Natalie's POV
I don't sleep after the threatening text.
How can I sleep when someone is planning to expose our fake marriage tomorrow?
At 3 AM, I'm still sitting by the window, staring at my phone, trying to figure out who sent the message. At 4 AM, I'm pacing my bedroom. At 5 AM, I give up and take a shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the panic.
It doesn't.
By 6 AM, I'm dressed and standing outside Dominic's bedroom door, hand raised to knock.
I hesitate. He said his room was off-limits. But this is an emergency.
I knock.
Silence.
I knock harder. "Dominic. We need to talk."
The door swings open so fast I stumble back.
Dominic stands there in pajama pants and nothing else, and my brain short-circuits. He's all lean muscle and sharp edges, with a scar running across his ribs that looks like it has a violent story.
"This better be life or death," he growls.
"Someone's threatening to expose us." I shove my phone at him. "Look."
He reads the message, and I watch his expression shift from annoyed to murderous.
"When did you get this?"
"Last night. Right after you went to bed."
"And you waited until now to tell me?" His voice is dangerous.
"You said your room was off-limits!"
"Threats override privacy!" He stalks past me, phone pressed to his ear. "Marcus. We have a problem. Someone knows about the contract and they're planning to go public today."
I follow him to his study. He's already pulling up security footage on multiple screens.
"How many people knew about the contract?" he demands.
"Just us. Victoria. The judge. Marcus."
"Someone talked. Or someone's been watching." He types rapidly. "Marcus is pulling phone records now. If this came from inside my organization, I'll destroy whoever leaked it."
"What if it's not your people? What if it's someone from my side?"
"You don't have a side anymore." The words are brutal. "I made sure of that."
Right. Because he systematically destroyed all my connections.
"So what do we do?"
"We find who sent this before they can damage us." He pulls up more screens. "The threat said 'starting tomorrow.' That gives us a few hours before they act."
"Unless they meant midnight. Which already passed."
Dominic's jaw clenches. "Then we're already too late."
His phone rings. Marcus.
Dominic answers on speaker. "Talk to me."
"Sir, we have a problem. Someone leaked photos to the gossip sites an hour ago."
My stomach drops.
"What photos?" Dominic demands.
"You and Miss Hartley—Mrs. Ashford—at the hotel. The night she signed the contract." Marcus sounds grim. "The photos show her arriving alone, looking distressed. Victoria meeting her at the door. You appearing later. The caption reads: 'Secret business meeting before secret wedding? What's billionaire CEO Dominic Ashford really hiding?'"
"They don't have proof of anything," Dominic says.
"Not yet. But the narrative is starting. People are questioning the timing. The secrecy. They're calling it a marriage of convenience."
"Which it is," I whisper.
Dominic silences me with a look. "Marcus, I want those photos taken down. Now."
"Already working on it. But sir... there's more." Marcus hesitates. "Someone sent an anonymous tip to the business press. They're claiming the marriage is fake. That you needed a wife for the inheritance clause and paid Miss Hartley to marry you."
My blood turns to ice.
"Do they have proof?" Dominic asks.
"They claim to have documentation. They're offering to sell it to the highest bidder."
"Find them." Dominic's voice is lethal. "I don't care what it costs. Find who's selling this information and make them disappear."
He ends the call and looks at me.
"This is bad," I breathe.
"This is war." He's already pulling on a shirt. "Get dressed. Professional. We're going on the offensive."
"What are you talking about?"
"If someone's trying to sell the story that our marriage is fake, we're going to sell a better story." He heads for his closet. "We're going public. Today. Our way."
"How?"
"There's a charity breakfast in two hours. Every major media outlet in Chicago will be there. We show up together, madly in love, and we give them the romance story of the year."
"Dominic, I can't—"
"You can and you will." He emerges fully dressed, looking like the billionaire CEO the world knows. "This is what you signed up for. Playing the perfect wife. Time to earn your money."
The cruelty of it stings.
But he's right. I signed the contract.
Two hours later, I'm in a designer dress I don't remember owning, standing next to Dominic in a ballroom full of Chicago's elite.
Cameras are everywhere.
"Smile," Dominic murmurs, his hand on my lower back. "Look like you're the happiest woman alive."
I paste on a smile that hurts.
A reporter approaches immediately. "Mr. Ashford! Congratulations on your marriage. Can you tell us how you and your bride met?"
"Of course." Dominic pulls me closer, and his voice softens in a way I've never heard. "I met Natalie three months ago at a charity event. She was brilliant, passionate about her work, and I was immediately drawn to her. We tried to keep things private, but when you meet the person you want to spend your life with, you don't wait."
