First Full Day

I woke up to silence.

No traffic noise. No neighbors. Just thick, expensive silence—a reminder I wasn't in the motel anymore, or in Damien's apartment, or anywhere familiar.

The clock on the nightstand read 6:47 AM.

Breakfast at seven, Mrs. Chen had said yesterday. Be dressed and ready.

I stood up and walked to the bathroom attached to my room. I took a shower; the water pressure was ideal. I dried off with the cozy towels. For a location this pricey, everything worked as it should.

I dressed in the same outfit as yesterday. It has wrinkles on it. I was unconcerned.

There was silence in the corridor. I passed shuttered doors on my way to the kitchen. Kael's room was one of them. I didn't check it.

Mrs. Chen was already in the kitchen, brewing coffee. Use the toaster to toast. She gave me a quick look.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwell."

Even now, the name didn’t feel authentic. It was a costume I wore over my real self—itching at the seams, tight around the throat. She said, "Mr. Blackwell will be down in ten minutes." I nodded and replied, "Morning." She began preparing his black coffee and two scrambled eggs.

Wheat toast."

She was telling me his routine.

As if I was meant to commit it to memory. Find out what he likes. Become a wife who is aware of her husband's preferences for breakfast.

I took a seat at the table.

It was glass and chrome. Modern. Cold.

Kael appeared exactly ten minutes later.

He wore a different suit. Charcoal gray. Perfect fit.

The shower had left his hair still wet. Without saying anything, he took a seat across from me.

Mrs. Chen placed his breakfast in front of him. Next, mine. She had made me the same thing even though I hadn't asked for anything.

We ate silently.

He looked at his phone.

Scrolled through emails. Drank his coffee.

I tried not to make too much noise as I shoved eggs around my plate.

He said, "The clothing will arrive at noon," without raising his head. "Mrs. Chen will take care of it. You must dress appropriately for this evening."

"The gala."

"Yes." He finally looked at me. Those gray eyes. Cold and assessing. "We'll leave at seven. The event starts at eight. You'll stay by my side the entire evening."

"Okay."

"People will ask questions. About us. About the marriage." He set down his phone. "You'll smile. You'll tell them we've been seeing each other privately for several months. That the connection was instant. That we decided not to wait."

"That's not true."

"It's the truth we're telling." His tone remained unchanged.

Still calm. Still controlled.

"Alternatively, I might say that I married you to keep you out of jail. Neither of us wants that conversation, in my opinion."

He was correct. I hated that he was right.

"After breakfast, you'll meet with my lawyer," he said.

"He'll have documents for you to sign. Financial disclosures. NDAs. Standard procedure."

Standard procedure for what? Buying a wife?

My phone rang. Without thinking, I took it out of my pocket.

"Put it away."

I raised my head. Kael was gazing at me.

"We're eating," he declared. "Phones away."

I returned it to my pocket.

"Who was it?"

"I'm not sure. I didnt to check.

"You'll check after breakfast.

You'll tell me right now if it's my nephew."

I gave a nod.

He returned to his coffee. As if he hadn't just instructed me to report my ex-fiancé.

Like this was all perfectly normal.

My phone buzzed again. Then again. Someone was calling repeatedly.

Kael's jaw tightened. "Answer it."

I pulled out my phone. Unknown number. I answered.

"Aria Blackwell?"

A woman's voice. Professional. Sharp.

"Yes?"

"This is Jennifer Morrison from Metropolitan Magazine. I'm calling about your marriage to Kael Blackwell. Can you confirm the reports?"

My stomach dropped. The press. Already.

Kael held out his hand. I gave him the phone.

"Ms. Morrison, this is Kael Blackwell. My wife and I won't be making any statements at this time. During this time, we would value privacy.

Thank you."

He hung up. Handed me back the phone.

"That's going to happen a lot today," he stated. "Avoid taking calls from unknown numbers. Don't reply to messages. Avoid using social media.

"How did they find out so fast?"This morning, I issued a statement.

Controlled narrative. Better than letting them speculate."

He'd released a statement. About our marriage. Without telling me.

"What did it say?"

"That we were married yesterday in a private ceremony. That we're very happy. That we request privacy." He finished his coffee. "It's already trending."

Trending. Our marriage was trending.

