All Chapters of married for show : Chapter 21 - Chapter 28

Ruby’s POV ​The penthouse living room on Friday afternoon was a sprawling canvas of elite, calculated chaos. It was flooded with the brilliant Manhattan sun cutting through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, illuminating the deep velvet couches and the heavy marble coffee table. Massive racks of the most exclusive, unreleased haute couture gowns from Paris and Milan lined the foyer, creating a vibrant wall of silk, tulle, and obsidian velvet. ​I sat elegantly on the edge of the charcoal chaise lounge, crossed my long legs, and took a slow, deliberate sip of a rare Chateau Margaux. My pristine, makeup-free face was framed by my wild, fiery ginger curls, which were tied loosely atop my head, a few tendrils framing my neck. Across from me, the frantic manager of an elite Madison Avenue boutique was gesturing wildly toward a liquid gold backless silk slip dress, her voice thick with high-society panic as she attempted to cater to my impossible standards. ​"Madame Ray, the beadwork

​Ruby’s POV ​The penthouse was dead silent when the Rolls-Royce dropped me off past midnight. ​I didn't bother turning on the main chandeliers. I walked through the cavernous, darkened living room, letting the heavy, emerald velvet train of my gown sweep over the cold Calacatta marble floor. I was exhausted, but it was a dizzying, triumphant kind of exhaustion. The gala had been an absolute masterpiece. Even without Alexander by my side, I had commanded that ballroom. ​I kicked off my Chanel heels, poured myself a generous glass of red wine from the crystal decanter, and collapsed onto the massive velvet sofa. I pulled down the structural zipper of my dress, letting the rich fabric fall loosely around my waist so I could breathe. I turned on the massive television screen, picking a random, mind-blowing thriller movie to fill the silence. ​He wants drama, I thought to myself, staring at the screen as I took a slow sip of wine. He thinks I’m going to throw a high-society tantrum, c

​Ruby’s POV​By Wednesday morning, the penthouse had officially settled into a state of high-society cold war.​I sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, the bright mid-week sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the pristine white porcelain plates before me. Betty moved silently around the space, pouring a fresh cup of green tea and setting down a small bowl of mixed berries and granola. The silence was heavy, but it was a silence I fully commanded.​Since Sunday afternoon, Alexander hadn't set foot inside the apartment. He had sent a brief, clinical text message late Sunday night stating he was staying over at James’s apartment. I had replied with a simple, detached 'Okay.' We hadn't spoken a single word since. I hadn't spiraled, I hadn't checked the blogs, and I certainly hadn't let myself feel the sting of his absence. I was surviving on pure, unadulterated Bells pride.​The heavy click of the private elevator doors broke the quiet.​I didn't t

​Mia Bells’ POV ​The humidity of the New York midnight clung to the tinted windows of the Maybach parked in the shadow of an industrial pier on the Hudson River. ​Inside, the only light came from the dim glow of the dashboard. Mia Bells sat perfectly straight, her sharp chin tilted up, her tailored cream silk coat draped over her shoulders. At fifty-four, she had spent decades navigating the volatile currents of Manhattan’s elite. She knew exactly what it took to keep an empire standing, and more importantly, what it took to keep it from burning down. ​The rear door clicked open, bringing in a rush of cold river air. A middle-aged man in a wrinkled dark suit slipped inside, breathing heavily. He looked frantic, his eyes darting to the front where Mia’s driver sat, unmoving as a statue. ​"Do you have it?" Mia’s voice was smooth, devoid of any warmth, slicing through the quiet car. ​The man reached inside his coat and pulled out a thick, legal-sized manila envelope, his hands trem