"You're late."
The cold voice sent a chill through Arabelle's spine before she even fully stepped into the grand dining hall of the Lancaster estate. She didn't have to look up to know it belonged to him—Damian Lancaster, her new husband.
The clink of his knife against his wine glass echoed across the room. Elegant, poised, and entirely out of place in a marriage like theirs, Damian sat at the head of the table like a king overseeing his court. He didn't so much as glance up when she entered.
"I'm sorry," she said, smoothing the front of her dress and approaching her seat. "I didn't know dinner was formal tonight."
"Everything is formal now that you're a Lancaster," he replied coolly. "Punctuality is not optional."
Arabelle took her seat, determined not to let his indifference affect her. But the silence that followed was almost suffocating. The room was filled with candlelight and expensive food, but it felt as frigid as a courtroom.
She poured herself a glass of water, avoiding his piercing gaze. "I'm still adjusting to… all of this."
"Adjust faster."
Her fingers clenched around the stem of her glass. "Is there a reason you brought me here tonight? Other than to scold me for being five minutes late?"
Damian finally looked up. And for a second—just one—Arabelle saw something flicker behind those storm-grey eyes. Annoyance? Sadness? She couldn't tell. But it was gone before she could understand it.
"This marriage may be fake in your heart, Arabelle. But to the world, it's as real as the ring on your finger. You'll need to play your part convincingly, especially at the charity gala this Saturday."
"I'm aware," she replied stiffly.
"Are you?" he leaned forward, the candlelight casting sharp shadows on his cheekbones. "Because the media already smells blood. One wrong smile, one missed cue, and the vultures will descend. Our marriage will be reduced to tabloid fodder—and I won't allow that."
Arabelle met his gaze, fire in her own. "Then maybe you shouldn't have forced me into it."
Silence.
For a moment, neither of them moved. And in that electric stillness, Arabelle caught a new expression flash across Damian's face—regret? Or maybe something softer?
He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a screech. "Dinner's over. My assistant will brief you on the gala."
"You mean she'll teach me how to pretend I'm in love with the man who blackmailed me into marriage?"
Damian stopped mid-step. But he didn't turn.
"Call it whatever you like," he said, voice taut. "Just make it believable."
Back in her room—more like a suite—Arabelle collapsed onto the king-sized bed. She buried her face in the pillows, muffling the scream threatening to erupt.
It had only been three days since the wedding, and already she felt like a prisoner. Not just in this mansion, but inside a script someone else had written.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her best friend, Kayla.
Kayla: Are you okay? You vanished after the wedding.Kayla: Please tell me this marriage isn't what it looks like on TV…Kayla: Belle, say something. I'm worried.
Arabelle stared at the screen. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to type the truth: I married Damian Lancaster to save my family from financial ruin. I gave up my freedom so my father wouldn't lose everything. I'm living a lie.
Instead, she typed:
Arabelle: I'm fine. Just... adjusting.
She tossed the phone aside. Lies. One after another. Even to the people she loved.
There was a knock at the door.
She groaned. "Come in."
It was Marlene, Damian's assistant. Polished, polite, and terrifyingly efficient.
"Mr. Lancaster asked me to go over the itinerary for the gala. It's a high-profile event. Everyone who's anyone will be there."
Arabelle sat up. "Let me guess. I have to look stunning, say nothing controversial, and pretend I'm head-over-heels in love with my husband?"
Marlene smiled tightly. "You catch on quickly. The dress will be delivered tomorrow morning. Hair and makeup at five. You'll arrive together at seven sharp."
Arabelle couldn't help the sarcasm in her voice. "And do we practice our fake smiles beforehand, or just wing it on the red carpet?"
Marlene's expression didn't change. But her eyes held a flicker of something—sympathy, maybe?
"You're not the first woman to enter this world unprepared," she said quietly. "But if you're smart, you'll learn to swim before the sharks smell blood."
With that, she turned and left, leaving Arabelle with more questions than answers.
Saturday – Gala Night
Arabelle stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in a sapphire-blue gown that clung to her curves like silk water. The diamonds at her ears sparkled under the chandelier light. The transformation was stunning.
Even she barely recognized herself.
Damian, waiting below in a custom-tailored tuxedo, looked up. For the first time, his expression cracked. Something in his gaze flickered—surprise, admiration... maybe even desire.
"You look..." he paused, his voice husky. "…convincing."
Arabelle arched a brow. "You could try a compliment that doesn't sound like an insult."
His lips twitched. Was that a smile? No. Couldn't be.
"Let's get this over with," he said.
The cameras were already flashing as they stepped into the limousine.
The gala was a swirling sea of luxury, ambition, and power. Arabelle had never seen so many people pretend so hard to care about world hunger while wearing outfits that could fund a village.
But she kept her smile in place, her posture elegant. Every time Damian reached for her hand or whispered in her ear, she played along. They laughed at nothing. Toasted to lies. Danced in front of people who measured sincerity by how well it photographed.
"You're better at this than I expected," Damian murmured as they moved across the ballroom floor.
"You mean I can pretend I don't hate you for an hour?"
He smirked. "Exactly that."
But then something shifted. As the music softened and they swayed closer, Arabelle felt the tension in his shoulders melt. His touch was less stiff, his gaze less guarded.
"Why did you really agree to this marriage?" she asked, her voice low.
His jaw tightened. "Same reason you did. To protect someone I love."
Arabelle blinked. That wasn't the answer she expected.
Before she could ask more, the lights flashed for another round of photographs. And just like that, the mask returned. Damian's smile grew cold again.
"Smile, Arabelle. The world is watching."
And so she did. Even as her heart twisted inside her chest.