Chapter Six

Paige

The penthouse is too quiet. I am used to my one bedroom apartment downtown where you hear all types of noises. Even the air was different here. 

The soft hum of the city far below. The faint tick of a designer clock I didn’t buy and could never afford. Even the fabric of the dress I am wearing feels heavenly. 

I have never been really into the social scene, I never really understood it, yet tonight I was going to be the subject of scrutiny. 

I stand in front of the floor length mirror in Dante De Luca’s guest bedroom, which is my bedroom now, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.

I am wearing a long black dress which is supposed to match Dante’s sleek black suit. 

The fabric clings softly to my waist before falling straight to the floor, elegant without being loud. A deep but tasteful slit runs up my left leg, stopping just high enough to make me uncomfortable every time I move. 

The neckline is simple, square cut, revealing my collarbones but nothing else which I appreciate given almost my whole thigh is out . 

I smoothen my hands down the fabric again, nerves buzzing under my skin. The stylist Dante hired without asking me had said it was “perfect for a future Mrs. De Luca.” The words still make my stomach twist.

My shoes sit beside the bed: black heels with thin straps and sharp, unforgiving lines. I slip my feet into them carefully, bracing myself as the added height throws off my balance for half a second. I’m not used to shoes that cost more than my monthly groceries but I have to dress the part tonight. 

Ofcourse they gave me a small clutch, structured and minimalist, with gold detailing so subtle it almost looks accidental to match the look. 

I check inside for the third time making sure I have the essentials, phone, lipstick, tissues, that's all that could fit in there anyway. 

I move back to the mirror and stare at my hair.

I had argued with the stylist about wearing it down. Loose hair feels like armor to me, something to hide behind. But tonight isn’t about comfort. It’s about optics.

So I gather my hair at the nape of my neck and twist it into a low, smooth knot. Not severe. Not soft either. Controlled. Every strand tucked neatly into place, secured with a simple pin. The result makes me look a little older, more composed.

I swallow and lean closer to the mirror, applying a final coat of nude lipstick. My makeup is understated defined eyes, clean skin, nothing dramatic. The kind of look that whispers wealth instead of shouting it.

I don’t feel wealthy though, I feel like an imposter.

When I step out of the bedroom, the penthouse feels even bigger. Dante is already waiting near the entrance, dressed in a tailored black suit that probably costs more than my entire life. 

The jacket fits him perfectly, his broad shoulders sharp beneath the fabric. His tie is dark, his shirt crisp white, his cufflinks understated.

I take two steps into the room, my heels clicking softly against the marble.

Dante turns and for the first time, our eyes meet, at first he seemed surprised, his gaze lingers for a bit, but he doesn't say a word. 

His gaze starts at my face, slow and assessing, then drifts down taking in the dress, the slit, the heels. It lingers just long enough to make my skin heat, before snapping back to my eyes. His expression doesn’t change once, but the weight of his attention settles over me, heavy and deliberate, and my pulse stutters in. response. I feel like I am auditioning for a role and I am failing terribly. 

“Ready,” I say, breaking the silence before it swallows me whole.

He nods once. “Let’s go.”

We take the private elevator down to the garage, the air between us thick and charged. I keep my eyes forward, my posture straight, reminding myself to breathe. This is just a role, a performance.

The limo is waiting when we arrive, glossy black and imposing. The driver steps out immediately, opening Dante’s door first. Dante pauses only briefly before gesturing for me to go ahead.

I hesitate, just a fraction of a second then step inside. This is my first time in a limo, and I knew he could tell just by my reaction. 

The leather seat is cool beneath my fingers as I sit, smoothing my dress again. Dante follows, sliding in beside me with practiced ease. The door shuts quietly, sealing us in and the car pulls away.

For a few seconds, neither of us speak to each other. 

The city lights blur past the tinted windows, streaks of gold and white against the dark. I focus on them, on anything but the man beside me whose intoxicating scent has filled the entire limo.

“Tonight,” Dante finally speaks, his voice calm and even, “you will stay close to me at all times.”

I glance at him, but his eyes remain on his phone.

“You will not speak unless spoken to,” he continues. “If someone addresses you, you keep your answers brief and neutral. Smile when appropriate. Do not overshare.”

My jaw tightens.

“If I place my hand on your back,” he adds, “you stop talking Immediately and do not flinch, we have to appear natural, in love in order to sell this”

I turn fully toward him now. “Excuse me?”

His gaze finally shifts to me, sharp and unyielding. “This is not a social gathering despite what it seems. It’s a business event. Every interaction matters, everyone important will be there and every news outlet, gossip outlet will be there.”

“I know how to behave Dante,” I snap. “You don’t have to coach me like I’m some little baby who doesn’t know which fork to use.”

The words are out before I can even stop them, irritation bubbling over after days of swallowing it down. My hands clench around the clutch in my lap, the car feels smaller suddenly.

Dante doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t react the way I expect him to either, which somehow makes it worse.

He turns toward me fully now, his presence filling the space between us. “You are my fiancee,” he says coldly. “Soon to be my wife. And when we are in public, you will do as I say.”

My chest tightens. “This wasn’t”

“Leave the attitude in the car Paige,” he cuts in. “You can pick it up when we are done and not in the presence of a million cameras.”

I stare at him, stunned by the sheer audacity. “You are unbelievable.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes and he seems irritated. “This situation exists because of you Paige, you put us here not me.”

The words land like a slap in the face, and he is right it was all my fault.

I open my mouth to argue, but he isn’t finished quite yet.

“Remember something, Paige,” he says, leaning slightly closer. His voice drops, controlled and dangerous. “If this doesn’t work, I walk away with a dented image at worst.” My throat goes dry

“You,” he finishes, “you will lose everything, don't forget that.”

The car slows as we approach the venue, lights growing brighter ahead. I look away, blinking hard, refusing to let him see the impact of his words, trying to hold back the tears threatening my eyes.

So I just remind myself who I am doing this for, the little girl that owns my entire heart, Kyla. 

I straighten my shoulders, forcing my expression into something composed, something worthy of the lie I helped create, the limo comes to a stop.

Dante steps out first, the door opening to flashes of cameras and the low hum of voices calling his name. He turns back and offers me his hand, I hesitate for a second before taking it.

The moment my feet touch the ground, the noise swells, photographers calling his name, murmurs rippling through the crowd.

Dante’s grip tightens slightly,almost like he sensed my whole body had tensed up and somehow it works as he leads me back to the red carpet.