Chapter 5: Marriage & Public Exposure

I woke to voices drifting through the hallway. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and for a disorienting moment I forgot where I was. Then reality crashed back: the penthouse, the contract, the man who'd upended my life with a marriage document.

I fumbled for my phone. 8:57 AM. Three missed calls from work and a text that made my stomach plummet.

Lena, consider this your final notice. Don't bother coming in. We'll mail your final check. - Richard

Fired.

I wasn't surprised. Of course. Not with everything that had happened. But still the text hit me harder than I'd expected.

Even though I'd hated my job. I mean it had barely paid the bills, and my boss was an ass. Still, it was a part of my life. Another piece that was now gone.

A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. "Mrs. Black?" The voice was crisp, professional, touched with a slight British accent. "I'm Mrs. Carrow. Mr. Black asked me to assist you this morning."

I pulled on my robe, fingers fumbling with the belt, and opened the door to find a woman in her fifties with silver hair pulled into a perfect chignon. Her eyes missed nothing as they took a quick inventory of my rumpled appearance.

"Good morning," Mrs. Carrow said, stepping into the room with the confidence of someone who belonged exactly where she was. "Mr. Black has arranged breakfast, and then you have several appointments."

"Appointments?" My voice came out rougher than intended.

"Hair, makeup, wardrobe consultation." Mrs. Carrow moved to the closet, her trained eye already cataloging my meager wardrobe with professional disappointment. "The wedding is at two o'clock."

The words hit me like ice water. "Wedding? Today?"

"Indeed. The ceremony will be here, on the terrace, followed by a reception at the Rainbow Room for select guests." 

She pulled out one of my few decent dresses and held it up, then shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I'm afraid none of your current attire will be suitable."

"But I—we haven't discussed—I thought—" My protests died in my throat.

"Mr. Black doesn't typically discuss his decisions," Mrs. Carrow said with the patience of someone who was well aware of how her boss worked.

Breakfast was served on the terrace. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee that probably cost more per cup than I used to spend on groceries in a week. The view was breathtaking, but everything tasted like cardboard in my mouth.

Marriage. Today. In four hours. I'd be Mrs. Black in more than just words in a contract.

"Mrs. Carrow," I said as she efficiently cleared plates with practiced movements. "You've worked for Damien for five years, right?"

"Yes."

I twisted the napkin between my fingers. "What's he like? Really like?"

Mrs. Carrow paused, her hands stilling on the coffee service as she chose her words carefully. "Mr. Black is... demanding. Precise. He expects excellence and doesn't tolerate failure." Her eyes met mine with something that might have been sympathy. "But he protects what's his."

The words sent a shiver down my spine.

The appointments came one after another.

I found myself in the back of another black car, whisked to an exclusive salon where no prices were displayed because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it. Basically, somewhere I would never be otherwise.

A team of stylists soon descended on me. They began trimming, styling, transforming me until I could barely recognize myself.

I stared at myself in the mirror when they were done.

My hair fell in soft waves that caught the light, my makeup was flawless but natural. I looked like I belonged in Damien's world. Like I'd been born to wear designer clothes and diamonds instead of five year old jeans with holes.

Then the dress came.

It was delivered by a personal shopper who treated the garment like it was gold.

But I understood why. 

It was stunning.

Ivory silk that hugged my curves perfectly, elegant without being flashy, sophisticated in an understated way.

"Mr. Black has excellent taste," the stylist murmured, making final adjustments. "This color is perfect with your skin tone."

Damien had chosen my dress. The thought sent an unexpected feeling through me.

By 1:30, I was back in the penthouse, transformed into someone I didn't recognize. The woman in the mirror looked confident, like she'd been born for penthouses and private clubs. But underneath the perfect exterior, my heart hammered with fear and something else I refused to name.

At exactly 1:45, Mrs. Carrow returned with a small velvet box.

"From Mr. Black."

Inside lay a necklace that stole my breath. Delicate white gold chain with a single diamond pendant that caught light like wildfire. Elegant, understated, much like the dress I wore.

"He thought it would complement your dress," Mrs. Carrow said, moving behind me to fasten the clasp with an easy gentleness. The diamond settled perfectly at the hollow of my throat. 

