Chapter three: The socialite's trap

The glittering ballroom pulsed with soft music, chandeliers scattering golden light across polished marble floors. Laughter rippled through the crowd, blending with the clink of champagne flutes and the occasional pop of a camera flash. To Vanessa Carmichael, the room felt like a battlefield disguised as a gala, where every glance carried judgment, and every smile hid a dagger.

She adjusted the delicate strap of her gown, a midnight-blue dress Alexander had ordered delivered earlier that day. It clung to her figure with unnerving precision, as though he’d known her measurements before she ever entered his life. Her palms were clammy against the clutch she held, but she squared her shoulders, determined not to look like the outsider she felt.

Alexander Cole walked beside her with his usual commanding presence, sharp in a tailored black suit that screamed power. His hand rested lightly at the small of her back, a gesture that was both possessive and oddly protective. If Vanessa hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was playing the doting husband. But she knew the truth, this was part of the contract. Appearances had to be maintained.

Still, the touch sent a confusing shiver down her spine.

They had barely crossed the threshold before the stares began. Heads turned, whispers spread like wildfire. Vanessa forced herself to keep her chin high.

“She’s the wife?” someone murmured nearby, not even bothering to lower their voice.

“She looks so… ordinary.”

“I give it a month. No way she survives Alexander Cole.”

Vanessa’s fingers tightened around her clutch, but she said nothing. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t show weakness, not here, not in front of him.

Alexander, however, noticed. She felt his gaze flick toward her, sharp as a blade, before he leaned down slightly.

“Ignore them,” he said, voice low enough only she could hear. “They’re vultures. They feed on cracks.”

His words steadied her more than she expected.

They mingled or rather, Alexander was dragged into conversations while Vanessa lingered at his side. She said little, watching as businessmen, politicians, and elegant women clung to his every word. He carried himself with ease, untouchable, his expression cool and unreadable.

That was when she saw her.

A tall, willowy blonde in a crimson gown that screamed confidence, striding toward them with a predatory smile. The crowd seemed to part for her as though she were royalty.

“Claudia Harrington,” Alexander muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening.

Vanessa caught the flicker of annoyance in his eyes before he smoothed it away, but it was enough. Whoever Claudia was, she wasn’t harmless.

“Alexander, darling,” Claudia purred, sliding up to him like a serpent. She leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek without waiting for permission. “It’s been far too long.”

“Claudia.” His voice was cold, clipped. “Enjoying the evening?”

“Oh, immensely. Though it seems I’ve missed some… developments.” Claudia’s gaze shifted to Vanessa, sweeping her from head to toe with a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “And this must be the wife.”

Vanessa braced herself.

“Vanessa Carmichael,” Alexander said, his tone formal. “My wife.”

Claudia’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Of course. Forgive me, I just hadn’t imagined you… settling so soon. Or so… simply.”

A ripple of laughter spread among the small circle of socialites who had gathered to witness the exchange. Vanessa felt the sting of humiliation burn her cheeks, but before she could open her mouth, Claudia wasn’t finished.

“You know,” Claudia continued, tilting her head, “Alexander has always had a taste for, how shall I put it, exquisite company. I do hope, Vanessa, that you’re able to keep up with his… demands.”

The barb landed like a slap. The women around Claudia tittered behind jeweled hands.

Vanessa’s throat tightened, her heart pounding. She wanted to retort, to cut the woman down with words sharper than her stilettos, but she froze. This was Alexander’s world. A single misstep could cost her everything, her dignity, her mother’s treatment, the fragile illusion of control she still held.

Then, unexpectedly, Alexander spoke.

His voice was low, lethal, carrying easily across the circle.

“Claudia.” His hand slid more firmly around Vanessa’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. “You seem to have forgotten your place. My wife is none of your concern. And I assure you…” His dark eyes glinted as he looked down at Vanessa, deliberately softening his tone. “…she’s more than capable of meeting every demand.”

The silence that followed was electric. The smug smirk slid from Claudia’s face, replaced by a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The other women shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding the floor or their champagne glasses fascinating.

Vanessa’s breath caught. The warmth of Alexander’s words whether genuine or not wrapped around her like a shield. For the first time since entering the ballroom, she didn’t feel exposed.

Claudia recovered quickly, of course. “How charming,” she said with a brittle laugh. “I suppose congratulations are in order. A toast, perhaps?” She lifted her glass, her gaze never leaving Vanessa’s. “To the happy couple. May your marriage be as… enduring as it is surprising.”

The group murmured polite agreement, glasses clinking. Vanessa forced herself to raise hers, though her hand trembled slightly. She sipped, the champagne sharp on her tongue.

Claudia drifted away eventually, though Vanessa could feel her eyes lingering from across the room.

“You handled that well,” Alexander murmured once they were alone.

Vanessa turned to him, incredulous. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly,” he replied, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “Sometimes silence is sharper than words.”

She stared at him, searching his expression for the man behind the mask. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw something, approval, maybe even pride but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. They danced once, a slow waltz under the eyes of the entire room. Alexander’s hand was firm at her back, guiding her with practiced ease, his proximity both unsettling and intoxicating. Whispers followed them, but no one dared speak aloud after Claudia’s failed attempt.

By the time they returned to the car, Vanessa’s feet ached, her nerves frayed, and her mind raced. She sank into the leather seat with a sigh.

“You didn’t have to defend me like that,” she said quietly, staring out the window at the city lights.

“Yes, I did,” Alexander replied, his tone absolute. “You’re my wife, Vanessa. Contract or not, no one disrespects you in front of me.”

Her chest tightened at the unexpected fierceness in his voice. She turned her head slightly, catching his reflection in the glass. For once, his eyes weren’t cold. They burned with something else, something she couldn’t quite name.

And in that moment, Vanessa Carmichael realized two dangerous truths:

The contract might have forced her into Alexander’s world, but the man himself was far more dangerous than the paper that bound them.

And worse still, a part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.