Chapter 3: The Price of a Smile

Three days.

That was how long I survived in the gilded cage.

For seventy-two hours, I lived like a ghost in Damian’s penthouse. I ate meals alone in the massive kitchen. I avoided the master bedroom. I jumped every time the intercom buzzed, terrified he was going to change his mind and throw me out. He barely spoke to me, only leaving notes on the counter or sending texts about schedule changes. It was cold. It was lonely. And it was exactly what I deserved.

But the clock had run out. Today was the day of the engagement party.

And Damian was not going to let his fake wife show up looking like a charity case.

“The dress feels like armor,” I muttered to myself, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. “But it also feels like a cage.”

The stylist, a severe woman named Claire who had arrived at the penthouse at 6:00 AM with three rolling racks of clothes, stepped back to admire her work. She had spent four hours turning me into a billionaire’s wife.

The gown was emerald green. Silk. It hugged every curve of my body before flowing down to the floor like liquid glass. The back was completely bare, dipping dangerously low. It was beautiful. It was breathtaking.

And it cost more than my father’s medical bills.

“Turn around, Mrs. Thorne,” Claire said, her mouth full of pins. “Let me check the hem.”

I turned slowly. My feet ached in the four-inch designer heels. My hair was swept up in an elegant twist, with a few loose strands framing my face. I didn’t look like Elara Vance, the girl who bought her clothes from discount racks and worried about the electric bill.

I looked like a woman who belonged to Damian Thorne.

The door opened.

Damian walked in. He was already dressed in a black tuxedo that fit him perfectly. He looked powerful. Lethal. He stopped in the doorway, his hand resting on the doorknob.

For a second, he didn’t say anything. His eyes started at my face, slowly traveling down the bare column of my neck, over the silk covering my chest, and down to the floor. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

My heart did a stupid, traitorous flip in my chest.

“You’ll do,” he said finally. His voice was rougher than usual. He cleared his throat and looked away, breaking the spell. “Grab your clutch. The car is waiting.”

“Wait,” I said, grabbing a small silver purse from the bed. “How do I look? Is it okay? Will they believe it?”

Damian walked over to me. He stopped just inches away. The smell of his sandalwood cologne wrapped around me, making my head spin. He reached out, his cold fingers brushing the bare skin of my lower back. I shivered.

“They will believe whatever I tell them to believe,” he said softly. His eyes locked onto mine. “But remember the rules, Elara. Tonight, you love me. Tonight, you can’t take your eyes off me. If you look bored, if you look scared, they will eat you alive.”

“I know how to act,” I snapped, pulling away from his touch. “I’m not an idiot.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “We’ll see.”

***

The ride to the hotel was a blur of anxiety.

When the car finally stopped, the noise hit me first. Shouting. Flashing lights. The pop-pop-pop of cameras.

“Stay close to me,” Damian said. His tone was all business now.

He opened the door and stepped out. Instantly, the flashes went crazy. He turned back, extending a hand to me.

I took a deep breath. *Showtime.*

I placed my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and firm. He pulled me out of the car and immediately wrapped his arm around my bare waist. His thumb rested against my skin, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. It felt intimate. It felt possessive.

It felt like a lie.

“Smile,” he whispered against my ear, his lips brushing my hair. “They’re watching.”

I forced the corners of my mouth up. I leaned into him, resting my head near his shoulder. We walked up the red carpet, into the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel.

The room was massive. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over hundreds of people in expensive suits and designer gowns. Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of champagne. A string quartet played softly in the corner.

As soon as we walked in, the talking stopped.

Hundreds of eyes turned to look at us. Then, the whispers started. I could hear them, hissing like snakes in the grass.

*“Is that her?”*

*“I heard her father is a drunk.”*

*“She looks so young. I wonder how much he paid her.”*

I kept my smile frozen on my face, but my nails dug into Damian’s arm. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. But Damian just held me tighter, guiding me through the crowd like a king showing off his new queen.

He introduced me to people whose names I only recognized from Forbes magazine. I shook hands. I nodded. I played the part.

