Chapter 5 The Paris Illusion

The private jet was quieter than Mila expected.

No chatter. No champagne toasts. No excited whispers of "honeymoon" or "newlyweds." Just the low hum of engines and Lucien, buried in paperwork, across from her.

With her legs tucked away, Mila was sitting under a blanket that still had a light fragrance of leather and lavender. There was a steel gray sky outside, and thick layers of clouds covered the Atlantic. Paris waited ahead-romantic, sparkling, and completely fake.

Like their marriage.

"Why Paris?" she asked eventually, unable to take the silence anymore.

Lucien didn't glance up. I will be attending a meeting with the Delacroix group today.

I don't think that would be a pleasant trip.

He raised a brow. "It's not. But the press doesn't need to know that."

Mila studied him-how composed he was even in the air, the dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, the veins on his forearms visible as he tapped his pen against a contract. There was something about his silence that screamed effort. As if the man never stopped calculating.

She whispered, "You never forget, do you?"

"I rarely let any opportunities pass me by."

"Not even your fake wife?"

The corner of his lips raised ever so slightly, almost making a smirk. "Especially not her."

The Hotel du Lys, Paris

The castle pretended to be a hotel.

It could also be a castle, brought back to stunning luxury, with floors made of marble and lights and balconies that provide views of the beautiful Seine. They had the entire top floor for their suite, including a private terrace and a room fit for a fairy tale romantic movie.

Mila stood in awe as the bellman carried in their luggage. She'd never seen a room so... expensive. There were orchids in every vase, velvet drapes, and a bathtub the size of her old kitchen.

"Don't get too comfortable," Lucien said, entering behind her. "This is for appearance."

"I've noticed most things around you are."

He didn't argue.

On that evening, they had dinner at the highest-level eatery of the hotel. The deep burgundy gown with an open back and split up her thigh that Lucien's assistant had packed for her was the one Mila chose. Her heels clicked softly against the stone terrace as cameras flashed from the sidewalk below.

Lucien pulled out her chair, ever the gentleman, when eyes were on him.

"We're being watched," he murmured as he poured her wine. "Smile like you're in love."

Mila leaned forward, her lips brushing the rim of her glass as she whispered, "Fake love or real hatred?"

Lucien's eyes sparked, but he smiled at the cameras anyway. "Whichever photographs better."

Later that evening...

The wind was cool on the balcony. Mila stepped outside, needing air, needing space-but Paris was louder than it looked from above. Music floated in from the street. Laughter from nearby rooms. And beneath it all, the hum of life that reminded her how far she was from everything real.

She put her arms around her own body.

She whispered, "How do you sleep at night?" and thought she wouldn't get an answer.

"I don't."

She turned.

Lucien was there, jacket off, shirt untucked, tie gone. He looked less like a billionaire and more like a man who hadn't stopped running in years.

Mila's voice was quieter now. "I meant what I said earlier. About real hatred."

His gaze was unreadable. "And yet you signed the contract."

"Desperation makes monsters of us all."

Lucien stepped closer. "So what are you, Mila?"

She swallowed. "A survivor."

His eyes softened-only for a second. Then he turned, placing a small velvet box on the balcony railing.

"For tomorrow's appearance," he said.

She opened it.

Inside was a diamond bracelet. Delicate. Icy. Beautiful.

It was designed to look like a chain, unlike the usual jewelry.

"I would prefer not to have your presents," she replied.

"It's not a gift. It's a role."

"And what happens when the role bleeds into reality?"

Lucien didn't answer. He left the door shortly, and his shadow faded as he entered the house.

Mila remained standing on the balcony, holding the cold bracelet in her hand.

The Next Day: The Delacroix Gala

The ballroom sparkled under crystal lights. The city was filled with politicians, fashion designers, visitors from different countries, and leading technology experts. Mila had never experienced this amount of discomfort before.

But she played her part.

On Lucien's arm, she smiled. She laughed at dull jokes. She sipped champagne like it was honey. She answered questions with charm and mystery.

"She looks amazing, Lucien," a woman murmured while they were walking by. "You've outdone yourself."

Lucien grabbed Mila's waist a little more tightly.

He leaned in. "You're exceeding expectations."

She nearly whispered, "It's not because of you that I'm doing this."

"Of course not."

But his eyes told a different story.

During the dance, for a split second, Mila noticed something hidden behind the mask Lucien was wearing. A flicker of vulnerability. A man who once believed in things like love and trust, and had them ripped away.

"Why me?" she asked quietly as they moved to the rhythm.

Lucien didn't answer right away. Then:

Because when I looked at you, I knew you stood to lose a lot more than I did.

Mila's breath caught.

And then the music ended, and so did the moment.

That Night

Back in the suite, Mila stood at the mirror, undoing her earrings slowly. Her dress lay pooled on the bed behind her, and the bracelet sparkled from the nightstand like a reminder.

Lucien stood in the doorway, his tie loose around his neck.

"You were perfect tonight."

She met his gaze in the mirror. "Was I supposed to be anything else?"

He stepped closer, stopping just behind her. For the first time, the space between them felt less like a wall and more like a choice.

You can spend tonight in the main room, said Shaun, in a low voice.

Her heart skipped. "Is that an order?"

"No. An offer."

Mila turned to face him. "And if I say no?"

"Then I'll leave."

She stared at him for an extremely long time.

She then released the breath she had been holding and started talking: "Good night, Lucien."

He gave a small nod. Just once.

Then walked out.