Chapter 8: The Dinner Gamble

By the time I got home from the courthouse, my phone looked like it was trying to self destruct. Fortytwo missed calls. Dozens of texts. A string of frantic emails from my PR director marked URGENT.

I barely had time to put my bag down before I hit the first voicemail.

"Mia, it's David from the board. We all just saw the news. Tell me this is a joke."

The second was worse.

"This is Fiona. Our investors are asking if you've merged with Wolfe Enterprises. They think the marriage announcement is a signal. You need to clarify today."

By the third, my mother's voice filled the room, warm and furious all at once.

"Mia Constanza Cross, you got married without telling me? Without us? No church? No family? No white dress? What is wrong with you?"

I hung up before she could start listing the names of every auntie who would be "heartbroken" by my betrayal of tradition.

The doorbell rang. Liam, in a perfectly tailored navy suit, stood on my porch like nothing was on fire.

"You ready for dinner?" he asked, as if I didn't look like a woman on the verge of cardiac arrest.

I crossed my arms. "My board thinks we're planning a merger. My mother thinks I've personally declared war on family tradition. And thanks to you, I've got two PR crises before dessert."

"You're welcome."

"Not funny."

He smirked. "It's only a crisis if you don't control the narrative. Tonight, we walk into that investor dinner smiling, hand in hand, and we show them exactly what they want to see-a united front."

"And what do you want to see?" I asked.

He didn't answer right away. His gaze swept over me ,my fitted black dress, my hair pinned back with precision-before he said, "That you can play this game as well as I can."

The dinner was held in the glasswalled rooftop of the Langford Hotel, all polished silver and skyline views. Liam's board members clustered near the bar, already watching us.

I pasted on my best CEO smile. "Remember the rules," I whispered. "No real romance, no actual touching that lingers, and absolutely no"

"Relax, wife." His hand slid easily into mine, warm and confident. "I'm not here to ruin you."

"Could've fooled me."

We'd barely reached the first table before a tall man in a steel-gray suit stepped forward. Charles Redmond-head of Wolfe Enterprises' main competitor and, judging by his shark-like grin, a man who lived for other people's chaos.

"Congratulations," he said smoothly. "A merger of business and pleasure. How very... efficient of you."

"Thank you, Charles," Liam said, squeezing my hand just enough to keep my polite mask from cracking. "But there's no merger just marriage."

Charles smiled wider. "We'll see."

We moved on, but the tension stayed with me, coiling in my stomach. Every toast, every conversation, carried the same unspoken question: Was this marriage a corporate strategy?

Halfway through the evening, my phone buzzed under the table. A text from my mother.

We will have a proper wedding, Mia. Even if I have to drag you down the aisle myself.

I set it face-down, took a sip of champagne, and leaned toward Liam. "If I survive tonight, I'm adding another clause to our contract surviving my mother."

He chuckled low, like this whole circus was his idea of fun. "Deal."