I said, "I have to go to work." I became aware of how foolish that sounded. "I'm serious. I was employed. Prior to

"You're not working."

"I can't just sit here all day."

"You can. You will." He stood up. Buttoned his suit jacket. "Your role is to be my wife. That's a full-time position. Understood?"

I didn't answer.

"Understood?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"Good." He picked up his phone and briefcase.

"At ten, the attorney will arrive. At midday, the stylist shows up. Makeup and hair at four.

We leave at seven. Mrs. Chen will help you prepare."

He walked toward the door. Stopped.

"One more thing. My mother called this morning."

I looked up. "Your mother?"

"She wants to meet you. Lunch tomorrow. You'll attend."

"Does she know—"

"She knows we're married. She doesn't know why. And she won't." He turned to face me. "She's very traditional. Very proper. She'll ask personal questions. You'll answer them appropriately. Make her believe this is real."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Figure it out." He made his way to the elevator. "And Aria?"

I detested the way my name sounded in his voice.

"My nephew's social circle will be present at the gala tonight. those who are aware of what took place. They'll be observing.

Judging. Whispering."

He hit the elevator button. "You'll raise your head. You will smile. They'll question whether they were mistaken about you.

The doors of the elevator opened.

"Why do you care what they think?"

I asked.

He stepped inside. Before the doors closed, he turned to give me one final glance.

"Because you are now my wife. Additionally, I've never accepted faulty things."

The doors closed.

At that chilly glass table, I sat. gazing at my partially consumed breakfast.

things that are damaged.

He thought of me like that.

Not a person. Not someone he'd trapped. Just damaged goods he had to polish up for public display.

Mrs. Chen appeared.

began to clear the plates.

"The lawyer will be here soon," she murmured. "You should change into something more presentable."

I looked down at my wrinkled dress. The identical one I'd worn yesterday. It was the same one where I was married.

"I don't have anything else."

"The new clothes will be here soon."

She paused. "For now, there's a robe in your bathroom. You can wear that until the delivery arrives."

A robe.

My husband hadn't bothered to make sure I was dressed appropriately, so I was meant to see a lawyer in a bathrobe.

I returned to my room.

Changed into the robe. It was white. Soft. Hotel quality.

My phone buzzed again. I checked it this time.

Damien: Saw the news. You actually did it. Hope you're happy.

Another message: Everyone's laughing. You know that, right? They think it's pathetic.

Another: My uncle doesn't love you. He's using you. But you probably deserve each other.

I blocked his number.

Then I opened social media. I knew I shouldn't. Kael had told me not to. But I had to see.

The announcement was everywhere.

Billionaire Kael Blackwell Marries in Secret Ceremony

Who Is Aria Laurent? Everything We Know About Kael Blackwell's Mysterious New Wife

Blackwell Family Drama: Nephew's Ex-Fiancée Now Married to Uncle

The comments were brutal.

This is so weird. She was engaged to his nephew two months ago.

The gold digger jumped to the richer Blackwell, lol.

Something's not right here. No way this is real.

She's gorgeous, though. Lucky guy.

Lucky? She's a criminal. G****e her name.

I closed the app. Put down the phone.

The doorbell rang. Mrs. Chen answered it. A man in an expensive suit walked in. Briefcase. Tablet. Lawyer face.

"Mrs. Blackwell?" He held out his hand. "Marcus Chen. Mr. Blackwell's attorney."

I shook his hand. He had a firm grip. Assessing eyes.

"Please, sit." He gestured to the living room. I sat on the white couch. He sat across from me. Opened his briefcase.

"I have several documents that require your signature. Non-disclosure agreements regarding Mr. Blackwell's business and personal affairs. Financial disclosures. A prenuptial agreement."

"We're already married."

"Postnuptial then. Mr. Blackwell wants to ensure all assets are protected."

Of course he did.

Marcus handed me paper after paper. Explained in legal terms, that basically meant: I get nothing. I say nothing. I own nothing.

I signed everything.

"One last thing." Marcus pulled out a final document. "This is a behavior clause. It outlines expectations for your conduct as Mrs. Blackwell. Public appearances. Social obligations. Reputation management."

He slid it across the table.

I read it. Each line more degrading than the last.

