Becoming Mrs. Gage: part 2

Alessia’s point of view

My fingers moved hesitantly over the screen of my phone as the unknown number flashed again.

Ring…

Ring…

Ring…

I shouldn’t answer. I should ignore it just like I’d been ignoring the ache in my chest and the way my life has been going these last few days. But something in me refused to let it go.

I took a deep breath and answered.

“Hello…?”

Silence.

Then, a breath.

And a whisper.

“He knows.”

My heart jumped. “Know what? Who is this?”

“The one you trust most. Your father. He’s hiding something from you.”

I shot up, my grip tightening around the phone. “Who are you? What are you talking about?”

Click.

The call ended.

I looked at the screen like it might explain itself. My heart beating as fast as it could, questions dashing in and out.

Was it a prank? A threat? One of Ethan’s bitter exes?

I called back. Nothing.

Again. And again.

Unreachable.

Hours passed and still no answer. At some point, I made it to the kitchen and poured water into a glass, but still it couldn’t calm the tension inside me.

My father? A secret? It didn’t add up. He was the man who raised me with bedtime stories about courage and truth. Who taught me that love was sacred, and lies were poisonous?

No. He couldn’t be hiding anything.

Could he?

I sat down, stared at nothing. The words “he knows” kept replaying in my mind like a song with no means.

The next morning, the sound of unfamiliar voices woke me up from sleep.

Makeup artists.

Stylists.

A bridal consultant.

A tailor pins ivory and silk to mannequins.

And a tall, elegant woman with a clipboard introduced herself as Sarah.

“Your wedding planner,” she smiled.

“Or what?” I ask, still half asleep.

“We’re out of time,” she said, opening her book. “Three days isn’t ideal, but we’ll make magic happen.”

“Three days?” I echoed.

Then Ethan entered, calm and smug, arms folded like a king.

“Didn’t we talk about this yesterday?” he said casually.

“No. You didn’t.”

He shrugged. “Now you know.”

Just like that.

I pulled him aside. At that point, my voice was bold. “You can’t just spring this on me. A wedding in three days? What if I’m not ready?”

He leaned closer, his breath calm and cruel. “You don’t have to be ready. You just have to obey.”

Then he walked away.

Later that evening, my phone rang. And it was my father.

Dad… I called out

His voice made my heart beat. “You’re my miracle, Alessia,” he said. “I’m proud of you.” I love you.”

I was calm for a while. He had no idea what I was giving up for him.

“Dad...” I whispered. “Can I ask you something? Is there anything you’re hiding from me?”

Static.

“Hello? Hello?”

“I can’t hear you!”

The line went dead.

I tried again.

No connection.

My fingers shocked as I stared at the phone.

What if it wasn’t just delusion? What if the stranger was right?

And more than that, why hadn’t he ever asked how I paid for his treatment? He knew we were broke. He knew the restaurant was dying. Was he pretending not to notice?

Or… had he always known?

A knock pulled me from my thoughts.

“It’s time for etiquette training,” a voice called gently.

I closed my eyes. Exhaled.

There was a moment, a fleeting, forbidden one, where I wondered what it would be like to run. Just vanish. Disappear from this nightmare.

But I couldn’t.

Because I signed up for this.

Because of the contract.

Because of Dad.

Two years.

Just two years, and then I’d be free.

I owed him this lie. I owed him this fairytale.

Even if it killed me.

He had dreamed of me marrying a wealthy man. But this wasn’t love. It wasn’t destiny.

It was survival.

And I was the price.

I rose slowly, brushing off invisible weight from my arms. I would wear a mask. Smile when I needed to. Cry in secret.

No one could see the signs.

A staff member passed me. “Your dress fitting is at five. The press will arrive at six.”

I turned. “Press?”

“Yes, ma’am. For the engagement shoot.”

Engagement shoot.

The word "press" echoed in my mind like a song.

I wasn’t ready. Not for the cameras. Not for the lights. And certainly not for the lie.

I closed the door behind me and rested against it, my heart beating as fast as you could think. Engagement shoot. In a few hours. I didn’t even have the strength to fake a smile.

But fake it I would.

Because what other choice did I have?

The stylists and assistants moved around me. Someone powdered my face. Another zipped up my gown. I stared at myself in the mirror and barely recognized myself. I looked beautiful.

As the photographer prepared the living room for the shoot, Ethan walked in, bold in his outfit, every hair in place. His eyes were locked on me for a second, but he didn’t stop.

He didn’t say a word.

He just stood in front of the camera, with a commanding presence.

"Stand here," a photographer directed, placing me next to him. I tried to hold myself together. My hands trembled as I held Ethan's.

He noticed.

"Try not to ruin the photo," he muttered under his breath, with a smile.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run.

But I didn’t.

Because I couldn’t.

Flash after flash captured our manufactured joy.

"Look into his eyes, Miss Alessia. Perfect. Now tilt your head slightly. Smile. No, softer. Like you're in love."

I obeyed.

Because love wasn’t required here.

Obedience was.

After what felt like forever, the shoot ended. The press was ushered out, and the perfect photos were already being sent to the media with the headline: *"Ethan Gage and Mystery Fiancée: The Billion-Dollar Love Story".

Love story.

What a joke.

I walked back to my room. I didn’t even bother to unzip the gown. I just stood in front of the mirror, staring at the fantasy game.

There was a knock.

Not a gentle one.

I turned. Ethan stood by the door, still dressed, still unreadable.

"You did well today," he said flatly.

I glared at him. "Don’t pretend you care."

"I don’t. But the investors do. And that’s what matters."

He turned to leave, but paused. "Tomorrow, you will be meeting my parents. Don’t embarrass me."

Before I could say a word, he left.

I sat on the bed, looking s

o confused. I was becoming someone else and I was afraid.

Afraid of how easy it was starting to feel.

Afraid of the man I was marrying.

"Please, God.

That was the only prayer I could say confidently.