Chapter 4: The Show of the Year

Natalia’s POV

The crystal chandelier of the Blackthorne private ballroom was so bright it could hurt anyone’s eyes.

The ballroom was packed. Men in tailored black suits, older women in diamond jewelry, foreign investors, and the board of directors who held the fate of Christian’s company in their hands.

Even reporters stood behind a red velvet rope, their cameras resting on their shoulders, waiting.

My father-in-law, Arthur Blackthorne, stood chatting with a political elite near the archway, laughing heartily.

“Where are they?” someone muttered nearby.

“They should have arrived by now.”

Then, the heavy oak doors swung open.

I took a breath and stepped inside.

I had chosen a black dress that hugged my hips and fell to a sharp hem just past my knees.

It was not as extravagant as most of the women’s clothes, but the way the light hit the material made all the men in the room turn their heads. My lips were painted blood-red, and my hair was tied up in an elegant bun, revealing my bare shoulders.

The whispering stopped.

“Is that… Natalia Brown?”

“She looks like a queen!.”

“I had no idea she was so beautiful.”

Several young heirs standing near the bar stopped talking, their eyes locking onto me.

Christian walked a step behind me, and I could feel his intense gaze burning at the back of my head. He was looking at the men staring at me, his jaw set in a straight line.

He looked annoyed. For a man who claimed to hate me, he sure hated other people looking at me.

Well, I guess Christian doesn’t like it when people pay more attention to the puppet than the puppet master.

Before he could open his mouth to say something, I turned around.

My eyes went wide. I let out a sharp, dramatic gasp, my hands flying to my chest as I rushed toward him. I grabbed his arm, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit.

“Oh my God, Christian!” I cried, loud enough for the reporters at the front to turn their heads.

I raised my hands and gently cupped his face, my thumb brushing against the cut on his forehead.

“My poor husband!” I gasped.

Christian stiffened, a look of sheer terror crossing his face. A few hours ago in the suite, I had been ready to rip his throat out with a shoe. Now, I was looking at him as if he were my entire world.

“What are you—” he started, his voice low and dangerous.

“Does it still hurt, darling?” I cut him off, my voice dripping with false concern. “I told you to be more careful, but you wouldn’t just listen to me.”

The old women near us melted immediately. “Oh, look at them. They are so sweet together.”

“Christian,” a deep voice interrupted.

Arthur Blackthorne approached, his eyes narrowing as he stared at his son’s forehead. “What happened to your face? Did you get into a fight on your wedding night?”

Christian darted his eyes to me, ready to spill the truth. But I was faster than he was.

I giggled girlishly and covered my face with my hands. “Oh… Father, please, don’t ask him. It’s embarrassing.”

The crowd leaned in, eager to hear the juicy gossip. I leaned toward his father, whispering just loudly enough for the nearby reporters to catch every word.

“We… we got a little too passionate last night,” I said, biting my lip. “Christian didn’t see the corner of the nightstand.”

There was a stunned silence.

Then the old chairman burst into hearty laughter. “Hahaha! So my son inherited my youthful spirit after all!”

He gave Christian a rough slap on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. “I knew marriage would soften you, son.” He turned his gaze to me, his eyes warm. “Take care of him, Natalia. He’s always been a hopeless romantic when a woman fusses over him.”

The crowd chuckled.

Beside me, Christian looked at me, his face as pale as chalk, but I secretly gave him a firm squeeze on the arm.

“Don’t ruin my story, darling,” I whispered under my breath.

He spoke through clenched teeth, his smile stiff and terrifying. “I swear to God, Natalia… I’ll kill you with my hands.”

“Smile for the cameras, husband,” I whispered in his ear, my eyes sparkling.

The reporters snapped their cameras, pushing through the red rope.

“Mrs. Blackthorne! Over here!”

“The public has been fascinated by your relationship. Who made the first move?” one of them demanded.

I laughed, resting my head on Christian’s shoulder. “Christian did, of course.”

Christian turned his horrified face to me.

“What?”

The reporters chuckled, scribbling something down on their notepads. They thought his shock was just cute wedding nerves.

“Many people have wondered how the future chairman of Blackthorne Enterprises met his wife. Could you share that story with us?”

