Chapter 3 Where Pretending Ends

Eight o'clock sharp. I sat at the long glass dining table, dressed in a pale blue blouse and black trousers that Marian had left on my door earlier that morning. My hair was combed neatly, my makeup minimal, my hands folded on my lap. Everything about me looked composed. Everything inside me felt like a quiet storm.

The dining room was too elegant to feel real. The walls were lined with abstract art, and floor-to-ceiling windows spilled soft morning light across the polished wood floor. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Plates were already set. A full breakfast spread sat between us-eggs, toast, smoked salmon, fruit, even croissants warm enough to fog the silver serving lids. The only thing missing was him.

I told myself I didn't care. That this breakfast wasn't about closeness or connection. It was business. Part of the deal. A way to convince the world that this marriage wasn't forged in desperation.

But still, when the clock hit 8:06, I started to wonder if he'd changed his mind.

Then the door opened.

Jace walked in like he had nothing to apologize for. A crisp white shirt tucked carelessly into charcoal trousers, dark stubble lining his jaw, and that same unreadable gaze. He moved to his chair, sat down across from me, and reached for the coffee like we'd done this a thousand times before.

"You're late," I said softly.

He poured the coffee. "You're punctual."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's how normal people show respect."

He looked at me for a long second, then finally-a small smirk. "Good morning to you, too, wife."

The word hit harder than I expected. Not because it felt real. But because it still didn't. I was someone's wife now. In the most twisted, surreal way.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Every now and then, I caught him watching me. Studying. Not with warmth or fondness. More like curiosity. Like he was trying to figure out who the hell I really was and why I said yes to all this.

"You hate being here," he said suddenly.

I set down my fork. "Do you blame me?"

"No." He sipped his coffee. "But I'm curious. Why agree to marry someone you clearly don't like?"

I tilted my head. "Why did you agree to marry someone you don't even know?"

He leaned back in his chair. "My father backed me into a corner. What's your excuse?"

I looked down. "My mother is dying. He promised to save her."

Silence fell again.

When I looked up, Jace wasn't smirking anymore.

His expression had changed. Not pity. Something heavier. Quieter. But before I could read it, he looked away.

"I didn't know," he said finally.

"You didn't need to," I replied. "This was never about us."

He nodded slowly. "Then let's stop pretending it is."

After breakfast, I walked the estate grounds to clear my head. The gardens were stunning-lined with rose bushes and stone paths that curved around fountains and trimmed hedges. I kept walking until I reached the back of the house where the cliffs stretched out beyond the edge. The ocean crashed against rocks below. The sky above was streaked with morning haze.

I stood there for a long time.

Thinking.

Wondering.

Regretting.

Then I heard footsteps behind me.

"You always wander off alone?" Jace's voice came from a few feet away.

I didn't turn. "I didn't think you'd follow."

"I didn't follow. I noticed."

I glanced over my shoulder. "Are we going to have a check-in every time I breathe now?"

"No." He came closer, but not too close. "But if we're going to be in this together for the next year, we might as well stop pretending we don't exist."

I folded my arms. "That's rich coming from you. You ignored me for a week."

He exhaled. "Because I didn't want this. Any of it. I didn't want a wife chosen by my father. I didn't want this... fake life."

I turned to face him fully. "And you think I did? I had a life. I had dreams. You think I grew up fantasizing about marrying the son of the man who destroyed mine?"

That made him blink.

"I'm not the enemy, Elena."

"Then who is?" I asked. "Because someone is always pulling the strings here, and it sure as hell isn't me."

We stared at each other. Too long. Too hard. And for a second, the tension between us changed. Shifted. It wasn't anger anymore. It wasn't resentment. It was heat. Low, quiet, uncomfortable.

He looked away first.

"I'm going to the office," he said. "We have a press interview next week. My assistant will send the questions to you. They want a joint statement."

"How exciting," I muttered.

He didn't respond. He just walked away, leaving the scent of his cologne and the hum of frustration behind him.

Later that night, Marian knocked on my door. She had a neutral expression, as usual, and carried a folder in her hands.

"From Mr. Lancaster's team," she said. "The interview prep. There will be a televised feature. You'll need to memorize your portion."

I opened the folder. Dozens of flashcards. Pre-approved answers. Questions about how we met. How we fell in love. How he proposed.

I read the words slowly.

It was like flipping through someone else's fairytale.

When did you know Jace was the one?

Answer: The moment I met him. There was something in his eyes-something that made the world go quiet.

How did he propose?

Answer: On the balcony at sunset, just the two of us. It was private and beautiful and perfect.

What's one thing people don't know about your relationship?

Answer: That beneath the suits and scandals, he's the most loyal man I've ever known.

I stared at the words until they blurred.

They were lies.

All of it.

But in a few days, I'd be expected to recite them like they were the truth.

At midnight, I couldn't sleep. I wandered down the hall and found myself outside the study again. The door was open. The piano was untouched.

But the liquor cabinet wasn't.

Jace sat in the leather chair by the window, shirt unbuttoned at the top, drink in hand, staring at nothing.

He saw me and didn't move.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"No."

"Did the lies keep you up?"

I walked in slowly. "They're getting easier to tell."

He raised a brow. "That should scare you."

I sat in the chair across from him. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't cold this time. Just... heavy.

"What happens after a year?" I asked.

He didn't look at me. "We file for divorce. Go our separate ways. My father's satisfied. You have your life back."

"And you?"

He gave a bitter smile. "I don't have a life to get back."

I didn't know what to say to that.

So I said nothing.

When I left the room, I didn't realize he was watching me the whole way down the hall.

And when I closed the door to my room, I pressed my hand to my chest.

Because for the first time since I married him, I wasn't sure if this was still just a transaction.

Or the beginning of something far more dangerous.