Party of the first part agrees to maintain appropriate public decorum.

Party of the first part will not engage in activities that damage the Blackwell reputation.

Party of the first part will attend all required social functions and represent the Blackwell name with dignity.

Party of the first part. Not my name. Just a legal term for the thing Kael had purchased.

"Sign at the bottom," Marcus said.

I signed.

He collected all the documents. Put them in his briefcase. Stood up.

"Welcome to the family, Mrs. Blackwell."

He left.

I sat on that white couch in that white bathrobe in that cold penthouse and felt nothing.

No anger. No sadness. Just emptiness.

This was my life now.

The doorbell rang again. Mrs. Chen answered it. Three women walked in carrying garment bags and boxes. The stylist and her team.

They descended on me like I was a project. Measuring. Pinning. Holding up dresses against my skin. Talking about me like I wasn't there.

"She's too pale. We'll need bronzer."

"Her hair is damaged. We'll have to do a treatment first."

"These cheekbones, though. We can work with this."

I stood there. Let them do whatever they wanted. Poke and prod and criticize.

By four PM, I looked like someone else. Hair curled and styled. Makeup professionally done. A dress that cost more than I used to make in three months. Heels that made my feet hurt immediately.

I looked in the mirror and saw Kael Blackwell's wife.

Not me. Not Aria Laurent. Someone else entirely.

Mrs. Chen appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Blackwell is home. He wants to see you before you leave."

I walked down the hall. Found him in his room. The door was open. He was adjusting his tie in the mirror. Black tuxedo. Perfect as always.

He turned when I walked in. Looked at me for a long moment.

"Better," he said finally.

Not beautiful. Not lovely. Just better.

"The car leaves in ten minutes," he continued. "Tonight you'll meet several business associates. Politicians. Old money families. They're important to my company. Be pleasant."

"Okay."

He walked closer.

Stopped directly in front of me. I reached up and adjusted my necklace. My collarbone was touched by his fingers. I made an effort not to wince.

"One more thing," he said quietly. His gray eyes locked onto mine. "At events like this, people will try to pull you aside. Ask questions. Get information. You'll stay with me at all times. You don't wander off. You don't talk to anyone alone. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." His hand dropped from my neck. "Let's go. We're already running late because of your hair appointment."

My hair appointment. The one his stylist had insisted on. But somehow it was my fault we were late.

We rode down in the elevator together. Stood side by side without touching. The silence felt heavy.

The car was waiting outside. Kael opened the door. Let me get in first. Then he slid in beside me.

The driver pulled into traffic. I watched the city pass by through tinted windows.

"Nervous?" Kael asked.

"Should I be?"

"You're about to face a room full of people who know what happened. Who's read the articles? Who believes you're a criminal who somehow manipulated me into marriage."

He avoided looking at me. simply gazed straight ahead. "Yes, then. You ought to feel anxious.

"Why are you doing this?" Before I could stop it, the question was asked.

At last, he turned to face me. "Doing what?"

"Taking me to this event. Parading me around.

Why don't you just lock me up in the penthouse if you think I'm guilty?

"Because a Blackwell doesn't hide," he explained softly. We don't flee from whispers or rumors. We confront them. His jaw clenched. And you're a Blackwell at the moment.

So you'll face them too."

The car stopped. We'd arrived.

I could see cameras through the window. reporters. A huge building with a red carpet.

"Remember," Kael remarked.

Stay close. Smile. Don't say anything interesting."

He got out. Came around to my side. Opened my door. Held out his hand.

I took it. His grip was firm. Possessive.

Immediately, the cameras began to flash.

"Mr. Blackwell! "Mrs. Blackwell, congratulations on your marriage!"

Look this way!" "How did you two meet?"

The small of my back was where Kael placed his hand.

Guiding me forward. Keeping me close.

We passed the reporters. He didn't respond to any questions. simply continued to move as if they were nonexistent.

The ballroom was huge inside. chandeliers made of crystal. White tablecloths. Hundreds of individuals dressed to the nines.

Everybody turned to stare at us.

Kael's grip tightened around my back.

"Showtime," he muttered.

Then louder, to a couple approaching us: "Richard. Patricia. Good to see you."

I plastered on a smile.

And the performance began.