#4 - Fake Marriage

There are many things I expected to do in my second life.

Slap my sister? Check.

Humiliate a billionaire? Double check.

Spit in a man’s eye while holding a taco? Triple check with salsa on top.

But waking up in a five-poster bed with 1200-thread count sheets in a palace-sized bedroom that smells like cologne and cruelty? That’s new.

I stretched like a cat and smirked at the memory of last night. Damian storming to the bathroom, eyes burning, Vivian sobbing like her audition for “Victim of the Year” just flopped. Beautiful.

I reached for the intercom. “Hello, is room service a thing in this place or do I still have to beg for toast like Arianna used to?”

A pause. Then:

“Mrs. Salvatore... breakfast will be brought to your room.”

Progress.

I swung my legs out of bed and stared at my reflection. Silk robe. Tousled curls. Lips still stained from yesterday’s lipstick of vengeance.

“Arianna,” I whispered to the mirror. “I liked you at the beginning of the book.”

You know the part—where she switched places with her sister at the altar with Grandma’s help, well it was grandma doing most of the work.

You were giving martyr vibes meets badass queen.

Then somewhere along the line, you let the Salvatore mansion suck the fire out of you. You let love turn you into a doormat.

But don’t worry, babe. I’m here now.

Later as I passed the dining to drop the dishes.

That’s when I met Damian in the dining. I let out a chuckle.

He must be clearly frustrated, his breakfast ought to have been served by me long before now but here he was— waiting.

His eyes swept over me. The red silk dress. The high ponytail. The “I’d rather stab you with a fork than serve you with one” expression.

“You’re late,” he said.

“No, you’re just early for my tolerance,” I replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

He glared. “Where did you get that dress?”

“Your wallet.” I snapped.

“I checked the statement. You spent $14,230 on clothes yesterday.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I left your account with several millions darling.”

He leaned back, folding his arms. “You’re not the same. Something’s off.”

I sipped my orange juice and smiled. “Is it the glow? That’s revenge-fueled hydration, darling.”

He slammed his hand on the table. “Vivian said you hit her.”

“Incorrect. I slapped her. With precision. Twice.”

“You’re going insane.”

“No,” I corrected him, “I’m going insanely sane. There’s a difference. Arianna was insane for loving you.”

Silence.

“You don’t make me breakfast anymore.” He said.

“I’m not your servant.” I spat, standing up.

“Sit, I have an offer for you,” he said.

“When are we getting the divorce?” I asked.

We’re not getting divorced yet,” he said, without looking up from his coffee.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He finally met my eyes. Cold. Controlled. Those arrogant lips barely moved. “Grandma’s birthday is in three months. She thinks we’re happily married. Her health is... declining.”

“And that has what to do with me?”

He leaned back like he owned the air I breathed. “She likes you. Always did. I can’t upset her right now.”

I wanted to throw a fork at his pretty face. Instead, I crossed my legs, tilted my head, and smiled sweetly.

“You want me to play happy wife for your grandma. And what’s in it for me?”

He paused. Calculating. Then, “Fifty million.”

The air stopped moving.

I stood slowly. “Say it again.”

“Fifty. Million. For three months. You’ll attend events. Host her party. Sleep in my bed. Smile in photos. No divorce until after.”

I shouldn’t have considered it. But damn, fifty million?

“Arianna” might be miserable, but Ashley?

Ashley is about to secure the bag.

This is enough to secure my future for a life time. Thank you for dying, Arianna. I’m making money without lifting a finger. 50 fucking million. Or should I thank the writer? Thank you author for creating this billionaire fantasy word.

This place is strange after all. I’m definitely gaining not losing.

And I’ll get more money after the divorce.

“Are you listening “ he said.

“I’m in my lovely husband.” I said sarcastically.

Later That Day…

When Grandma arrived, I transformed.

The maids stared as I twirled through the mansion in a rose silk dress, wearing pearls I found buried in Arianna’s drawers.

Too long but who cares. It’s just a temporary situation.

“Grandma!” I called, wrapping her in a warm hug the moment she stepped through the grand doors.

She smelled like lavender and mint.

“My darling girl,” she said, teary-eyed. “You look radiant.”

I almost felt guilty.

Almost.

She had always loved Arianna. Even when everyone else stopped. I wasn’t about to ruin that illusion.

“You’re glowing,” she said as she touched my face.

“Well,” I said brightly, loud enough for Damian to hear, “marriage has its perks. Right, honey?”

Damian looked like he’d swallowed glass.

“Tell me if my grandson bullies you, I’ll teach him a lesson.” She smiled.

“Actually grandma there’s this bag I’ve always wanted…”

Damian cleared his throat, a warning.

I ignored him.

“You brat,” she said. “Give her 10 million to get whatever bag of her choice.”

I didn’t expect her to take it seriously. But I wasn't about to argue.

“I love you grandma.” I whispered.

Beside me Damian gritted. “Don’t push your luck Arianna.”

I pinched him hard and said sweetly “Don’t make me drop the act.”

He stiffened for a moment and sighed.

“Better.” I muttered.

That Night

We stood outside the bedroom. The big, shared marital suite.

Damian stared at the door like it offended him. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No,” I said too quickly. “You’re not going to make me sleep alone like some abandoned wife. We’re faking it, remember? Act like it.”

He looked at me. “Fine. Just don’t talk to me.”

“Trust me, that goes both ways.”

We slipped into bed. Silence. My side. His side. A whole king-sized mattress of tension.

But God. The man smelled good. Spicy. Masculine. Rich.

I rolled away, biting my lip.

It had been a week since my arrival in this book world. No flings. No crushes. No sweet awkward campus kisses. Just... me. Alone in a mansion. And worst no sex.

And Damian. Breathing beside me, wasting away. He has what I need but he won’t give it. Selfish bastard.

I closed my eyes. Tried to sleep. Failed.

A few minutes passed. His breathing slowed.

Then I whispered, “Do you ever get lonely?”

Silence.

I turned my head. “Don’t worry. I don’t want you. I just want... something.”

Still no answer.

I slid a hand under the covers.

Not proud.

But he was right there. Breathing. Alive. Muscled. Moody.

Arianna drugged him once to get sex, according to the book.

Desperate, twisted love.

One sex in three years, I swear if it were me. A rich house wife, I’ll get millions of men trooping into this mansion.

Me?

I just needed a release.

And I was going to get just that.

I wasn’t even embarrassed. Not really. This was fiction, right? We were inside a fucking book, they are characters not human. None of this is real. Not the mansion. Not the marriage. Not him.

Except my body didn’t care.

“I crave a man’s touch,” I muttered bitterly. “And all I’ve got is a cold billionaire who probably jerks off to my sister.”

When he still said nothing.

I moved my hand slowly over my swollen core, it felt good so I rubbed harder. I tried to stay quiet but I let out a moan. It was to tease him but knowing someone was beside me… my body was on fire.

Suddenly, a voice.

Low. Gruff.

“What game are you playing this time?”

He turned and I saw it in his eyes. Desire.