"You're going to hate this," Alexander said, not looking up from his tablet.
I glanced at the garment bag Marie had just delivered. "What is it?"
"A test."
Three hours later, I understood.
The Sinclair Charity Gala wasn't just an event. It was a battleground where the city's elite tore each other apart with smiles and champagne.
And I was about to walk into it as Alexander Knight's wife.
"Stop fidgeting." His hand covered mine in the back of the Rolls-Royce.
"I'm not—"
"You are." His grey eyes met mine. "Your left foot. You tap it when you're nervous."
How did he notice that?
"There will be five hundred people in that ballroom," I whispered. "All of them wondering who I am. Why you married me. Half of them probably saw the videos of me being dragged out of—"
"Look at me."
I did.
"You are Seraphina Knight. Wife of the most powerful man in this city. You walk in there like you own it. Because tonight, you do."
"I don't know how to—"
"Yes, you do." He leaned closer, his cologne intoxicating. "You survived your family. This is nothing."
The car stopped.
Camera flashes exploded outside like lightning.
"Show time," Alexander murmured.
The door opened.
Sound hit me like a wave—shouting reporters, clicking cameras, screaming fans behind barriers.
"Mr. Knight! Mr. Knight!"
"Is it true about the marriage?"
"Seraphina! How does it feel to be Mrs. Knight?"
Alexander stepped out first. Every inch the powerful CEO in his custom black tuxedo.
Then he turned.
Extended his hand to me.
The world held its breath.
I took it.
And stepped into the lights.
The dress Marie had chosen was perfect. Midnight blue silk that hugged every curve before flowing to the ground. A slit up one thigh. Diamond necklace at my throat—borrowed, but nobody knew that.
I looked like I belonged here.
Even if I felt like an imposter.
"Mrs. Knight! Over here!"
"How did you two meet?"
"What about the Westwood inheritance scandal?"
Alexander's hand slid to my waist. Possessive. Protective.
"My wife and I are here to support children's education," he said smoothly. "We won't be taking questions tonight."
We walked forward.
Every step felt like walking through fire.
The ballroom was breathtaking.
Crystal chandeliers the size of cars. Ice sculptures. Tables draped in silk. A orchestra playing something classical and expensive.
And everywhere—people.
Beautiful people. Powerful people. Dangerous people.
All of them staring at me.
"Alexander!" A woman's voice, warm and familiar.
We turned.
A stunning brunette in red approached, arms open. Late twenties, perfect makeup, the kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes.
"Vivienne." Alexander's tone went carefully neutral.
My stomach dropped.
I knew that look. That tone.
Ex-girlfriend.
"Darling, it's been ages!" She kissed both his cheeks, then turned to me. "And you must be the famous Seraphina. How... unexpected."
The word landed like a knife.
"Vivienne Ashford," Alexander introduced. "This is my wife, Seraphina."
"Wife." Vivienne's laugh was musical. Practiced. "I still can't believe it. Alexander Knight, married. To think, just six months ago, you swore you'd never—"
"That was six months ago," he cut in smoothly.
"Of course." Her eyes raked over me. Calculating. "You look lovely, dear. Very... different from his usual type."
"Thank you," I managed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Her smile sharpened. "As you should."
She touched Alexander's arm. Casual. Intimate.
"Save me a dance later? For old times' sake?"
"I'm afraid I'll be busy with my wife."
The words should have felt like protection.
Instead, they felt like performance.
Vivienne drifted away, but not before giving me one last assessing look.
"Ex-girlfriend?" I asked quietly.
"Ex-fiancée, actually."
My heart stopped. "What?"
"Three years ago. It ended badly." He guided me toward the bar. "She's not important."
"She looks important."
His jaw tightened. "She's not."
Before I could respond, someone else approached.
Then another.
Then ten more.
Business partners. Society wives. Rivals wearing friendly faces.
All of them curious. Judgmental. Hungry for gossip.
"Seraphina, how lovely to finally meet you!"
"The wedding was so sudden—we weren't invited?"
"Tell me, dear, how did you manage to catch our most eligible bachelor?"
The word catch made my skin crawl.
Alexander handled them all with smooth politeness, his hand never leaving my waist.
But I felt like I was drowning.
"Excuse me." I extracted myself carefully. "Ladies room."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded.
The bathroom was a marble sanctuary.
I locked myself in a stall, breathing hard.
This was a mistake. Coming here. Pretending to be something I wasn't.
These people saw right through me.
The door opened. Heels clicked on tile.
"Did you see her dress?" A woman's voice. Young. Catty. "Trying so hard."
"Please. She's nobody. A Westwood—barely even that."
My breath caught.
"I heard she forged the will. Her own grandmother's will! Can you imagine?"
"Alexander must be using her for something. There's no way he actually—"
"Excuse me."
I stepped out of the stall.
