Isla's POV
I woke up to my phone exploding with notifications.
Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe.
My hands shook as I scrolled through the alerts. Every gossip site, every tabloid was posting about me.
"Isla Monroe Spotted with Billionaire Dante Salvatore—New Romance?"
"From Heartbreak to Power Couple: Isla's Stunning Transformation"
"Is That an Engagement Ring?"
The photos from last night filled my screen. Me and Dante at Nobu, looking like we belonged together. Close-ups of my new hair, my new clothes, the ring on my finger.
The comments were brutal and beautiful at the same time.
She looks AMAZING. Marcus is crying rn
Gold digger vibes tbh
No she UPGRADED. Good for her!
That's Dante SALVATORE. She won. Victoria could NEVER
My bedroom door opened without warning. Dante walked in carrying coffee and looking annoyingly put-together for seven in the morning.
"You're up. Good." He handed me a cup. "Julian's arriving in thirty minutes. We need to prepare you."
"Prepare me for what?"
"The press conference. Tomorrow at 2 PM. We're announcing our engagement officially."
I nearly dropped the coffee. "Tomorrow? That's too soon!"
"That's strategic. Strike while the internet's obsessed with us." He sat on the edge of my bed like we did this every morning. "Julian's going to teach you how to handle the media. These reporters will try to make you cry or look stupid. We won't let them."
"Dante, I can't—"
"Yes, you can. Yesterday you said you were ready. So get ready." He stood. "Shower. Wear the navy pantsuit Claire left in your closet."
He left before I could argue.
Thirty minutes later, I sat in Dante's home office wearing the navy pantsuit and feeling like I might throw up.
Julian arrived exactly on time, carrying a briefcase and wearing his lawyer expression—all business, no sympathy.
"Good morning, Isla. Ready to learn how to lie convincingly?"
"That's one way to put it."
"That's the only way to put it." He opened his briefcase, pulling out thick folders. "You're about to face a room full of reporters whose job is to find cracks in your story. Our job is to make sure they find nothing."
Dante leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching.
"First rule," Julian said. "Every question is a trap. Even the friendly ones."
"How is 'congratulations on your engagement' a trap?"
"Because your answer reveals too much." Julian pulled out his phone, pressed record. "Let's practice. Isla, congratulations on your engagement!"
"Um... thank you?"
"Terrible." Julian stopped the recording. "You sounded uncertain. Questioning. Like you're not sure if you're really engaged."
"They don't know that." He pointed at me. "You need to sound confident. Excited. Try again."
We practiced that one line fifteen times until Julian was satisfied.
"Good. Next question." Julian consulted his notes. "Isla, this seems very sudden. How long have you known Dante?"
I remembered our story. "We met six months ago at a charity gala. We kept our relationship private out of respect for my previous engagement."
"Do you love him?"
I hesitated. Julian pounced.
"See? That hesitation. That's what they're looking for." He leaned forward. "When they ask if you love Dante, you don't think. You don't pause. You answer immediately."
"But I don't—"
"They don't know that. Answer immediately. With conviction."
Julian asked again. "Do you love him?"
"Yes." The word came out flat.
"Terrible. You sound like a hostage. Again."
"Isla." Dante pushed off the desk, walking toward me. "Think about what I've done for you. The makeover. The resources. The chance to destroy your enemies. When they ask if you love me, you're not lying about romantic love. You're answering about gratitude. Respect. Partnership."
"Try again." He stood in front of me, close. "Do you love me?"
I looked up at him. At this stranger who'd given me everything I needed to fight back.
"Yes," I said quietly. And this time, it sounded real.
"Better." Julian nodded. "Much better. Now let's practice the hard questions."
For the next two hours, Julian fired questions at me like bullets:
"Is this marriage revenge against Marcus Wellington?"
"Are you pregnant?"
"Did Dante pay you to marry him?"
"Your stepsister says you're using Dante. True or false?"
Each question was designed to make me stumble. Julian made me answer each one a dozen times until my responses were perfect.
"Good." Julian finally closed his folder. "Now the physical part. Stand up."
I stood.
"Reporters will be looking at your body language. Your posture tells them if you're confident or scared." He circled me. "Shoulders back. Chin up."
I straightened my spine.
"Better. Now smile."
I smiled.
"That's a victim smile. Scared. Small." Julian shook his head. "Dante, show her."
Dante stepped beside me. "Smile, Isla. Like you won."
I tried again.
"No. Like you actually won." He turned to face me fully. "Think about Victoria at that engagement party. Now imagine her watching tomorrow's press conference. Imagine her face when she realizes you're engaged to someone richer, more powerful than Marcus could ever be."
I smiled. A real smile.
"There it is," Dante said. "That's your press conference smile."
Julian nodded. "Perfect. Now we practice walking."
"Walking?"
"You'll walk into that press conference on Dante's arm. Every step needs to show confidence."
I walked across the room.
"You're slumping. Making yourself small. That stops now." Julian positioned me again. "Pretend you own the room."
I tried again. And again. And again.
By noon, my feet hurt and my face ached from fake smiling.
"One more thing," Julian said. "Physical contact. The cameras will be looking for chemistry between you two. If you flinch when Dante touches you, they'll know something's wrong."
"I don't flinch."
"Let's test that." Julian nodded at Dante. "Touch her."
Dante stepped close, his hand settling on my lower back. Warm. Steady. I tensed slightly.
"See?" Julian pointed. "You stiffened. That reads on camera as discomfort."
"I'm not used to people touching me."
"Get used to it."
For the next twenty minutes, Dante touched me in various ways while Julian critiqued my reactions. Hand on my back. Arm around my waist. Fingers laced through mine. Each time, I tensed a little less.
"Better," Julian finally said. "Tomorrow, you'll need to look comfortable with physical affection."
"We have one more practice round. Dante, sit with her."
Dante sat beside me on the couch, close enough that our shoulders touched. His hand found mine automatically, thumb stroking my knuckles.
It should have felt weird. Uncomfortable.
Instead, it felt safe. Steady.
Julian fired questions rapid-fire:
"When did you know Dante was the one?"
"What do your families think about the engagement?"
"How does it feel to move on so quickly?"
I answered each one, getting stronger with every response. Dante jumped in occasionally, supporting my answers, making it look real.
"Excellent." Julian finally smiled. "You're ready. Tomorrow, just remember—"
"Every question is a trap. Answer with confidence. Smile like I won. Don't hesitate."
"Perfect." Julian packed up his briefcase. "Get some rest. You'll need it."
After he left, I slumped against the couch, exhausted.
"That was brutal," I said.
"That was necessary." Dante still held my hand. He hadn't let go. "You did well."
"I feel like I just ran a marathon."
"Mental marathons are harder than physical ones." He squeezed my hand. "But you're ready. Tomorrow, we show the world exactly what they want to see."
"A love story."
"The best kind. Revenge disguised as romance." He stood, finally releasing my hand. "Rest. Tomorrow we make it official."
Tomorrow, I'd stand in front of cameras and reporters and lie. I'd smile and pretend and perform like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
This was war. And I was finally learning how to fight.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:
Saw the pictures from last night. You look good. Really good. Can we talk? —Marcus
I stared at the message for a long moment.
Then I blocked the number.
No more looking back.
Tomorrow, I became Dante Salvatore's fiancée.
And my enemies would finally learn what it felt like to lose.