Chapter 5 Noelle's reluctant acceptance

Noelle's POV

You'd think that saying yes to a marriage contract would feel like flipping a switch. You know one second you're broke bartender girl, and the next you're gliding around in designer heels, flipping your perfect hair, laughing at charity auctions while sipping overpriced champagne.

Spoiler alert:

Reality doesn't come with sparkles.

It comes with a crushing sense of what the hell am I doing? It comes with a stylist dragging you into a dressing room filled with gowns that cost more than your entire student loan debt. It comes with realizing that you just agreed to be paraded around like a trophy in front of people who would happily eat you alive if you so much as blink wrong. I sit stiffly in the velvet chair of the private boutique Adrik's people set up for me yes, an entire boutique and try not to panic.

Sandra, his icy-glam lawyer, clicks her pen against her clipboard rhythmically. "We have a selection of gowns pre-approved by Mr. Carter's team," she says in her clipped, don't-mess-with-me voice. "We'll need at least three options for the photographers at the gala."

"Right," I say, my voice a little strangled. Fake it till you make it, Noelle. I stand as a stylist appears, armed with a series of flowing gowns in silk, velvet, and satin. The first dress is pale blue and strapless, making me look like a washed-out Disney princess. The second is deep crimson, tight in all the wrong places, and manages to scream desperately louder than a bar full of tech bros. I'm tugging at the third one a black backless number that actually makes me feel less like a fraud when Cami barges into the dressing room.

"Whoa," she says, whistling low. "You look hot." I glance at myself in the mirror. I hardly recognize the girl staring back. The girl in the mirror doesn't have dark circles under her eyes. She doesn't smell like beer and bad decisions. She looks... polished. Dangerous. Unstoppable.

I lift my chin.Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can survive a year of pretending to belong in Adrik Carter's impossible world. But just as quickly, doubt creeps in.Who am I kidding?

I can't even afford to buy a latte without checking my bank account.

I grew up bouncing from one foster home to another, collecting scars and defense mechanisms. These people? They were born with silver spoons in their mouths and daggers hidden behind their smiles.

And Adrik? He's the king of that world. I'm just a glitch in his system.

"You okay?" Cami asks, coming up behind me. I nod, even though I'm not. "Just... a little overwhelming." She squeezes my shoulder. "You've survived worse." Yeah. I survived growing up invisible. I survived being left at the altar. I survived every heartbreak and failure life threw at me. I can survive this too. Maybe.

Two hours later, after being poked, prodded, and squeezed into a gown, shoes, jewelry, and enough makeup to terrify a clown, I'm back in Adrik's office for a "strategy meeting." Because apparently even fake relationships require strategic planning. Sandra clicks through a PowerPoint presentation like we're prepping for a hostile corporate takeover. "These are the key talking points," she says, handing me a sleek folder. "Your story is that you met at a charity event six months ago, bonded over a shared love of...ah, social activism." I choke on my bottled water. "Social activism?" I squeak.

Adrik, seated across the table in another one of his all-black outfits, glances up from his phone. "Do you have a better idea?" he asks dryly.

I glare at him. "What about 'she hit me with a beer mug and I found it oddly endearing'?" Sandra does not look amused. "No," she says. "The public needs to believe this relationship was carefully nurtured. Not a bar fight." I sigh and flip through the folder. How we met.

Our "first date." What we love about each other (Adrik: her passion. Me: his brilliance.)

It's all so... fake.

Plastic.

Soulless.

And somehow, it still hurts.

Like playing dress-up with something that was supposed to mean something real. "You'll attend the Carter Foundation Gala tomorrow night," Sandra continues briskly. "Pose for photos, give a few short interviews. We've arranged for a soft-launch engagement announcement during the charity auction."

"Auctioning off my soul?" I mutter.

Adrik's lips twitch, but he says nothing. Sandra gives me the full rundown-the timeline, the guest list, the potential questions reporters might ask. By the end of it, my brain feels like it's been run over by a fleet of Teslas. "And remember," she says as I gather my things, "smile. But not too much. Act supportive, but not clingy. Affectionate, but reserved. Confident, but humble." I stare at her.

"Got it. Smile like a hostage."

When we're finally alone, I sag into the chair across from Adrik. "This is insane," I say bluntly. He lifts a brow. "You're welcome to back out." I think of Lila, off the eviction notice taped to the door last week, of the crushing weight of everything I owe. I shake my head. "No backing out," I mutter. "I'm just... adjusting." He studies me for a long moment. "You'll adapt," he says finally.

Not reassuring.

Not comforting.

Just... fact.

Like everything else about him. I don't know whether to be pissed or impressed. Maybe both.

That night, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping off the trial makeup and staring at myself. The ring Adrik gave me glints on my finger, catching the light. It still doesn't feel real. Maybe it never will.

But when I close my eyes, I can almost picture it:

The flashing cameras.

The questions.

The champagne and the small talk and the endless pretending.

And Adrik.

Always Adrik.

Standing next to me.

Silent. Unreadable.

But somehow... solid.

A strange comfort.

I shake my head and splash water on my face. Get it together, Noelle. You made your choice. Now you have to live with it. Even if it means losing yourself a little along the way.

The next morning, Cami finds me sitting at the tiny kitchen table, still wearing my pajamas, staring at the ring. "You look like someone who's about to be executed," she says cheerfully. "Feels accurate."

She drops a coffee in front of me and sits down. "You don't have to be someone else, you know," she says. "You just have to survive. Play the game. And maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find a way to win." I look at her.

"How do you always make it sound so simple?" She grins. "Because life's complicated enough without overthinking it." I smile weakly.

God, I'm gonna miss her when I'm stuck in billionaire land. "You'll still be you," she says, softer now. "Under all the fancy dresses and fake smiles. You'll still be Noelle Winters. And no amount of money or contracts or Carter drama can change that." I hope she's right because deep down, in the part of me that still believes in messy things like hope and loyalty and love, a tiny voice whispers:

What if you don't survive this whole?

What if pretending becomes real?

I shove the thought away.

Tomorrow, the real circus begins.

Tomorrow, I put on the gown.

The ring.

The smile.

Tomorrow, I officially become Adrik Carter's fiancée.

Ready or not.