CHAPTER 7

SCARLET

The blinding flash lights sliced through the dark night, making my eyes water. The noise outside was completely deafening. It was a chaotic wall of ruthless paparazzi shouting random names with microphones thrust forward like weapons, and the relentless clicking of cameras. 

I stumbled heavily on the very first step, the towering high heels Chloe had chosen catching precariously on the thick edge of the red carpet. Before I could completely fall, Julian’s hand clamped down on my waist. 

To the flashing cameras around us, it looked like a breathless, romantic rescue. But his long fingers digging directly into my ribs were bruising, serving as a harsh reminder of the cage I was currently trapped in.

"Keep moving," he hissed through a perfectly sculpted, frozen smile, his warm breath brushing against my ear. "And stop walking like a newborn calf, Scarlet. You’re supposed to be a heiress, not a pathetic charity case."

The sharp sting of his words burned far worse than the blinding lights. I swallowed the lump of humiliation in my throat, forced my lips into a bright, vacant smile, and kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. 

I wrapped my trembling arm tightly around his, feeling the rigid, unyielding muscle beneath his expensive tuxedo. He didn't offer me any smile as we continued to walk in.

As soon as we finally crossed the threshold into the hotel's grand ballroom, the suffocating heat of the paparazzi was replaced by the chilled, air-conditioned palace of the elite. 

Crystal chandeliers cascaded from the vaulted ceilings, casting a golden glow over hundreds of wealthy guests clad in diamonds and fine silk.

The moment the heavy glass doors closed behind us, Julian instantly dropped his arm. The sudden withdrawal of his physical presence left me shivering in the air conditioning. He didn't even look at me as his steel eyes scanned the room like a military general preparing for a brutal war.

"Stay close, don't speak a word unless spoken to, and try not to look so utterly terrified," he muttered coldly, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced indifference. "Your anxiety is practically radiating off you. It’s pathetic."

"I'm trying," I whispered, my voice trembling as I smoothed down the pink silk of my gown. "This isn't exactly my usual Tuesday night."

"I don't care about your usual nights," he snapped, his voice a low, lethal murmur. "I care about the contract. Play the part."

Before I could say what was on my mind, a familiar, chilling voice cut through the soft chatter of the ballroom.

"Julian, darling. Vivian. You made it."

Eleanor Cross glided toward us like a graceful swan in a sea of birds. Tonight, she wore a striking silver gown that shimmered like armor under the chandeliers, her peppermint hair perfectly coiffed. 

Her smile was blinding, but her eyes were calculating, glittering with the knowledge of the secret she held over us.

In a split second, Julian’s entire demeanor shifted. 

The cold, aloof predator vanished and was replaced instantly by a devoted, endearing husband. He wrapped his arm securely around my waist, pulling my body flush against his. 

The sudden, intense proximity made my heart do a violent flip. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to my temple.

"Mother," Julian murmured, his voice dripping with an unnatural, rich warmth that sent a shiver down my spine. "We wouldn't dream of missing it. I was just telling my beautiful wife how breathtaking she looks tonight."

He turned his gaze to me, and for a terrifying moment, the look in his eyes was so full of adoration that I almost forgot it was a lie. 

He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his thumb grazing my cheekbone with agonizing slowness.

"You do look beautiful, Vivian," he whispered softly, the lie slipping past his lips effortlessly.

I had to force my frozen lungs to breathe. I had to play my part. I looked up at him, letting a soft, slightly breathless smile curve my lips, ignoring the way my skin crawled. 

"Thank you, sweetheart. You don't look too bad yourself."

Eleanor watched our little display, her 

sharp eyes searching for a fracture in the facade. She raised a delicate eyebrow, her smile dripping with sweet poison. 

"How touching. One would think you two were actually in love, and not just rushing into a marriage for convenience."

"It was love at first sight, Mother," Julian countered smoothly, his grip tightening on my hip just enough to warn me to stay focused. "When you know, you know."

Eleanor purred, though her eyes remained cold as ice. She gestured toward the center of the ballroom, where the orchestra had just finished tuning. 

The large dance floor sat empty, a gleaming expanse of polished mahogany waiting for the main event. "Well, the guests are dying to see the happy couple. Everyone is waiting for the traditional first dance."

My stomach plummeted. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. "The first dance?" I echoed, my voice cracking slightly before I quickly forced a smile back onto my face.

"Yes, darling," Eleanor said, her eyes narrowing with malicious glee. She knew I was terrified. She was pushing us, trying to force a slip-up.

 "The newlyweds always open the floor. Unless, of course, your stressful wedding dieting has left you too weak to dance with your husband?"

I froze, the weight of the loose heirloom ring heavy on my finger. Julian didn't hesitate. He let out a soft, charming chuckle that resonated deep in his chest. 

"Nonsense, Mother. I've been looking forward to holding my wife in my arms all evening."

He turned to me, offering his hand. His face was a mask of pure devotion, but beneath the surface, his steel eyes commanded absolute obedience. 

"Shall we, my love?" he asked.

I looked at his open palm, knowing I was stepping right into the lion’s den. I took a deep breath, placed my hand in his, and let him lead me out onto the floor.