All Chapters of married for show : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

​Ruby ​The silence in the apartment was a heavy, suffocating thing, a physical weight that pressed against my chest. Allie had been the one to break it, her voice gentle but firm as she paced the length of my living room, laying out the unavoidable reality of the next seven days. A high-stakes corporate luncheon in Chicago—a mandatory appearance for the Ray legacy that neither of us could escape. If I didn’t go, the whispers of the press would turn into roaring headlines, and the gossip would be louder than the truth. If we went and played separate, it would be a confession of our ruin, a public spectacle of a marriage in freefall. ​"I don't want the public to know, Allie," I whispered, staring into my vanity mirror. My ginger hair, usually vibrant, looked dull and lifeless in the low light of the room, my green eyes hollowed out and rimmed with the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours. "I just don't have the energy to pretend anymore. Every time I look at him, I feel like I'm

. ​​Ruby ​The silence of the villa suite the next morning was absolute, yet it felt like it was screaming. I woke up with the sun, the light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass and illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Alexander was gone from the couch, but his scent—that sharp, expensive, haunting smell of sandalwood and citrus—still lingered in the room, anchored to the sofa cushions like a ghost. ​I stood in the center of the vast, minimalist space, my mind replaying the night before with maddening clarity. I hadn't been able to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom pressure of his hands on my waist and the searing, desperate heat of that kiss. It had been so real, so starving. For a few seconds in his arms, I had forgotten the lie, forgotten the betrayal, and simply existed in the orbit of the man I used to trust. I touched my own lips, disgusted that they still throbbed from the memory of it. How could I hate him so much and still crave the

​Ruby ​The Chicago skyline was a blurred smear of neon and steel, a cold, indifferent backdrop to the storm raging inside me. We had survived the breakfast meeting—a performance so grueling it left my jaw aching from the forced, polished smiles—and now, the silence in our suite was heavy, saturated with the scent of Alexander’s cologne and the suffocating weight of his constant, watchful gaze. ​My phone buzzed against the marble tabletop, the vibration rhythmic and jarring. When I saw Allie’s name, my defenses crumbled. I walked to the balcony, the freezing Chicago wind whipping my hair across my face, and pressed the phone to my ear. ​"Allie?" ​"Ruby! You won't believe it!" Her voice was frantic, bubbling over with a kind of incandescent joy I hadn't felt in my entire life. "James... oh my god, Ruby, James proposed! We’re engaged!" ​For a second, the world tilted. James—Alexander’s cousin, a man who had always treated us like family—was marrying my best friend and business part

​Ruby ​The elevator ride to the penthouse felt like a descent into a past life. Every floor it passed was another memory of the woman I used to be—the woman who believed that love was a shield, that a vow was a fortress, and that Alexander Ray was the man who would always stand on the other side of it. When the doors slid open, the apartment was silent. It was a cavern of marble, designer leather, and the heavy, expensive scent of sandalwood and regret. ​I didn't head for the master suite. I headed for the guest wing, pulling out the three large suitcases I’d kept in the back of my closet—the ones I’d used for our honeymoon. The irony wasn't lost on me. I started methodically, stripping the room of my presence. It wasn't an emotional purge; it was a surgical one. I folded my clothes, packed my books, and cleared my toiletries. I was leaving the Ray life behind, not for a smaller space, but for a blank slate—a modest, three-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood where no one knew the na

​The air in the Ray penthouse had always been thick with a certain electricity, but today it was charged with the kind of tension that made the hair on my arms stand up. I stood in the center of the living room, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble. I wasn't here to play a part; I was Mrs. Ray, Alexander’s equal in every sense, and our relationship had always been a firestorm—a genuine, deep-seated friendship that had blossomed into a fierce, stubborn love, even if the marriage certificate had started as an arrangement. ​Alexander was pacing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking like a man haunted. He pivoted, his face a map of frustration and raw, exposed vulnerability. ​"You didn't have to send that dossier to the press, Ruby," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "You have no idea the firestorm you’ve just ignited. You’ve destroyed your own brand as much as mine." ​I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, crossing my arms. I felt that familiar, stubborn fi