CHAPTER 5: The Performance

The stylist had completely reinvented her, crafting a new identity.

Selene stared at the reflection, hardly able to see herself. The dress was a dark, flowing silk, shimmering with every motion, tailored to reveal her neckline and the curve of her shoulders. Her hair tumbled in deep, glossy waves—the stylist had been adamant about keeping it loose, claiming it appeared “more relaxed, less buttoned-up.” The diamond earrings sparkled softly with each gentle inhale.

She appeared rich and refined. Inside, she felt like an imposter.

“Mrs Pierce.” Mrs Liu appeared in the doorway, her kind face creasing with approval. “Beautiful. Mr Pierce is waiting downstairs.”

The title is still jarring. Mrs. Pierce. As if saying it enough times would make it real.

Avalon was glued to his phone in the foyer, and when he finally dared to glance up, a weird little spark danced across his face. It wasn’t exactly appreciative, and it sure wasn't apologetic—more like some confusing cocktail of the two.

“You clean up well,” he said finally.

“Oh, what a glowing compliment.” She made her way down the stairs, painfully conscious of the ridiculous slit in her dress flaunting her leg every single step. “Want me to throw in a curtsy for good measure?”

His jaw clenched like he was trying not to bite through steel. “The car’s ready.”

No grand gesture of offering his arm—well, she wasn’t holding her breath for that. But as they squeezed into the elevator, the cramped space shoved them close enough for her to catch his scent—cedar and citrus, fancy and annoyingly familiar.

“Ground rules,” Avalon declared as they headed down. “We crossed paths at Nene’s funeral. Old Sparks resurfaced to make a cameo. We got hitched fast because, hey, life doesn’t wait. You handle the lovey-dovey stuff, and I'll be in charge of the business drama. If Marcus gets all clingy on you, flag me down.”

“You guess he’s planning a stunt tonight?”

“Marcus? Oh, he’s always scheming something.” The elevator dinged and spit them into the garage. “He just prefers his antics with a dash of subtlety—most of the time.”

The town car wound through Pacific Heights toward Nob Hill, passing Victorian mansions painted like wedding cakes. Selene watched the city blur past and remembered when she’d loved San Francisco—exploring dim sum places in Chinatown with Avalon, watching seals at Pier 39, getting lost in the Mission’s murals.

Back when the city felt full of possibility instead of ghosts.

“You’re nervous,” Avalon observed.

“I’m not.”

“You’re spinning your ring.” His eyes stayed on his phone. “You always fidget when anxious. Some tells don’t change.”

His comment hit her like a rock dropped into a calm pond. He had noticed. Even after ten years and all the hard feelings that piled up between them, he still picked up on her little habits.

“Alright, I’ll stop,” she said, trying to keep her hands from fidgeting.

“Don’t do that. It actually makes you seem more real.” He finally met her eyes. “Everyone knows our wedding was kind of rushed, a bit of nervousness makes the story feel more believable than if you were totally composed.”

“Is that really the angle we’re going with? A love story?”

“We’re pitching whatever story helps keep Marcus from wiping out everything Nene worked so hard to build.” The car pulled up to the Fairmont, where valets buzzed around like sharp-suited sharks. Cameras started flashing everywhere. “Here we go—the big show.”

His hand found the small of her back as they emerged—warm, possessive, a claim he didn’t mean. The touch sent electricity up her spine that she couldn’t afford to feel.

Reporters shouted questions loudly. “Avalon! When’s the honeymoon?” “How did you keep this quiet?” “Selene, what’s it like being married to the most eligible bachelor in tech?”

Avalon’s smile was practised, charming, entirely hollow. “My wife and I value our privacy. Tonight’s about supporting the youth technology initiative, not our personal lives.”

*My wife.* The words should’ve sounded possessive. Instead, they sounded like a role he was playing.

The Fairmont’s ballroom dripped with old San Francisco money—crystal chandeliers that had witnessed a century of deals, ornate gold leaf that caught the light brilliantly. A string quartet played something classical. Servers floated past with champagne that probably cost more per glass than Selene used to spend on groceries.

This was Avalon’s world now. She’d never truly belonged in it.

"Avalon Pierce!” Out of nowhere, a woman dressed in striking red silk appeared like a heat-seeking missile locked on its target. Blonde hair, sharp and polished, her smile was sharp and a little sly. “You’re an absolute dark horse. Married, and not a single hint about it?”

“Meredith,” Avalon replied, his hand subtly tightening around Selene’s waist. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Selene.”

Meredith’s gaze swept over everything—the elegant dress, the sparkling earrings, the way Selene casually rested her hand on Avalon’s arm. She was sizing it all up like some super-intelligent social algorithm working at lightning speed. “Nice to meet you. So, how did you two actually meet? Avalon has been notoriously single for as long as I can remember.”

“We knew each other back in college,” Selene finally spoke up, her voice steady. “At Stanford, we were extraordinarily close, but then life took us in different directions.”

“And then suddenly, you just… reconnected?” Meredith’s tone was dripping with scepticism, like honey that’s a little too sweet. “What perfect timing.”

“At my grandmother’s funeral,” Avalon said smoothly, the lie slipping out as easily as if it were the truth. “Selene came to pay her respects, we got talking and realised why we’d always felt connected in the first place. You know, some bonds never really fade; they wait for the right moment to resurface.”

He looked at Selene as he said it, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath catch. He was performing, acting, but god, he made it believable.

“Romantic,” Meredith purred. “Though terribly sudden. You must forgive the rumour mill, darling. People are saying this has something to do with Nene’s will.”

The temperature dropped ten degrees.

“People,” Avalon said quietly, “should be careful about spreading rumours that sound dangerously close to slander. My wife didn’t marry me for money. I have enough lawyers to make that distinction crystal clear.”

Meredith’s smile never wavered, but something shifted behind her eyes. “Of course. No offence intended, I absolutely adore a good love story.” She drifted away, already whispering to another cluster of guests.

“That went well,” Selene muttered.

“That was a warning shot.” Avalon’s hand remained at her waist, and she wondered if he noticed he was rubbing small circles against the silk. “Marcus is sowing doubt. Testing which board members will bite. We need allies.”

“Where’s Margaret Chen?”

“Three o’clock. Navy dress. She’s watching us.” His thumb pressed against her spine. “Smile at me like I just said something charming.”

“You haven’t said anything charming in three days.”

“Then pretend I have.”

She laughed—a real laugh that surprised them both—and something in his expression cracked. Just for a second. A hairline fracture in the armour.

“There,” he said softly. “That’s better. That’s the Selene I remember.”

The words hit harder than any accusation.