I woke up to silence.
Not the peaceful kind. The expensive kind.
The kind that came with marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows and a bed bigger than my childhood bedroom.
For three beautiful seconds, I forgot where I was.
Then I saw the contract on the nightstand.
Black leather folder. Gold embossed letters: KNIGHT ENTERPRISES.
My marriage certificate.
My cage.
I grabbed my phone. Seven missed calls from my father. Fifteen texts from Victoria. Three from Ethan.
I deleted them all without reading.
A knock on the door made me jump.
"Mrs. Knight?" A woman's voice. Professional. Warm. "Mr. Knight requests your presence for breakfast in ten minutes."
Requests.
As if I had a choice.
"I'll be there," I called out.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror was a stranger. Hair tangled. Eyes hollow. Yesterday's makeup smeared like war paint.
I looked exactly how I felt.
Destroyed.
But I washed my face. Brushed my hair. Put on the silk robe someone had left hanging on the door.
If I was going to be his contract wife, I'd at least look the part.
The dining room was obscene.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A table that could seat twenty. Crystal. China. Silver that probably cost more than my college tuition.
And Alexander, sitting at the head of the table like a king.
He wore a charcoal suit despite the early hour, reading something on his tablet. Coffee steaming beside him. Every inch the powerful CEO.
He didn't look up when I entered.
"Sit."
Not good morning. Not how did you sleep.
Just sit.
I sat at the opposite end of the table.
Twenty feet between us.
He finally glanced up. His grey eyes swept over me—clinical, assessing.
"The robe suits you."
It wasn't a compliment. It was an observation.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
A staff member appeared, setting down a plate. Eggs benedict. Fresh fruit. Pastries that looked like art.
My stomach growled, but I couldn't eat.
"You need to eat," Alexander said, not looking up from his tablet. "We have a long day ahead."
"Doing what?"
"Establishing rules." He set down the tablet. Finally giving me his full attention. "This marriage is a business arrangement. It works only if we're both clear on expectations."
My throat tightened. "Of course."
"First." He leaned back, coffee cup in hand. "Your room is in the east wing. Mine is in the west. We don't cross into each other's spaces without invitation."
Translation: Don't come near me.
"Second. In public, we are a devoted couple. Affectionate. Believable. In private, we are business partners. Nothing more."
Translation: This isn't real.
"Third. You will attend all social functions I require. Charity galas. Business dinners. Board meetings when necessary. You will be polite, poised, and perfect."
Translation: Be my pretty accessory.
"Fourth." His eyes hardened. "No emotional attachments. This contract expires in one year. After that, we divorce quietly and go our separate ways. Until then, you do not fall in love with me. And I won't fall in love with you."
The words hit like bullets.
Don't fall in love with me.
As if I could.
As if I'd be stupid enough to fall for another man who saw me as convenient.
"Understood," I said, voice steady despite the crack forming in my chest.
"Good." He returned to his tablet. "Your stylist arrives at noon. You have three appointments today—hair, wardrobe, and etiquette coaching."
"Etiquette coaching?"
"You'll be representing my name now. You need to know how to carry yourself in my world." He said it matter-of-factly. Like I was a project. An investment.
Not a person.
"I see."
"Do you have any questions about the arrangement?"
A thousand.
Why me? Why marry someone you clearly don't want? Why does your voice sound so cold when you defended me so fiercely last night?
But I asked none of them.
"No questions."
"Good." He stood, buttoning his jacket. "I have meetings until six. Marie will handle your schedule. Don't leave the building without security."
He walked toward the door.
"Alexander."
He stopped. Didn't turn around.
"What happens if I break the rules?"
Silence.
Then he looked over his shoulder. Those storm-grey eyes pinning me in place.
"Don't."
He left.
I sat there in that enormous dining room, surrounded by luxury and silence, and realized something.
I'd escaped one prison only to enter another.
Marie arrived at noon with an army.
Stylists. Makeup artists. A woman with measuring tape who looked at me like I was a mannequin.
"Mrs. Knight!" Marie beamed. "Ready to transform?"
I wasn't sure I had a choice.
They descended on me like elegant vultures.
Hair lifted. Face examined. Body measured.
"She's got good bone structure."
"The hair needs work. When was the last time you had it professionally done?"
"Never, probably. Look at these ends."
I stood there, silent, as they discussed me like I wasn't present.
"We'll start with the basics," Marie said gently, sensing my discomfort. "Nothing too dramatic today. Just polish."
Four hours later, I barely recognized myself.
Hair trimmed and glossed. Makeup subtle but perfect. A cream cashmere sweater and tailored pants that probably cost more than my grandmother's medical bills.
I looked like I belonged in this world.
I felt like an imposter.
"Beautiful," Marie declared. "Now, let's discuss etiquette."
The etiquette coach was a woman named Helena. Sixties. Steel spine. The kind of woman who could make you feel inferior with a glance.
"Posture," she barked. "A Knight woman never slouches."
