about."

The door clicked shut behind him, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Don't give them anything to talk about. Right. Because I was just another acquisition, another asset to be managed. The thought should have stung, but I was too tired to feel much of anything except the phantom weight of my sister's hospital bills pressing against my chest.

---

The stylist arrived exactly at four. Her name was Yvette, and she moved with the precision of a surgeon, layering silk and diamonds until I barely recognized the woman staring back at me in the full-length mirror.

The gown was the color of champagne, flowing like liquid gold over my shoulders and pooling at my feet. My hair was swept into an elegant chignon, and the diamond earrings at my lobes were probably worth more than every paycheck I'd ever earned. I looked like a fraud. A very expensive, very beautiful fraud.

"Perfect," Yvette pronounced, stepping back to admire her work. "Mr. Blackwood will be pleased."

I doubted that. Alex Blackwood didn't strike me as a man who was ever pleased by anything.

At exactly six-thirty, I descended the spiral staircase, my heels clicking against the steel steps. Alex was waiting at the bottom, and for a moment—just a fraction of a second—something flickered in his eyes. Surprise? Perhaps even appreciation? But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar mask of ice.

"Acceptable," he said.

Acceptable. I bit the inside of my cheek and forced a smile. "Thank you."

---

The gala was a sea of crystal chandeliers and whispered secrets. We'd barely stepped through the doors before a woman with razor-sharp cheekbones and a smile that didn't reach her eyes descended upon us.

"Alex, darling," she cooed, air-kissing both his cheeks. "And this must be the new Mrs. Blackwood. How... unexpected."

I extended my hand, hoping it wouldn't tremble. "Mia. It's lovely to meet you."

"Victoria Ashford." She held my fingers for a beat too long, her grip cool and assessing. "I was such good friends with Alex's last wife. We simply must catch up sometime. I'd love to hear how you two met."

The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade. I could feel Alex's presence beside me, radiating disapproval, but he didn't intervene. He was testing me. Watching to see if I'd crack.

"We met through mutual acquaintances," I said, keeping my voice light. "It was very fast. When you know, you know."

Victoria's smile sharpened. "How romantic."

She drifted away, and I exhaled. But the relief was short-lived. The next hour was a blur of champagne flutes and probing questions—how did we meet, where was the wedding, when would we start a family. I stumbled through answers, reciting the script Alex had given me, but each word felt hollow. Fake. The more I played the part, the more I felt like I was disappearing.

And through it all, Alex stood beside me, a marble statue in a tailored suit. He never touched me. Never smiled. When I reached for his hand during a particularly aggressive round of questioning, he subtly pulled away.

By the time we reached the auction, my cheeks ached from smiling and my soul felt threadbare.

"I need air," I whispered, excusing myself to the terrace.

The night air was cold, a blessed relief against my overheated skin. I gripped the railing, staring out at the city lights, trying to remember why I was doing this. Lily. I'm doing this for Lily.

"You're doing fine."

I startled at the sound of his voice. Alex stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the golden glow of the ballroom. For a moment, he almost looked human.

"Fine," I repeated, laughing bitterly. "Is that what we're calling it? I feel like I'm drowning."

"You're not." He stepped closer, and I caught the faint scent of his cologne—something dark and expensive. "You're holding your own. Victoria's already plotting your downfall, which means you've made an impression."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or a threat."

"With Victoria, it's both." His gaze lingered on me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something beneath the ice. Curiosity, maybe. Or pity. "You'll survive this, Mia."

"Will I?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Because I have to tell you, Alex, I'm not sure I know who I am anymore. I'm playing a part, and I'm terrified that one day I'll forget where the act ends and I begin."

He was quiet for so long I thought he'd turn and walk away. But instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch was so unexpected, so gentle, that I forgot to breathe.

"Then don't forget," he said, his voice low. "Remember why you're here. Hold onto that."

For a heartbeat, we were suspended in something unspoken. Then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment. He stepped back, the mask sliding into place.

"We need to return. The auction's about to start."

I nodded, following him back into the noise and the glitter. But as I walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Or maybe I was just fooling myself.

Because in the shadows at the edge of the terrace, I'd seen a glint of a camera lens. And somewhere in the city, someone was watching.