Chapter 3 Meet the wife

The elevator to the top floor of Carter Tower was too quiet. Too silver. Too fast.

Sophie stood beside Daniel, trying not to chew her bottom lip, clutching the slim leather file folder like it might save her life. Her fingers were still stiff from signing the contract that morning-a 90-day fake marriage agreement, complete with rules, schedules, and that ridiculous Clause 10: Don't fall in love.

"I feel like I'm walking into a lion's den," she muttered.

Daniel didn't look over. "They're people. Not lions."

"Your people," she corrected. "The ones who think I'm your wife now. Who've probably already Googled my shoe size and blood type."

His lips twitched-almost a smile. "Relax, Sophie. You just have to play your part. Smile. Hold my arm. Maybe nod thoughtfully when someone mentions quarterly projections."

"And what if they ask about the wedding?" she asked.

He pressed the elevator button harder than necessary. "They won't."

The doors opened.

And she was right-every pair of eyes on that floor turned toward them.

Daniel's executive team sat around a marble conference table with laptops open and brows raised. His assistant, Mel, blinked like she'd just seen a ghost. The PR director actually dropped her pen.

Daniel slipped seamlessly into the room, all confidence and custom tailoring. Sophie forced her legs to move and followed.

"This is Sophie," he said smoothly. "My wife."

That word again.

Wife.

Sophie tried to smile without looking like she was having a stroke. "Hi. I know this is... unexpected."

Mel's mouth parted slightly, but she recovered quickly. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Carter."

Sophie blinked. "Oh-wow. That sounds so... official."

Daniel cleared his throat. "Let's get started."

He launched into some corporate update about expansion in Singapore, while Sophie slid into the seat next to him, back straight, smile frozen. No one spoke to her again-not directly-but the glances kept coming. Disbelief. Curiosity. Thinly veiled judgment.

The worst part?

She couldn't blame them.

To them, she was the nobody designer who suddenly showed up with a marriage certificate and a billionaire husband. She probably looked like the ultimate gold digger.

Halfway through the meeting, a tall, icy-blonde woman entered the boardroom with an armful of portfolios. She gave Sophie a slow once-over, lips curving.

"Oh," she said lightly, "you must be the reason Daniel canceled dinner last night."

Daniel looked up, briefly annoyed. "Lena-"

Sophie stood to shake her hand, pushing down nerves. "Sophie. Daniel's-uh-wife."

Lena smiled wider. "For now, I guess."

Sophie froze.

Was that a joke?

Lena placed the files down and leaned in closer. "He usually doesn't keep secrets this long. But I suppose you're an exception."

Daniel's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

The rest of the meeting blurred. When it ended, Daniel walked her out in silence. Not until they stepped into the elevator did Sophie finally exhale.

"That Lena woman," she said quietly. "She your ex?"

Daniel didn't answer.

That told her enough.

"Great," she muttered. "So now I'm fake-married to a man with a real past who doesn't defend me in meetings."

"She was fishing for a reaction," he said, calm as ever. "I didn't give her one."

"Well, I did."

"I noticed."

They stood in silence as the elevator descended.

Sophie hated how stiff her shoulders felt. How awkward and out of place she'd been. And how somewhere deep down, beneath all the confusion and tension... she wanted to matter to him.

Even if it was fake.

Even if it was temporary.

She looked at the gold band on her finger again.

Ninety days.

She just had to survive ninety days.