Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 ADRIA

Perfect meaning invisible. Perfect meaning exactly what he wanted me to be.

"Thank you," I murmured.

He held out his hand and I took it, letting him lead me to his car like I was a child who couldn't be trusted to walk on her own. The Mercedes smelled like his cologne and leather, familiar and suffocating.

We drove in silence to a restaurant I'd never been to—some trendy fusion place that probably cost more per plate than most people made in a day. The kind of place where Damien could show off his expensive wife while having serious conversations about her inadequacies.

The hostess seated us at a corner table with a view of the city lights. Damien ordered wine without asking what I wanted, because he never asked. He just assumed I'd be grateful for whatever he chose.

"So," he said once the waitress had left with our drink order. "We need to talk about some things."

I folded my hands in my lap and waited, the perfect picture of an attentive wife.

"First, about last night." He had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "I may have... overreacted. The soup incident. It was harsh."

May have. Was harsh. Not I'm sorry. Not I was wrong. Just passive observations about actions he'd taken, as if they'd happened independently of his choices.

"It's okay," I heard myself say, the words automatic. "I should have been more careful."

"Yes, you should have." He leaned back, satisfied that I was accepting my share of the blame for him assaulting me. "But I've been thinking, and I realize I haven't been as... attentive as I could be lately. To you. To our marriage."

Our marriage. The farce we'd been playing for eighteen months.

"So I've decided we need to make some changes," he continued. "Spend more quality time together. Work on our communication. Make sure you understand what I need from you so these... incidents... don't happen again."

I waited for him to mention Amber. To tell me his first love was coming back in three days and that we needed to "work on our marriage" so the transition would be smoother. But he didn't say any of that.

"I'd like that," I lied. "I want to be a better wife to you."

"I know you do. And I appreciate that." He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb rubbing circles on my palm. The gesture probably looked intimate to anyone watching. To me, it felt like a collar tightening around my neck.

"There's something else," he said. "Something important."

Here it comes.

"There's been some news in the business world. The Salvadore heiress has resurfaced after disappearing for over a year. Every company in the city is scrambling to get a meeting with her, including mine."

I kept my expression neutral, interested but not too interested.

"I need you to understand that the next few weeks are going to be crucial for my career," he continued. "Landing a deal with the Salvadores could make or break our company's expansion plans. So I need you to be extra accommodating. No drama, no demands, no... incidents. Can you do that for me?"

He was asking me to be invisible while he chased after me. The irony was so perfect it was almost beautiful.

"Of course," I said softly. "Whatever you need."

"Good." He smiled, and for a moment, I could almost see why I'd convinced myself he was my savior. He had a nice smile when he chose to use it. "I knew I could count on you."

The waitress arrived with our wine and took our dinner orders. Damien ordered for both of us, because of course he did.

As the meal progressed, he talked about his plans to impress the Salvadore heiress, about the proposals he was preparing, about the connections he was leveraging. I listened and nodded and offered encouragement at appropriate moments, all while thinking about how his world was about to implode.

"They say she's a genius," he said, halfway through his steak. "Multiple degrees from MIT, speaks six languages, built three successful companies before she was twenty-five. Nothing like you, obviously—no offense."

"None taken," I said, cutting my salmon into precise pieces I had no intention of eating.

"But apparently, she's also extremely private. No one knows what she looks like except her inner circle. Can you imagine? Having that much power and keeping it completely hidden?"

I could imagine it very well, actually. I'd been doing exactly that for eighteen months, just in reverse—hiding who I really was to pretend to be powerless.

"It must be difficult," I offered.

"Or brilliant. Think about it—she can move through the world without anyone knowing who she is. She could be anyone. She could be..." He gestured vaguely. "I don't know, our waitress. That woman at the next table. She could be standing right in front of me and I'd never know."

"That would be quite a trick," I said, allowing myself the smallest smile.

Damien laughed. "Can you imagine? The great Adriana Salvadore, hidden in plain sight." He shook his head. "Anyway, the point is, I need to make a good impression. And I need you to help me do that by being the perfect supportive wife. Think you can handle that?"

I met his eyes across the table, seeing nothing in them that resembled love or even basic respect. Just calculation, just strategy, just the cold assessment of how useful I could be to his ambitions.

"I can handle that," I said. "I promise."

And I could. I could be the perfect supportive wife right up until the moment I revealed who I really was and watched his face as everything he thought he knew came crashing down around him.

Damien raised his wine glass. "To us. To our marriage. To making things work."

I clinked my glass against his, the crystal chiming like a death knell.

"To us," I echoed. "And to new beginnings."

He had no idea how right I was.