I straightened.
"When entering a room, you own it. Eyes forward. Chin up. Small steps."
I practiced walking.
"Your handshake is too weak. Firm but not aggressive."
I practiced handshakes with Marie.
"And for God's sake, stop apologizing for existing. You are Mrs. Alexander Knight. Act like it."
By six p.m., my face hurt from smiling. My feet ached from walking in heels. My brain throbbed from memorizing which fork to use when.
Marie patted my hand. "You did wonderfully. Mr. Knight will be pleased."
Would he?
Did he even care?
He returned at seven.
I was in the library—a massive room filled with books I'd never read and art I didn't understand.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him.
"You're still up."
I turned. He'd loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves. He looked tired.
Human, almost.
"I couldn't sleep."
He poured himself a drink from the bar. Whiskey. Neat.
"How were the appointments?"
"Fine."
"Marie said you did well."
"I followed instructions."
Something flickered in his expression. "You don't have to sound so robotic."
"Isn't that what you want?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. "A perfect, obedient wife who doesn't feel anything?"
His jaw tightened. "That's not what I said."
"You said no emotional attachments. Public only. Don't fall in love." I stood, facing him fully. "What else is there besides robotic?"
"Partnership." He set down his glass. "Mutual benefit. Respect."
"Respect?" I laughed, bitter. "You treat me like a business acquisition."
"You are a business acquisition." His tone was ice. "That's what marriage contracts are."
The words shouldn't have hurt.
They did anyway.
"Right." I turned away. "I'll remember that."
"Seraphina—"
"It's fine." I headed toward the door. "I understand perfectly. Goodnight, Mr. Knight."
"We have a gala tomorrow night," he called after me.
I stopped.
"What?"
"The Sinclair Charity Gala. Five hundred guests. Every major player in the city." He leaned against the bar, watching me. "It'll be your debut as my wife."
My stomach dropped. "Tomorrow? But I just—"
"You'll be fine. Marie will prepare you." His eyes swept over me. "You clean up well."
It should have been a compliment.
It felt like an inspection.
"Anything else?" I asked tightly.
"Yes." He moved closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and dangerous. "Tomorrow night, you'll be on my arm. Smiling. Perfect. Every camera will be on us. Every eye judging. Can you handle that?"
I lifted my chin. "I survived my family destroying me in front of everyone. I can survive a gala."
Something shifted in his expression. Respect? Curiosity?
"Good." He was so close now I could see the silver flecks in his grey eyes. "Because tomorrow, we show the world exactly what they're dealing with."
"And what's that?"
His smile was sharp as broken glass.
"Power."
He stepped back, the moment breaking.
"Get some rest, Mrs. Knight. Tomorrow, we go to war."
He left me standing there, heart pounding, hands shaking.
This was my life now.
Contract wife to a man made of ice.
Playing perfect in public while bleeding in private.
I touched my grandmother's pendant at my throat—the only real thing left.
"I hope you're proud of me, Grandma," I whispered to the empty room.
Then I went to my wing.
My cage.
And tried to sleep.
My phone buzzed at midnight.
A text from an unknown number:
Enjoy playing dress-up while it lasts. He'll throw you away just like everyone else.
My blood ran cold.
Then another text:
See you at the gala, sweetheart. Let's see if you can survive the real test.
I stared at the messages, hands trembling.
Someone was watching.
Someone knew.
And tomorrow night, I'd be walking into a room full of enemies wearing a smile and a designer dress.
I texted Alexander without thinking:
Someone just threatened me.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then:
Forward me the messages. And lock your door. I'm sending security to your hallway.
Not are you okay. Not don't worry.
Just cold efficiency.
But five minutes later, a knock on my door.
I opened it to find Alexander standing there. No jacket. Tie gone. Hair slightly mussed.
He looked almost... concerned.
"Let me see your phone."
I handed it over.
He read the messages, jaw clenching.
"It's probably Vivienne," he said quietly. "My ex. She doesn't handle rejection well."
"Your ex-fiancée is threatening me?"
"She's threatened worse." He handed back my phone. "I'll handle it."
"How?"
"That's not your concern." He turned to leave, then paused. "Seraphina."
"Yes?"
"Lock your door. Don't open it for anyone except me or Marie."
"I thought we had rules about staying in our separate wings."
His grey eyes met mine. Cold. Dangerous. Protective.
"Rules change when someone threatens what's mine."
Then he left.
And I stood there, hating how those words made me feel.
Safe.
Wanted.
Real.
Even though I knew they weren't.
I locked the door.
But I didn't sleep.
Tomorrow, I'd wear a pretty dress and smile for cameras.
Tomorrow, I'd be Mrs. Alexander Knight.
Tomorrow, I'd face my enemies.
But tonight, I was just Seraphina.
Alone.
Scared.
And falling into something I'd promised not to feel.
The first rule was simple:
Don't fall in love.
I was already breaking it.