The press conference was scheduled at noon, but by ten thirty, Arabelle was already being ushered into a stylist's chair by Marlene.
"You'll be in the spotlight today," Marlene said crisply, motioning for the stylist to begin. "Think polished, elegant, and utterly untouchable."
Arabelle suppressed a sigh as her long dark hair was twisted into a sleek chignon. She wasn't new to cameras—she'd been photographed at enough charity galas in her father's orbit—but today felt different.
Today, she wasn't just a socialite. She was Mrs. Lancaster.
And everyone would be watching.
"I don't understand why I have to be there," Arabelle murmured, frowning as mascara was applied with practiced precision. "Can't Damian handle this on his own?"
Marlene arched a brow. "You're the new centerpiece of the Lancaster brand. The media doesn't just want the cold CEO—they want the fairytale. Picture-perfect couple. Lavish wedding. Emotional investment."
Arabelle scoffed. "Emotional investment? There's none to be had."
Marlene handed her a tablet. "Tell that to the millions watching."
Arabelle's gaze fell on the article displayed on the screen:
LANCASTER'S NEW BRIDE—ARABELLE SINCLAIR STUNS AT GALAA breathtaking vision in silver, Arabelle Sinclair made her first official appearance as Mrs. Damian Lancaster last night. Observers note the chemistry between the icy CEO and his unexpected wife…
Arabelle snorted. "Chemistry? They must have been watching a different couple."
But the photo accompanying the article told another story. Damian's hand at the small of her back. Her eyes lifted to his. Both of them mid-smile—albeit forced. To outsiders, it looked convincing.
Too convincing.
"We need more of that," Marlene said, tapping the image. "The public eats it up."
"And what if I decide I'm done faking it?"
Marlene met her gaze evenly. "Then they'll turn on you. And you'll no longer be a sympathetic figure. You'll be a villain who tricked the nation's favorite bachelor into a sham marriage."
Arabelle's stomach twisted. "So I'm the one who needs to keep pretending?"
"Both of you do. But you're the one people will watch more closely."
Downstairs, Damian stood before the fireplace in the estate's main hall, dressed in a navy-blue suit so sharply tailored it could cut glass. His posture was stiff, his expression unreadable, but Arabelle had started to see through the mask.
He was tense. Not just about the press, but something deeper.
He didn't look at her when she entered. But he noticed.
"You look…" He paused. "Appropriate."
Arabelle rolled her eyes. "Wow. Stop, or I might swoon."
His lips twitched. Was that… almost a smile?
Marlene stepped between them, all business. "The car is ready. Cameras will be outside the conference hall, so hold hands until you're inside. And remember—smile."
"Anything else?" Arabelle asked.
"Yes. Don't look like you want to stab each other."
The press conference was being held at the Lancaster Global HQ in a glittering glass atrium. As their car pulled up, a wall of flashing cameras and shouting reporters met them like a tidal wave.
Arabelle's fingers tensed. Damian glanced at her.
"You okay?"
"No."
"Good. That means you'll look like you're in love."
He stepped out of the car and offered his hand. Arabelle hesitated only a moment before taking it.
Their fingers laced.
To the cameras, they looked like the perfect couple stepping into their new life.
Inside the hall, a dozen media outlets were lined up before a raised stage bearing the Lancaster insignia. Damian's father, Gregory Lancaster, sat in the front row, his expression stern and scrutinizing. Evelyn sat beside him, her eyes softening when she saw Arabelle.
"You'll do fine," Damian said under his breath as they stood backstage.
She looked up at him. "Promise?"
He didn't answer.
The host announced their names, and the two of them walked onto the stage, applause rising like a wave. Arabelle kept her smile in place as they took their seats in front of the microphones.
Damian spoke first, his voice smooth and composed. "Good afternoon. Thank you for coming. As you know, I recently married Arabelle Sinclair, now Arabelle Lancaster. Our decision was private, but our lives, as you understand, are often public."
Arabelle nodded as the camera panned to her. "I know people have questions. Our marriage may seem sudden, but it's real. We are… learning and growing together."
The reporters smelled blood in the water.
A woman in the second row raised her hand. "Miss Sinclair—some say your marriage is a PR stunt to cover up the scandal involving Evelyn Lancaster. How do you respond?"
Before she could speak, Damian cut in. "That's false. My sister has nothing to do with this. Our decision to marry was personal and unrelated to any outside influence."
"But isn't it true," another journalist pressed, "that Sinclair Enterprises was nearing bankruptcy before the announcement?"
Arabelle lifted her chin. "Yes. My family business was struggling. Damian offered a partnership. That partnership became something more. Call it fate, or timing, but our relationship isn't defined by a balance sheet."
The room quieted for a moment.
That had sounded real. Even to her.
More questions followed—about their honeymoon (there wasn't one), about shared future plans (they lied gracefully), about children (Arabelle blushed at that one), and finally, about their dynamic as husband and wife.
"Mr. Lancaster," a bold reporter said. "Would you say you're in love with your wife?"
The room went still.
Damian turned to her, slowly, carefully.
And then, with no hesitation, he reached for her hand.
"Yes," he said. "I would."
Arabelle's heart slammed against her ribs.
Not because she believed him.
But because, for a split second, she wanted to.
Back in the car, the air was different. Warmer, perhaps. Or maybe just quieter.
Arabelle stared out the window again, but this time, her thoughts were elsewhere.
"That was… convincing," she said.
Damian gave her a sideways glance. "We fooled them, then?"
"I don't know. For a moment, I think I even fooled myself."
He didn't respond, but the tension in his jaw told her he'd felt it too.
"I need to know something," she said suddenly. "Why did you say it? That you loved me?"
"Because it was the right answer."
"No." She turned to him. "Don't give me the PR version. Give me you."
Damian exhaled slowly. "Because they were waiting to see if I'd say it. And because if I didn't, you would've become the target."
Her stomach flipped. "So you said it to protect me?"
"Yes."
"Why do you keep doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Protecting people. Me. Evelyn. Even if it means lying or hurting yourself."
He didn't answer for a long time. Then—
"Because I know what it's like to be unprotected."
Arabelle's breath caught.
It was the most honest thing he'd said since they met.
That night, after a quiet dinner served by invisible staff, Arabelle wandered the estate's library, running her fingers across the spines of old books she didn't recognize.
She heard his footsteps before he entered.
Damian leaned against the doorframe, watching her in the golden lamplight.
"Didn't peg you for the reading type," he said.
"Books don't lie."
"Neither do some people. If you're willing to look hard enough."
She turned, arms crossed. "Then tell me something true."
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate. When he stopped, they were inches apart.
"I don't like pretending either," he said. "But this marriage—it's more real than I expected."
Arabelle's heart fluttered.
And before she could stop herself, she whispered, "Then stop pretending."
For a heartbeat, he looked like he might close the distance. Might kiss her again.
But then his phone buzzed.
He pulled away, frowning at the screen.
"What is it?" she asked.
He didn't answer. Just handed her the phone.
It was a headline. A new one.
LANCASTER BRIDE'S SECRET ENGAGEMENT—PHOTOS SURFACE OF ARABELLE WITH MYSTERY MAN
Arabelle's face drained of color. "That's… that's from before…"
Damian's voice turned to ice. "Doesn't matter. The press doesn't care about timing."
Arabelle stared at the photo—her smiling, holding hands with a man from her past, taken without her knowledge.
The past was coming back to haunt them.
And this time, it could destroy everything.