I sighed dramatically, dreamily looking up at the ceiling.

“Well, it was actually very romantic. Christian spilled his coffee all over my dress at a charity event. He kept apologizing to me, started finding every excuse to see me again after that, and wouldn’t stop calling my phone. It took him a whole year to convince me to go on our first date.”

Christian’s face was as red as a boiled lobster.

Three years of lies and manipulation were crumbling before his very eyes. He used to tell everyone that I was a persistent nuisance who followed him around, but now I had just portrayed him as a lovesick fool who couldn’t live without me.

“Mr. Blackthorne, is it true you were so in love with Mrs. Blackthorne?” another asked, holding the microphone close to Christian’s face.

The whole ballroom was watching us. Christian looked at me, his eyes burning furiously.

Anyway, my smile was perfect. It was a trap. If he denied it on live television, he would look like a liar and humiliate the Blackthorne family name. If he agreed, he was stuck in my script.

He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “My wife is telling the truth.”

Flash! Flash!

The cameras flashed, capturing the image of the so-called loving couple.

“Kiss! Kiss!” the reporters shouted.

The crowd clapped, cheering. “Kiss! Kiss!”

My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my cool.

I stepped closer to Christian, my chest pressing against his. He bent down, gripping my waist, and from afar, it looked like a romantic kiss. However, our lips were an inch apart, our eyes burning with hatred.

“Consider yourself dead after this,” Christian growled, his breath fanning over my lips, his smile as fake as my own.

“Not before your stock price crashes,” I whispered, my eyes locking with his.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, just missing my red lipstick. The crowd cheered and clapped, the cameras capturing the perfect angle.

The ballroom doors opened again.

A murmur ran through the crowd. I looked over Christian’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink all night,” I continued, gazing lovingly at Christian. “He kept sneaking off kisses whenever he thought I wasn’t looking.”

The whole ballroom burst into laughter, and Arthur Blackthorne looked incredibly pleased. Christian looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. His face was a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“I couldn’t stand it any longer and started begging him to let me sleep.” I laughed, covering my face with my hands.

I turned to watch Christian sweetly. “Didn’t you, darling?”

He could not reveal the lie in front of his father and the shareholders.

“…Yes,” he muttered darkly.

Gemma’s face paled, and the bouquet of roses in her hands trembled. She looked at Christian, her mouth and eyes wide with confusion and something else that looked like jealousy. She did not know what had happened between us behind closed doors.

She actually believed his words.

A few moments later, Christian somehow managed to grab my wrist and pull me into a corner behind a massive marble pillar, out of sight and earshot of everyone. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish, Natalia?” he hissed, his fingers digging into my skin.

I slowly looked down at his hand, then up at his face. I smiled, my voice venomous. “The same thing you wanted, Christian. A perfect marriage.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I wrenched my wrist away from him and walked back into the ballroom, leaving him alone.

The classical music began playing, and the guests were chatting.

I stood near the chocolate fountain, sipping some water, watching Gemma whisper something furiously into her phone in the corner.

Suddenly, the grand ballroom doors burst open, and the music stopped.

Everyone turned their heads to look.

A man walked into the room. He was wearing a dark designer coat, his sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair.

It was Damian Vance, the award-winning actor, one of the biggest movie stars in the country, and a man whose face was on every billboard in the country.

Even Christian knew who he was.

The reporters immediately raised their cameras, but Damian Vance paid no attention to anyone, including the chairman.

He scanned the room until his eyes locked on me.

Damian walked directly toward me, the crowd making way for him. He stopped a few inches away from me, his handsome face looking really hurt.

“Honey…”

I stopped, my glass of water hovering over my lips.

Damian looked at me, pain flickering across his face. “You disappeared from my bed two nights ago.”

The room fell silent.

My heart stopped, and I blinked a few times, my mind racing. “…Excuse me?”

Damian gave me a sad smile, reaching out a hand as if he wanted to touch my cheek. “Did you really dump me because of this… thing?” he asked, motioning toward Christian with his chin. “Or was I just that easy to replace, Natalia?”

The bouquet of lilies fell from Gemma’s hands, scattering petals all over the floor. Christian stormed toward Damian, his fists shaking with fury.