Beneath His Cold Vows

Alicia's POV

The first time I saw the photo, I thought it was fake.

Elena shoved her phone under my nose while I tried to make sense of quarterly reports that looked like they'd been designed to kill brain cells. The screen was bright, the colors too sharp, like the world was about to laugh in my face.

"Sweetness," she said, her voice dripping with the drama she usually saved for office gossip. "Your husband is trending again."

I didn't look up right away. Edward Valentine was always trending — business magazines, financial blogs, the occasional society page. He was the kind of man who looked like he owned the air people breathed, and for some reason, the world loved to watch.

But there was something in Elena's tone this time. Something that made my chest feel tight, like my heart already knew before my eyes did.

I glanced at the screen.

And locked in place.

Edward Valentine. My husband. Black tuxedo, cufflinks glinting, looking like sin and old money rolled into one. He wore that practiced half-smile, a smile that made people believe him even when they shouldn't, and shoulders broad enough to carry an empire as if it weighed nothing.

But that wasn't what made my throat close up.

It was the woman on his arm.

Tall. Elegant. A diamond necklace blazing under the cameras, every facet begging to be noticed. Her smile didn't just say 'I belong here.' It screamed it.

The caption read:

'The Valentine Heir and His Mystery Lady—Love in the Air?'

I couldn't feel my fingers.

The office noise faded.

Elena leaned on my desk, smirking like she was serving me the best gossip of the year. "She's stunning, right? Word is, she's his childhood crush. No wonder he looked so happy tonight."

Childhood crush.

The words hit like ice water down my spine.

No.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

Lucy.

Of course, it was Lucy.

The same girl who once cornered me in the school bathroom and laughed so hard she cried because my shoes had visible glue on the sides. The one who told everyone who'd listen that my makeup looked like I did it in the dark. The one who always made sure I knew exactly where I stood on the ladder of life — somewhere near the bottom while she floated at the top with her perfect hair and perfect everything.

That Lucy.

And now she was on my husband's arm, smiling for the cameras as though she had finally won something only she understood they were competing for.

My husband.

I shut my laptop so hard the sound cracked through the office like a gunshot.

Elena jumped. "Whoa. You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, but my voice betrayed me. Too sharp, too thin.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You sure? You look like you swallowed a lemon whole."

"Lena, I'm fine. Just tired." I stuffed my things into my bag, refusing to stay another second under that pitying stare before I fractured.

The drive home felt endless. Like the universe had stretched out every red light to see if I'd break before reaching my driveway.

But nothing slowed down the movie playing in my head.

Her hand on his arm.

The way he leaned towards her.

The cameras were eating it up like they were the perfect couple.

He had never looked at me like that. Not once in two years.

Two years ago, Edward Valentine had walked into my life with a contract and the kind of confidence that made you want to either throw him out a window or kiss him just to shut him up.

"Marry me for a year. Pretend for my father's sake. When it's over, you walk away. Clean. Simple. No strings."

His father had stage-four cancer. The board wanted a stable, family-oriented heir. A man who looked like he was ready to take the reins without burning the empire to the ground.

And me?

I had a sister who needed heart surgery. Parents are drowning in debt after our logistics business crashed. My master's degree at Oxford was hanging by a thread because I was working three part-time jobs just to survive.

So yes. When a billionaire offers you a deal that can save your family, you don't overthink it.

I married him.

I smiled for the cameras. Stood by his side at charity events. Learned how to wear expensive dresses. Stayed out of his way like the contract demanded.

And then the year ended.

But we didn't.

Edward asked me to stay. Said I made him better. Said I completed him in some way.

And like the fool I was, I stayed.

Because somewhere between the cold dinners and the polite conversations, I started to want...more.

Pulling into the driveway, I saw his car was already there.

Of course it was.

I slammed my Porsche door harder than necessary and marched into the house, heels hitting the marble floor like trouble.

The mansion was resplendent, like it always was. A place so steeped in grandeur you lowered your voice without realizing it.

Edward was in the living room, jacket off, tie loosened, looking like a cover of some business magazine that declared him Most Eligible, Most Handsome, Most Everything.

He looked up as I walked in. "Hey."

"Hey." My voice was flat.

His eyes scanned my face. "You okay? You look...tense."

"Tense?" My voice carried a bite I couldn't swallow back. "Maybe."

He raised a brow. "Work?"

"Your big event tonight," I said. "Seemed...fun."

Something flickered in his expression. Too quick for me to catch.

"It was business," he said smoothly. I almost laughed, he could've sold the line to a boardroom. "You know how it is."

Business.

Right.

I tossed my bag onto the couch and kicked off my heels before they killed me.

"Dinner?" he asked, casual as ever, pretending he hadn't just set the Internet on fire.

"Not hungry," I said, heading toward the bedroom.

The shower was hot enough to burn, but it didn't wash away the image of him and Lucy.

Her hand on his arm. That smile. The way he leaned into her as if she belonged there.

No tears came. No sound either. Only the brutal snap inside my chest.

Because he had never once taken me to one of those events as his wife. Not once. The only time he ever brought me along was when it served a purpose—a performance, nothing more.

I was good enough to marry.

Good enough to smile for his dying father and those he needed me to. But not good enough to stand beside him now when the cameras flashed.

When I came out of the shower, towel wrapped tight, Edward was sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone.

He looked up. "I'm heading out again. Dinner with Mother."

As expected. The woman who looked at me and saw the gold-digger who hit the jackpot.

"It's past eight," I said.

"She insisted." His fingers tightened around the watch strap before he fastened it into place.

I stared at him. The man I married for money. At the man I accidentally fell for.

At the stranger in my own house.

"Edward," I said before I could stop myself. "Do you even want to be married to me?"

He stilled for a moment, then smoothed cologne along his throat, measured, practiced, like ritual could drown out the question.

When he finally spoke, his voice was as composed as ever.

"Maybe," he said, not looking at me, "we should talk about an open marriage."