Chapter 4 The Gala Game

Isabella's lips still tingled from the ghost of his kiss.

He hadn't meant it.

It wasn't real.

But her heart didn't seem to get the memo.

Benjamin stood before her, composed as always, like he hadn't just ignited something in her chest that she couldn't name something dangerous.

"You should sleep," he said, already turning away. "We have a long night ahead of us tomorrow."

And with that, he left her room like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't just kissed his fake wife and walked out like she was air.

______

The next morning began in chaos.

A driver picked Isabella up and took her to a luxury boutique on Collins Avenue. A stylist, makeup artist, and two assistants took her like bees on a honey.

"You're the CEO's wife now," the stylist smarked. "You're expected to look like a goddess."

Isabella sat quietly as designer gowns were unfolded over her, lips glossed, hair curled. She felt like a doll. A mannequin for a fantasy that wasn't hers.

She was handed a floor length black satin gown with a neckline and delicate lace tracing sides. When she slipped it on and looked in the mirror, even she barely recognized herself.

The stylist clapped. "Benjamin Mateo is going to fall off his throne when he sees you."

She scoffed under her breath. He doesn't fall for anyone.

______

By evening, the penthouse was abuzz with movement. Isabella stood in the center of the living room, dressed and ready, heels perfectly matched, hair trempling over one shoulder.

Benjamin walked in.

And froze.

His eyes swept over her slowly, deliberately. He didn't say a word, but his stare said enough.

She turned slightly, facing him. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said, stepping closer. "You just... clean up well."

She smiled coldly. "You say that like I was dirty before."

He leaned in, fixing the necklace on her collarbone, fingers grazing her skin. "Don't take it personally. I just don't usually let emotions cloud a transaction."

"Good," she said, staring him down. "Neither do I."

But the way her heartbeat panted said otherwise.

______

The gala was held in an opulent ballroom at The Presidential Hotel. Crystal chandeliers glitters above as Miami's elite sipped champagne and exchanged million dollar smiles.

Benjamin held Isabella's waist like it belonged to him, guiding her through the crowd effortlessly.

To everyone else, they looked perfect.

Powerful. Untouchable. In love.

To Isabella, it was all a performance.

He introduced her to board members, politicians, socialites. Every time, she smiled, nodded, played the role.

But then came Celine Davens.

Tall. Blonde. Legs for days. And eyes that flicked over Isabella like she was chewing gum on a designer shoe.

"Isabella," Benjamin said, "this is Celine. She and I... dated."

Of course they had.

Celine extended a hand. "So you're the new wife. Congratulations. He always did like his toys quiet."

Isabella smiled sweetly. "And you must be the ex that couldn't keep his attention."

Celine's eyes narrowed.

Benjamin coughed, trying to favor the atmosphere.

As Celine walked away in defeat, Isabella looked up at him. "Was that convincing enough?"

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

"If I didn't know better," she replied, "I'd say you liked it."

He laughed under his breath, the sound dark and amused. "Careful, Isabella. That fire in you? It's addictive."

She turned to him, lips parted to reply but just then, the flash of cameras exploded in front of them.

A reporter pushed through. "Mr. and Mrs. Mateo! Just one quick photo?"

Benjamin didn't hesitate.

He pulled Isabella close, tilted her chin toward him, and kissed her.

This time, it wasn't a ghost of a kiss.

It was real.

Possessive. Passionate. Public.

Her mind inquisitive.

Her knees weakened.

And when he pulled back, the world blurred.

"Perfect," the reporter gushed. "You two are absolutely magnetic!"

Benjamin gave a tight nod, eyes still locked on hers.

But Isabella wasn't acting anymore.

Not entirely.

______

Hours later, back at the penthouse, Isabella stood barefoot in the kitchen, trying to process what had just happened.

Benjamin came in behind her, undoing his cufflinks. "You did well tonight."

"You didn't tell me there would be a kiss."

"It was spontaneous. You played your part."

"It didn't feel like acting."

His eyes met hers, unreadable.

She stepped closer. "Tell me the truth, Benjamin. Do you even know where the lines are anymore? Between pretending and reality?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

"I know exactly where the lines are," he said softly. "And I know how dangerous it is to cross them."

She swallowed. "Then why do I feel like we already did?"

His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and his entire demeanor changed.

His jaw clenched.

"What is it?" she asked.

He turned toward the window, voice flat. "Nothing you need to worry about."

But she saw it.

A name on the screen before it dimmed:

Delilah Mateo

A woman.

With his last name.

Her stomach twisted. "Who is Delilah?"

Benjamin didn't answer right away. His back remained turned, shoulders tense.

"She's someone I thought was gone for good."

He turned back to face her, eyes shadowed.

"And if she's back... everything changes."