"Beautiful," she said warmly.

I smiled at her, feeling soothed by her warmth and presence.

She guided me towards the terrace, which had been transformed into something from a fairy tale. White flowers were elegantly arranged with a small arch of greenery framing Manhattan's spectacular view.

A distinguished older man in judicial robes waited. 

I felt my hand start to sweat. 

This was crazy. 

I knew I had signed the contract, but this was suddenly making it more real than I was ready for.  

I quickly wiped my palms on the dress, hoping it wouldn’t leave any big wet stains on the nice material.

Damien appeared at exactly 2:00.

No surprise that he was on time. He wore a pristine black suit that looked like it had been tailored specifically for his frame. Dark hair perfectly styled and those intense eyes that seemed to catalog everything.

When he saw me, something flickered across his expression. It was gone so quickly I thought I might have imagined it.

"You look..." he paused. "Beautiful."

The compliment sent warmth flooding through my cheeks which I desperately tried to hide.

"The necklace is perfect," I said, my fingers unconsciously touching the diamond at my throat.

"I know what works." His eyes swept over my figure once more before settling on my face.

"Is this my next task?" I asked, looking up at him.

After the car bomb thing with Angela Martinez, this wasn’t what I’d expected at all.

I watched as a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "It is."

He reached into his jacket and produced a velvet box. It was smaller than the one Mrs. Carrow had brought earlier. 

When he opened it, my breath caught.

The diamond was enormous, bigger than anything I'd ever seen outside of a magazine. It caught the afternoon light and threw it back in brilliant flashes that made me blink. The stone sat high on a band that sparkled with smaller diamonds, the whole thing so obviously expensive it made me dizzy.

"I..." I stared at the ring, unable to form words.

"Your engagement ring." He lifted it from the box. "Give me your hand."

I extended my left hand, trembling slightly as he slipped the massive ring onto my finger. It was heavy, substantial in a way that made me hyperaware of its presence, light bouncing off it from every angle.

"I can't accept this," I whispered.

"You already have." His dark eyes held mine. 

I swallowed hard as his hand settled at the small of my back, guiding me through the terrace doors.

The ceremony was brief, intimate. The judge read the standard vows while I tried to process that it was all really happening.

When it came time for the rings, Damien produced another.

The platinum ring he slipped onto my finger this time was elegant and understated, but when the light caught it, I realized it wasn't just platinum. Tiny diamonds were embedded in the band, perfectly matched like stars scattered across metal.

"Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the judge asked.

"I do," Damien said, his voice steady and sure.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

I looked at Damien. This stranger who'd bought me clothes and jewelry, who seemed to know so much about me, and who had apparently promised to protect me from enemies I didn't know. His dark eyes held mine, patient but unreadable.

"I do," I whispered.

"You may now kiss the bride."

The moment stretched between us. Damien stepped closer, his hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness. When his lips brushed against mine, it was soft, brief, barely more than a wisp of contact. But still, electricity raced through my body, a reaction so immediate it left me breathless.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine for a moment.

"Mrs. Black," he said formally.

And just like that, I was married.

---

The contrast from the intimate terrace ceremony to the Rainbow Room reception felt like stepping into a different world.

Art deco elegance stretched around the maybe thirty people present. I took in the way they moved through the space with the easy confidence of those accustomed to wealth and power.

I recognized faces from business magazines and society pages, but most were strangers who regarded me with polite curiosity. 

"Mrs. Black" echoed over and over until the name started feeling almost natural. 

But not quite.

"So you're the mysterious woman who finally caught Damien Black," said an elegant older woman whose jewelry probably cost more than most people's houses. "We were all beginning to think he was immune to settling down."

"It was... unexpected," I managed, my smile feeling rehearsed and fake.

"The best matches usually are." The woman's eyes glittered with interest. "Though I must say, you're not quite what any of us expected."

The words stung even though I shouldn't have been surprised.

Before I could respond, Damien appeared at my side, his hand settling on my back with casual possessiveness.

"Margaret," he said to the older woman. "I see you've met my wife."

"Indeed. She's lovely, Damien. Quite a departure from your usual type."