The lie sounds so convincing I almost believe it.
"And the secret wedding?" another reporter asks. "Why City Hall instead of a big celebration?"
"Because our relationship is about us, not spectacle." Dominic's hand tightens on my waist. "Natalie and I value privacy. We wanted our wedding to be intimate and meaningful."
"Mrs. Ashford, how does it feel to marry one of Chicago's most eligible bachelors?"
All eyes turn to me.
This is it. My moment to sell the lie.
"I feel incredibly lucky," I say, and I'm surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "Dominic is brilliant, driven, and surprisingly romantic when the cameras aren't watching."
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
"And the rumors?" A gossip columnist pushes forward. "Some people are saying this marriage is too convenient. That it's just business."
Dominic's expression goes cold. "Anyone who knows me knows I don't do anything halfway. I married Natalie because I love her. Everything else is just noise from people who have nothing better to do than manufacture drama."
His defense sounds genuine. Protective, even.
"One more question!" A reporter shouts. "Mrs. Ashford, what does your father think of this marriage?"
The question catches me off guard.
"My father..." I struggle to find words that aren't lies. "My father wants me to be happy. And Dominic makes me happy."
It's technically true. Dominic's money is saving Dad's life. That makes me something close to happy.
"Thank you, everyone." Victoria appears, smoothly redirecting attention. "Mr. and Mrs. Ashford would like to enjoy the breakfast. Thank you for your well wishes."
We're ushered to a private table, and I can finally breathe.
"Well done," Dominic says quietly. "That was convincing."
"So was your performance."
"It wasn't a performance." His eyes meet mine. "I meant what I said. Anyone who questions this marriage will answer to me."
"Why? It's not real."
"It's real enough." He picks up his phone, checking messages. "And I protect what's mine."
"I'm not yours."
"For the next year, you are." He stands. "I need to make some calls. Don't leave this table without security."
He walks away, and I'm left alone with my coffee and the weight of the lies we just told.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
My hands shake as I open it.
Very impressive performance, Mrs. Ashford. You almost had me convinced. But I know the truth. And by noon today, so will everyone else. Check your email. I've sent you a preview of what I'm releasing to the press.
You have two hours to wire $5 million to the account listed below. If you don't, the contract—the real contract—goes public. Every clause. Every dollar amount. Every lie.
The choice is yours. Pay up, or watch your perfect marriage crumble.
Tick tock.
I open my email with trembling fingers.
And there it is.
A PDF of our contract. Every page. Every signature.
Section 1: Terms of Marriage (One Year Duration) Section 4: Financial Compensation ($10 million upon divorce) Section 7: Public Appearance Requirements Section 12: Termination Clause
Everything. Every piece of evidence that our marriage is fake.
And someone is threatening to release it in two hours unless we pay $5 million.
I look up, scanning the ballroom for Dominic.
He's across the room, talking to board members, completely unaware that our entire arrangement is about to explode.
I stand up, but Victoria blocks my path.
"Mrs. Ashford, you need to stay at the table—"
"I need to talk to Dominic. Now."
"He's in an important meeting—"
"I don't care!" My voice rises. "Someone has our contract. The real contract. They're going to release it in two hours unless we pay them."
Victoria's face goes white. "Show me."
I show her the email.
She immediately pulls out her phone. "Mr. Ashford, we have a situation. You need to come to the table immediately."
Dominic appears thirty seconds later, and I watch his expression turn to stone as he reads the email.
"Five million dollars," he says quietly. "They're extorting us."
"Can we pay it?" I ask.
"We could. But paying extortion never works. They'll just come back for more." He's typing rapidly on his phone. "Marcus is tracing the email now. If we can find who sent this before they release the contract—"
My phone dings.
New message: Time's up. I got impatient. Check the business news.
Dominic's phone explodes with notifications.
So does Victoria's.
And mine.
Every major news outlet in Chicago is running the same headline:
"FAKE MARRIAGE EXPOSED: Billionaire's Contract Wife Scandal"
And below it, pages from our contract.
Our secret is out.
Dominic's hand clenches so hard his phone screen cracks.
"It's over," I whisper. "They know everything."
"No." His voice is deadly calm. "It's just beginning."
He looks at me, and the fury in his eyes is terrifying.
"Someone just declared war on us. And I'm going to destroy them."
But as reporters start rushing toward our table, cameras flashing, questions screaming, I realize one horrible truth:
The person who exposed us didn't just want money.
They wanted to destroy us.
And they just succeeded.