AMARA'S POV
The clock ticks past eight when I hear the elevator hum.
My pulse jumps — instinctively, like it always does when he's near.
Alexander walks in, his presence swallowing the silence whole. The staff straighten immediately. Even the air feels like it bows to him. He shrugs off his coat, drops his keys on the counter, and glances in my direction.
"Dinner?" I ask carefully, keeping my voice neutral.
He doesn't answer right away. Just studies me — like he's weighing something behind that unreadable stare.
Then, finally:
"No. We'll be eating out tomorrow night."
I blink. "Okay… where?"
"The Voss Enterprises annual gala."
My spoon pauses midair. "The what?"
He leans against the counter, arms folded, gaze cold but steady. "It's compulsory. You'll be attending with me."
I almost laugh. "Compulsory? I didn't even know there was a gala."
"Now you do." His tone doesn't rise, but the authority in it cuts like ice. "It's important that you're there. Appearances matter."
I set the spoon down slowly. "Appearances," I repeat. "You mean your image."
He doesn't deny it.
"Don't worry," he says after a beat. "You won't have to stress about anything. Everything you'll need is already handled."
I frown. "What does that even mean?"
He gestures toward the sleek black box sitting on the marble table — one I hadn't noticed before.
Inside: a silver gown that glimmers like water, matching heels, and a velvet jewelry case.
My heart skips. "You picked these?"
"Yes."
I arch a brow. "You chose my dress. My jewelry. My entire look."
"It's an event for my company," he says, his tone clipped. "You'll be representing me. I don't want mistakes."
The words hit harder than I expect — sharp, impersonal, cold.
For a second, I just stare at the dress, then back at him.
"So I'm your prop now?"
He exhales slowly, pushing off the counter. "Don't make this difficult, Amara."
"Difficult?" My voice trembles — not from fear, but fury. "You think I'm just going to stand next to you, smile for your cameras, wear your jewelry like I belong in your world—"
"You do belong in my world," he interrupts softly, dangerously. "At least for now."
That stops me cold.
For now.
Like this marriage is a business quarter he's waiting to close.
My throat tightens, but I refuse to let him see it. "Fine," I say after a beat. "I'll wear your perfect little dress. I'll play my part. But don't expect me to be quiet while you treat me like an extension of your company."
His jaw tightens, and for a heartbeat, something dark flickers in his eyes. "Careful, Amara. The world you're about to step into doesn't forgive defiance easily."
I meet his gaze head-on. "Then I guess it's about time the world learned how to deal with me."
The silence between us is sharp enough to bleed.
He finally turns, muttering under his breath, "Be ready by seven."
And just like that — he walks away, leaving the air trembling with the weight of things neither of us wants to admit.
I look back at the gown, my reflection shimmering faintly in the fabric.
It's beautiful.
Cold.
Just like him.
And tomorrow night, I'll have to wear it — and play his perfect wife.
But I swear… I'll make sure the world knows she's no one's puppet.