Three days passed like a slow-burning fuse.
Emily barely saw Alexander again. He was a ghost in his own mansion—present in whispers, felt in the lingering scent of expensive cologne, heard in the sharp clip of his shoes echoing down marble halls. But not seen.
Meanwhile, Emily was being transformed.
Miranda had summoned a stylist, two makeup artists, and a fashion consultant—all sworn to silence, all meticulous in their work. The woman Emily saw in the mirror wasn't the same one who'd lived in a tiny flat above a bakery. This version wore silk gowns, walked in heels, and had flawless skin glowing under soft lights. But her eyes… her eyes held the same quiet storm.
"You carry elegance well," the stylist said as she zipped up a midnight-blue dress on the third evening.
Emily gave a tight smile. "It's all smoke and mirrors."
She was dressed for the public dinner—a high-profile charity gala where she would debut as Mrs. Knight. A role, not a life. A mask, not a marriage.
The car ride was silent again, though this time, Alexander sat beside her.
He looked devastating in a black suit, tailored like it was sewn straight onto him. His cologne, dark and spicy, filled the car. His fingers drummed lightly on his knee.
"You'll speak only when spoken to," he said without looking at her. "Smile. Look at me as if you trust me. People will be watching."
"And if someone asks how we met?" she asked.
His lips twitched. "Tell them fate intervened. No one asks more after that."
She laughed under her breath. "Right, Fate."
The venue was a grand estate bathed in golden light and crawling with London's elite. Flashing cameras met them at the entrance. Alexander offered his arm. She hesitated only a moment before slipping her hand through.
They were the perfect couple—on the outside.
Inside, the ballroom sparkled with chandeliers, laughter, and ambition. Emily's stomach knotted as socialites and business tycoons glanced her way, eyes scanning, judging.
Alexander whispered close, "You're doing well."
"I'm pretending," she said.
He looked at her. "That's all anyone does here."
For two hours, Emily played the part—smiling, nodding, laughing on cue. She was introduced as Mrs. Emily Knight, wife to the enigmatic Alexander Knight, a man few truly knew but all feared or respected.
Near the end of the night, a man approached—older, silver-haired, with sharp eyes that didn't smile.
"Alexander," he said with a knowing tone. "And this must be the new bride."
"Victor," Alexander replied, his tone careful. "This is Emily."
Victor took Emily's hand, his grip firm. "Charming. I didn't think you'd ever settle."
"It's a new season," Alexander said. "We all evolve."
Victor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Or adapt."
Emily didn't miss the tension. After Victor walked away, she turned to Alexander.
Friend of yours?
"Enemy in disguise, he muttered. Be careful around him.
The warning lingered.
When they returned to the mansion later that night, Emily peeled off the layers of glamour, scrubbing her face until she found herself again.
She stared into the mirror, whispering, "Who am I becoming?"
Outside, the house remained silent. But something in the shadows shifted. Emily didn't know that the night's performance had stirred more than whispers—it had placed her on a new path, one with higher stakes, deeper secrets, and dangerous consequences.
And Alexander Knight was at the center of it all.
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