"I don't have a usual type," he corrected her. 

"Of course you don't." Margaret's smile turned knowing. "Well, I'm sure you'll both be very happy. Marriage is such an adventure."

As she walked away, I turned to Damien, bitterness leaking into my voice despite my best efforts. "Aren't you concerned that people will wonder why you're not marrying your usual type?"

The corner of his mouth twitched as he studied me. "Don’t pay attention to Margaret.”

"Have you been married before?" The question popped out before I could stop it.

"No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"But you've had relationships. Girlfriends." I pressed on despite his increasingly dark expression. "Did you have one when you showed up at my apartment?"

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Drop it, Lena." His hand found my waist, guiding me toward another group. "You have more people to meet."

I plastered on a smile as I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray to prepare myself for more painfully, polite small talk. 

I smiled and nodded, playing the happy bride while feeling like I was watching someone else's life unfold.

After maybe the fifth glass of champagne, my bladder felt like it was going to burst. I excused myself and told Damien I needed to find the ladies' room. He nodded, pointing me in the right direction.

That's when I saw him.

A man standing near the windows, holding champagne but not drinking. Tall, with dark curls that caught the light and classical features that belonged in Renaissance paintings. When he turned, his striking green eyes met mine and the intensity of it made my breath catch.

Then he smiled, slow and devastating.

I shivered.

"Sebastian Raines," I heard Damien say behind me. I turned to look up at him, watching as an almost imperceptible expression flashed across his features. "He's a... business associate."

"Oh," I whispered.

My breath hitched as Sebastian began making his way toward us, moving with fluid confidence as if every other person in the room had ceased to exist. His eyes never leaving mine as he approached.

"Damien," he acknowledged as he reached us. "Congratulations."

His voice was like deep silk, carrying an intensity that made me shift slightly.

"Sebastian." Damien's acknowledgment in turn was arctic.

"Your wife," he began, returning his full attention to me, "is even more beautiful up close."

His smile was pure charm, but his eyes held depths that seemed to pull me in. "I'm Bas," he told me as he took my hand, bringing it to his lips. As his lips brushed against my skin, I felt my stomach tighten in response.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded even as my pulse raced.

"The pleasure is entirely mine," he said slowly, his eyes holding mine.

I felt warmth spread across my cheeks.

Damien's hand settled possessively on my back. "Sebastian."

Sebastian broke his intense stare. "Damien," he nodded at my husband, before returning his gaze to me. "Mrs. Black." His eyes seemingly saying a lot more than he was willing to say in the moment.

As he walked away, I turned to Damien. He was watching me closely. "You don't like him," I said.

"I don't.”

I wondered what had happened between them, between him and the man with the green eyes.

I opened my mouth to ask more questions, but my bladder had other priorities,the stabbing feeling interrupting my thoughts. "I am going to explode," I muttered out loud to myself.

I looked around the room, feeling the effects of the alcohol pulsing through me.  “Where did you say it was again?” I asked.

I looked up at Damien and swore I could see an amused sparkle in his eyes as he pointed again toward a corridor off the main room. 

I shook my head at him, before making my way through the crowd.

The corridor leading to the ladies' room was quieter, away from all the noise from the reception.

I could almost breathe a sigh of relief here and pretend I was somewhere else for a few moments.

I continued following the signs to the restroom listening to the sound of my heels click against the marble floors as I made my way.

I was almost there when the music stopped.

Not faded. Stopped. Abruptly.

I turned back toward the reception, confused. That's when I heard it. A commotion near the main entrance.

Raised voices. 

Then the screaming started.

I moved quickly back toward the sound without thinking, my heart hammering. 

What was happening?

I was almost back to the entrance.

That’s when I saw them.

Two men in black gear dragging a third man between them. The man was older, maybe sixty, in an expensive suit that was torn and bloodied. His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut. He was just hanging there, limp, between his captors.

I froze. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

They were just a few feet away. Close enough for me to see every detail: The blood on the man's collar. The way his hands were bound. The professional, cold way they held the man between them.

Then one of them looked up. Saw me.

Our eyes met for a fraction of a second.

Then he raised his gun and fired.