Public Appearance Disaster
The morning sunlight streamed into Lydia Hart's bedroom, but it did nothing to soothe the storm brewing in her chest. Today was her first public appearance as Alexander Vale's contract bride—a gala hosted by the Vale family, attended by the crème de la crème of the elite.
Her heart pounded as she stared at the sleek gown laid out on the bed. It was beautiful, expensive beyond comprehension, but utterly foreign to her. Satin clung to her figure like a second skin, glitter shimmered under the light, and the designer heels looked more like medieval torture devices than footwear.
Lydia groaned. I will survive this… probably. Maybe. If I don't die first.
Before she could psych herself out any further, a soft knock sounded at the door.
"Miss Hart, it's time," said one of Alexander's assistants, voice devoid of emotion.
Lydia swallowed. Time, indeed. Time to enter the lion's den.
---
The car ride to the gala was silent, the kind of silence that screamed "don't breathe wrong." Lydia gripped the edge of her seat, eyes darting nervously between the city lights and her reflection in the tinted window.
Alexander didn't speak. Not once. Not even when the traffic snarled, or the car swerved slightly. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, expression unreadable, posture perfect. He was the embodiment of control—cold, untouchable, and terrifying.
Lydia let out a quiet sigh. Great. He's terrifying and quiet. That's double trouble.
---
When they arrived, the grandeur of the gala hit her like a tidal wave. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, throwing rainbows across the polished floors. Women in gowns like flowing water glided gracefully across the ballroom. Men in tailored tuxedos exuded effortless power and confidence.
And there she was, Lydia Hart, the illegitimate daughter of an elite family, standing in satin and glitter, trying not to trip over her heels, and already conspicuous simply by existing.
Alexander led her by the arm—a cold, firm grip that reminded her she was under his control. "Stay close," he commanded. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Avoid embarrassment. Maintain posture."
"Yes… sir," Lydia muttered under her breath, cheeks flaming.
---
The first hour was torture. Every handshake was a test, every conversation a tightrope. Lydia's attempts at polite small talk collided spectacularly with her natural sarcasm and nervous humor.
"Ah, Lydia," said one socialite, eyeing her with thinly veiled disdain. "I've heard so much about you."
Lydia smiled politely. Careful… careful… "All lies, I assure you," she said softly.
Alexander's hand on her arm tightened imperceptibly. His cold gaze swept across the room, and Lydia felt the unmistakable pressure: one wrong word, one misplaced gesture, and the wrath of the CEO would descend.
---
And then it happened.
A waiter tripped. A tray of champagne tilted. Lydia, trying to dodge disaster, stepped backward—straight into a display of delicate hors d'oeuvres.
The clatter was deafening. Glass shattered, canapés flew across the polished marble, and Lydia stood frozen, a perfect portrait of chaos.
Alexander's gaze snapped to her instantly. Cold, sharp, merciless. "Miss Hart." His voice was a knife, slicing through the murmurs of the elite guests.
"I—I'm so sorry!" she stammered, bending to pick up the shattered remains of the hors d'oeuvres.
He didn't move, didn't touch her. His stare alone made her knees wobble. "Do not touch anything that is not yours again," he said flatly. "Observe. Learn. Comply."
The murmurs around them grew louder. "Who is she?" "Illegitimate daughter?" "Is she really part of the family?"
Lydia's cheeks burned. The whispers, the judgment, the sheer humiliation—it was unbearable.
She wanted to vanish. She wanted to scream. Instead, she stood frozen, gripping her gown, eyes darting toward Alexander, praying he would shield her from the storm of social scrutiny.
He didn't.
Instead, he lifted his hand slightly, just enough to indicate she should follow him. Lydia swallowed and did as commanded, every step a blend of fear and mortification.
---
Later, as they moved to a quieter corner, Alexander spoke for the first time since the disaster. His voice was low, deliberate, and deadly serious.
"Miss Hart, you are here because of the contract. Not to make friends. Not to charm anyone. You are to obey the terms, maintain composure, and act as if you belong."
"I'm trying," Lydia whispered, feeling tears prick at the edges of her eyes. "I'm really trying."
"You are failing." His words were blunt, sharp as a scalpel. "Failure has consequences. You will learn, or the penalty clause in the contract will be applied. Public embarrassment is not tolerated. Do you understand?"
Lydia nodded mutely, swallowing the lump in her throat. This man is impossible.
---
The night wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
A group of family acquaintances approached, curious expressions hiding subtle mockery. One of them, a well-dressed man with a sharp smile, leaned in. "So, Lydia… how long has it been since you officially joined the family?"
Lydia froze. Here it comes…
Before she could answer, Alexander's arm brushed against hers. His presence was imposing, his expression unreadable. "Enough," he said, voice low and controlled, sending a clear message: Do not disrespect the contract.
The man froze, then backed away. Lydia exhaled shakily, realizing that Alexander's mere presence had saved her from another social disaster.
---
But even in his protective, controlling way, he did not speak to her warmly. No soft words. No reassurance. Only the constant pressure of his authority, a reminder that she was under contract, under scrutiny, under control.
By the end of the night, Lydia was exhausted, bruised, and emotionally drained—but oddly exhilarated. She had survived the first public test, navigated social minefields, and survived Alexander's relentless cold gaze.
As they returned to the penthouse in silence, Lydia wondered how she would survive the next encounter. Every day was a battle. Every moment, a test.
---
Cliffhanger: As Lydia collapsed onto her bed, trying to recover from the night's disasters, a notification pinged on her phone. A social media post had surfaced, questioning her legitimacy and her right to the Vale family name. Alexander's words from earlier echoed in her mind: "Failure has consequences."
Somewhere, Alexander Vale was already aware of the post. And somewhere, Lydia knew, the real challenges were just beginning.