ELABORATE LIE

Elena POV

“This is Celine Vance. My wife and the love of my life.”

The world stopped. I didn’t blink. I couldn’t blink.

Cameras flashed like lightning strikes. Reporters surged forward, mics stretching toward us like vines. I stood beside Damien, my heart a caged bird, pounding against its prison. I hated crowds—hated the press even more. They reminded me of that courtroom, the echoing silence just before the judge uttered “guilty.” The day my life was sentenced to death.

“Is it true you murdered Damien Vance’s brother?”

The words sliced through me like a blade. My lungs closed up. My chest burned. A panic attack clawed at the edges of my mind, but then—

Damien laced his fingers through mine.

The touch was gentle, but I felt the tremor in his hand. Subtle. Real. It grounded me—anchored me in this elaborate lie we were living. A performance as carefully choreographed as a ballet.

This wasn’t spontaneous. It was planned. Calculated.

I tilted my head slightly toward him, just enough to look smitten. The kind of look a woman gives when she’s drunk on love. The cameras clicked hungrily.

Fake. Just like my name. Just like my face.

I gave a soft, breathy laugh and leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek. I smiled—a smile so sweet it stung like poison on my tongue.

“My husband’s always such a tongue,” I told the reporters with a wink.

“He can’t keep secrets when he’s in love.”

They cooed. Ate it up.

“How long have you been married?”

“Is it true you were shopping at Dior today?”

“Celine, what do you love most about your husband?”

“Why did you hide the marriage—?”

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Damien interrupted, voice smooth but firm.

Security closed in, carving a path for us into the event hall. As we walked, I leaned closer, whispering through clenched teeth.

“You should have told me first.”

His eyes flickered—just briefly. Regret? Guilt? It vanished too quickly.

“Would you have agreed?” he asked.

No. Maybe. I didn’t know anymore. Everything blurred the moment he handed me a new identity and whispered, justice comes at a cost.

Still, this? This wasn’t part of the cost I expected.

“You didn’t have to make it that real,” I muttered. “You called me the love of your life.”

He paused. That infuriating smirk tugged at his lips.

“Would you rather I call you my tax liability?”

Inside, the ballroom was a vision of wealth and power. Golden chandeliers dripped light over sleek black marble floors. Crystal glasses clinked. Laughter rang, but every pair of eyes in the room landed on us.

Most were stunned. Some jealous. A few were full of disgust.

“You played along beautifully,” he murmured, not looking at me.

Of course I did. I had no choice. If that’s what it takes to clear my name—smile, charm, deceive—I’d play the part until the end.

We posed for more photos, smiled like newlyweds, like liars. Then he leaned in close.

“I’ll talk to some people. Don’t forget tonight’s plan.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course not. How else am I supposed to prove I’m innocent?”

“Just making sure,” he said. “Plant the seed in Charlotte’s mind.”

I nodded, watching him disappear into the crowd before I made my move.

Charlotte was near the champagne tower, draped in silk and arrogance. Her smile sharpened when she saw me.

“Celine,” she said, voice sugar-dipped venom. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

I let out a light laugh. “I know, right? Damien had to drag me.”

Her eyes scanned me—diamond earrings, the couture dress, the confident face she used to call pathetic.

I took a sip of champagne, eyes steady on hers. “By the way, you might want to keep an eye on Adrian tonight.”

Her smile twitched. “Why?”

I showed her my phone. A video—grainy but damning. Adrian’s voice. Another woman. Another betrayal.

Her fingers clenched around the glass stem.

Hook. Line. Sink.

“Why are you showing me this?” she snapped.

I gave a shrug and a practiced, sympathetic smile. “Just couldn’t watch someone as nice as you get played.”

Before she could lash out, I walked away. The damage was done.

I found Damien near the fountain centerpiece, his jaw locked, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator.

“Charlotte’s rattled,” I said under my breath. “She’s going to start doubting Adrian.”

“Good.” His tone was flat, his eyes distant. “You did well.”

I touched his arm lightly. “You still haven’t told me what the plan is for Adrian.”

“I will,” he said. “When the time is right.” His gaze finally found mine. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. “But I trust your ambition.”

A pause. A beat of silence between us that vibrated with tension.

Then the music shifted—slow, orchestral, deliberate. The ballroom floor cleared.

Damien held out his hand.

“For the cameras,” he said.

I took it. For the cameras. For justice. For survival.

He pulled me close as we moved onto the dance floor, our bodies aligning like magnets. His hand settled on my waist. Mine on his shoulder. The room blurred as we moved together in perfect rhythm, pretending to be everything we weren’t.

“You’re a good actress,” he murmured against my temple.

“You make it easy,” I replied, voice low.

The world melted away—the lies, the cameras, and the pain. For a second, it felt real. Dangerous.

His hand tightened slightly on my waist.

Our eyes locked.

And then—too close, too soon—our lips hovered, breaths tangled. A heartbeat away.

But neither of us closed the distance.

A heartbeat passed. One breath. Two.

Then a voice cut through the moment, sharp and unwelcome.

“Care to steal her for a dance?”

We both turned toward the sound.

Adrian.

He stood a few feet away, smug and unbothered, one hand casually tucked into his jacket pocket. His smile was directed at me. Damien’s jaw tensed. His entire body shifted—shoulders squared, eyes darkening like a storm. His hand tightened just slightly on my waist.

He didn’t want to let go.

But he did.

“Okay,” he said stiffly, stepping back.

My eyes widened in disbelief.

 “What?” I whispered