After an hour, my feet were killing me and my smile felt like it might crack.

“I need to speak with the board chairman,” Damian said, leaning down. “Stay here. Don’t wander off. And don’t talk to anyone you don’t know.”

Before I could argue, he kissed my cheek. His lips were soft, but the gesture was entirely for the cameras. Then he was gone, swallowed by a group of men in gray suits.

I stood alone near a massive ice sculpture, holding a glass of champagne I didn’t want to drink. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the charity case.”

I froze.

I turned around to see a woman standing behind me. She was gorgeous, with blonde hair, sharp features, and a diamond necklace that probably cost more than my life. She was smiling, but her eyes were cold.

I recognized her. Victoria Sterling. Her family owned half the real estate in the city. And for the last two years, the tabloids had been linking her name to Damian’s.

“Hello,” I said, keeping my voice polite. “I’m Elara.”

“I know who you are,” Victoria said, stepping closer. She looked me up and down, her lip curling in disgust. “Everyone knows who you are. The gambler’s daughter. The girl who broke Damian’s heart in college and came crawling back for a payout.”

My grip on the champagne glass tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Victoria laughed. It was a loud, fake sound that drew a few glances. “Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. We all know how this works. Damian needs a wife to secure his CEO position, and you need money to keep your pathetic father on life support. It’s a business transaction.”

She stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper.

“But let me give you some advice. Don’t get comfortable. Men like Damian don’t keep broken toys around forever. Once the year is up, he’ll dump you on the street. And I’ll be right there to pick up the pieces.”

Anger flared in my chest. Hot and bright. I wanted to throw my drink in her face. I wanted to scream at her. But I remembered the contract. *Rule two: Do not cause a scene.*

“I think you should leave,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.

“Or what?” Victoria sneered. “You’ll tell your husband? Go ahead. Tell him. We all know you’re just a paid escort playing dress-up. How much is he paying you per night, Elara? Ten thousand? Twenty?”

“Actually, Victoria,” a deep voice cut through the air. “She cost me two million dollars.”

Victoria gasped, spinning around.

Damian was standing there. His face was completely blank, but his eyes were deadly. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. The people nearby stopped talking, sensing the danger.

“Damian,” Victoria stammered, her fake smile faltering. “I was just… we were just catching up.”

Damian stepped up beside me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against my side. His grip was tight. Almost bruising.

“Catching up?” Damian said smoothly. “It looked to me like you were insulting my wife. And you know how I feel about people who disrespect what belongs to me.”

Victoria’s face turned pale. “I didn’t mean—”

“Your family’s stock portfolio dropped four percent this quarter, Victoria,” Damian interrupted, his voice carrying over the quiet crowd. “It would be a shame if it dropped another ten percent tomorrow morning because of a rumor I might start. Do we understand each other?”

Victoria looked like she might cry. She nodded quickly, grabbed her purse, and practically ran away.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My heart was pounding against my ribs.

Damian turned to me. The coldness in his eyes melted away, replaced by something dark and intense. He took my empty champagne glass and set it on a passing tray. Then, he took my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered as he pulled me into his arms. “I could have handled her.”

“You’re my wife, Elara,” he said, his voice low, vibrating against my chest. “Nobody insults you but me.”

The music shifted to a slow waltz. He placed his hand on my bare back, his fingers burning against my skin. We moved together, perfectly in sync, as if we had done this a thousand times before.

For a moment, looking up into his eyes, I forgot about the contract. I forgot about the debt. I just saw the boy I had loved three years ago.

“Why did you really do it, Damian?” I asked softly, the question slipping out before I could stop it. “Why did you really marry me? You could have picked anyone. You could have picked Victoria.”

Damian’s hand tightened on my waist. He pulled me closer, until there was no space left between us. His face was inches from mine.

“Because, Elara,” he whispered, his breath warm against my lips. “Victoria never broke my heart. And I need to make sure yours breaks exactly the same way.”

The music swelled. The crowd watched.

And my heart shattered all over again.