Two women froze. Early twenties. Designer everything. The kind who'd never known a day of struggle.
"Oh." The blonde one flushed. "We didn't—"
"Know I was here?" I walked to the sink, washing my hands slowly. "Clearly."
They exchanged glances.
"Look, we didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." I dried my hands, meeting their eyes in the mirror. "And you're right. I'm nobody. Just a girl who got lucky. But here's the thing about luck—it can change."
I turned, smiling sweetly.
"So maybe be careful who you gossip about in public bathrooms. You never know who's listening."
I left them gaping.
My hands shook, but my head was high.
When I returned to the ballroom, Alexander was waiting.
His eyes swept over me. "Trouble?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
Something flickered in his expression. Approval? Pride?
"Good." He offered his arm. "Because we're about to make an entrance."
"We already made an entrance."
"That was arriving." His smile was sharp. "This is declaring war."
Before I could ask what he meant, the orchestra stopped.
A spotlight hit the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the host announced, "please welcome our keynote speaker and this year's largest donor—Alexander Knight!"
Applause erupted.
Alexander squeezed my hand once. "Stay close."
We walked to the stage together.
Five hundred pairs of eyes tracked our every move.
Alexander took the microphone. Confident. Commanding.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," he began. "Education is the foundation of our future, and I'm honored to support—"
"Is it true you married a fraud?"
The voice cut through the ballroom like a gunshot.
Silence.
Everyone turned.
A man stood near the back. Fifties. Expensive suit. I didn't recognize him.
But Alexander did.
His entire body went rigid.
"Robert Westwood," Alexander said quietly. "I didn't know you were on the guest list."
My blood turned to ice.
Robert Westwood.
My uncle.
The man who'd publicly called my mother a whore.
The man who'd tried to assault me when I was sixteen.
The man my grandmother had banned from the family.
"I'm not." His smile was cruel. "But I heard my dear niece was making her society debut. Thought I'd crash. For family."
Cameras started flashing.
This was it.
The scandal they'd been waiting for.
"Security," Alexander said coldly.
"Wait." Robert raised his hands. "I just have one question. Seraphina, sweetheart—did you tell your husband about your... history? About the psychiatric ward? About why your mother really died?"
The room spun.
No.
No no no.
"That's enough." Alexander's voice could freeze blood.
"Is it?" Robert's eyes glittered. "Because I have medical records that say—"
"You have fabricated documents," Alexander cut in. "And if you don't leave in the next ten seconds, I'll have you arrested for trespassing and slander."
"Slander?" Robert laughed. "It's only slander if it's not true."
All eyes turned to me.
Waiting.
Judging.
I couldn't breathe.
The walls closed in.
Then Alexander's hand found mine.
"My wife," he said clearly, voice carrying across the silent ballroom, "has been through more trauma than anyone should endure. Her family's abuse. Her grandmother's death. The theft of her inheritance. And yet she stands here with grace and dignity while you—a man who was banned from his own mother's funeral for attempted assault—try to destroy her reputation."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"So let me be very clear." Alexander stepped forward. "Anyone who spreads lies about my wife will answer to me. Personally. And my lawyers. And every resource at my disposal. Are we understood?"
Robert's face went red. "You can't—"
"Security." Alexander's tone was final.
Three men in black suits appeared.
They escorted Robert out, his protests fading.
The room erupted in whispers.
Alexander turned back to the microphone.
"Now, where was I?" He smiled. Cool. Unruffled. "Ah yes. Education. I'd like to announce a ten million dollar donation to—"
The rest of his speech was a blur.
I stood there, frozen, as he talked about scholarships and programs and futures.
When he finished, applause thundered.
He took my hand, leading me off stage.
"Breathe," he murmured.
I realized I wasn't.
We made it to a side hallway before my legs gave out.
"Seraphina—"
"He said psychiatric ward." My voice shook. "He said—everyone heard—"
"Hey." Alexander gripped my shoulders. "Look at me."
I did.
His grey eyes were fierce.
"I don't care what he said. I don't care what anyone thinks. You are my wife. And nobody—nobody—humiliates you while I'm standing here. Understood?"
Tears burned my eyes.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're mine." The words came out rough. Possessive. "And I protect what's mine."
For one moment, I forgot this was fake.
Forgot this was a contract.
Forgot everything except the way he was looking at me.
Like I mattered.
Like I was worth protecting.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number:
Tonight was just the beginning. Next time, I'll destroy you both.
I showed Alexander.
His expression went dark.
"Good," he said softly. "Let them try."
He pulled me close, and for the cameras that had followed us, he kissed my forehead.
It should have felt like performance.
It felt like safety.
"Come on, Mrs. Knight," he murmured against my hair. "Let's show them what real power looks like."
We walked back into the ballroom.
Together.
And for the first time since Grandma died, I didn't feel alone.