A Marriage of Convenience

The gentle spring breeze carried a hint of warm floral fragrance, blending with the lingering drizzle as it brushed against the ornate façade of the French-style building.

Tonight, at this exclusive high-jewelry auction, the dim lighting and lavish atmosphere set the stage for the evening's most anticipated highlight-a pair of 18th-century diamond earrings, once owned by a French princess, now donated by an Austrian noble family.

In a way, they were finally returning home.

Grace had come tonight primarily to witness these legendary earrings in person. She attended the event alone, but that never stopped people from approaching her.

"Oh, Grace! Your black gown is stunning! Is it from your family's new collection this season?"

A group of women quickly gathered around, eyes gleaming as they took in her appearance. Grace Bellavance had always been breathtaking-her amber eyes, sharp and captivating, held a hypnotic depth, while the sleek one-shoulder gown she wore effortlessly highlighted her elegant shoulders and delicate waistline.

It was impossible to tell whether the gown itself was stunning, or if it simply became so because Grace was the one wearing it.

After all, everyone knew that Bellavance wasn't just a legacy of luxury leather goods-it was a fashion empire, a symbol of prestige and power. From couture evening gowns to trendsetting designs, every season's collection dictated the industry's artistic and commercial direction.

Getting close to Grace wasn't just about friendship-it was about access. The right connections might mean securing an exclusive piece before anyone else, or even becoming the next it girl of the fashion world.

Grace stood at the center of their admiration, offering a practiced yet distant smile.

"No, it was custom-made," she replied lightly.

Among the elite gathered here, wealth was a given, and haute couture was hardly a novelty. But wearing something entirely unique, every single time-that was true luxury. That was power.

The women around her didn't bother hiding their admiration. As always, they chimed in with compliments, their voices laced with envy.

Grace remained indifferent. When the conversation naturally paused, she seized the moment to excuse herself to the restroom.

Finally, some quiet.

She blinked, her dry eyes stinging. The contact lenses were bothering her. Even though her nearsightedness wasn't severe-barely 200 degrees-she rarely wore glasses. But tonight, she had to endure the discomfort; she wanted a clear view of those earrings when they were finally presented on stage.

After closing her eyes briefly to rest them, she retouched her lipstick and slipped the tube back into her clutch as she stepped out of the restroom.

Lost in thought, she wasn't paying attention when-clink!-her lipstick slipped from her fingers and rolled across the polished marble floor.

With a sigh, she watched as the golden tube spun forward, its crisp metallic sound echoing through the quiet hallway, until it finally came to a stop at the feet of a man.

Polished, matte-leather Oxford shoes, impeccably clean. Above them, the perfectly tailored drape of suit trousers-the fabric clearly expensive, every seam precise.

Grace's gaze instinctively moved upward. But just as her eyes shifted, her contact lenses shifted uncomfortably with them, and with the dim corridor lighting, she could only make out the vague silhouette of a tall, commanding figure.

The man stood still, his posture straight, his presence exuding a calm yet undeniable authority. In the shadows, his features remained unreadable, his aura sharp and unyielding.

Grace shut her eyes briefly, dismissing the discomfort. Forget it. It doesn't matter who it is-I have no interest in making conversation.

By the time she reopened them, the man had already stepped closer, extending his palm toward her.

Her lipstick rested in his open hand.

A faint trace of cologne lingered in the air-cool, crisp bergamot, with a distinct, sophisticated edge.

More than that, she could feel his gaze-steady, unwavering, watching her from above.

Grace's lashes fluttered as she swiftly retrieved the lipstick from his palm. "Thank you," she murmured, turning away before their eyes could meet.

Polite, but completely uninterested. She had no desire for unnecessary entanglements.

What she didn't see was that, as she walked away, the man turned to watch her retreating figure, his expression unreadable.

There was something in his gaze-a flicker of recognition, or perhaps curiosity-brief, fleeting, but undeniable.

And just like that, as she quickened her pace and her gown swept behind her, the moment dissolved into the night.

By the time Grace returned to the bustling auction hall, the attention had already shifted elsewhere.

The group of women who had surrounded her earlier now flocked around someone else-a vibrant young woman at the center of the circle, chatting animatedly. The moment she noticed Grace's arrival, her eyes lit up even more.

"Grace! Darling, where have you been? I've been looking for you all night!"

The speaker was Dana Fontaine. Her enthusiasm was almost theatrical, her lips painted in a bold shade of red that only heightened her dramatic flair.

Grace lifted the corners of her mouth into a flawlessly practiced smile, her gaze resting lightly on Dana.

"Just stepped away for a moment."

"I knew it! You wouldn't miss those earrings for the world!"

Dana pushed past the other women, leaning in like they were the closest of friends.

"Tell me, what's your budget tonight?" she asked.

"We'll see." Grace answered smoothly, lifting a champagne flute from a passing server's tray. Without breaking her composure, she subtly widened the space between them.

And that was when something caught her eye.

Pinned to Dana's dress was a brooch-an exquisite piece, with diamonds and deep green garnets.

Not the size of the stones, but the boldness of the design made it stand out.

Grace's steps faltered for a fraction of a second.

Dana noticed immediately. And before Grace could ask, she smirked, basking in the attention.

"Oh, you have an eye for beauty," she touched the brooch delicately, her voice tinged with delight, "This? It's from Élan G."

Gasps rippled through the group.

"Wait-Élan G? The Élan G?"

"You actually got a piece from them? I heard they only make eighty pieces a year, most of which are snapped up by royalty and collectors."

The glittering garnets in a rare shade-one that made the others instinctively start estimating its worth. Seven figures, at least. And it was one of a kind.

Dana, soaking in the attention, straightened her posture, her brooch gleaming even brighter under the chandeliers.

"It was a gift for our anniversary. The moment I so much as glanced at it, my husband pulled a few strings and made it happen. Honestly, what could I even say?"

She let out a delicate sigh, as though this level of devotion was almost burdensome.

The message was clear: her husband adored her. And most importantly? She wanted Grace to hear it.

Dana's family, Fontaine Group, was a global giant in fine dining, a powerhouse of wealth and status. Entirely different from the Bellavance empire, yet equally powerful in its own right.

As Dana and Grace were of the same generation, they had been compared for years.

And tonight, Dana had dressed in white, while Grace stood in black-two sides of the same coin, yet in stark contrast.

This wasn't just about fashion or jewelry. People were already placing their silent bets-who had won, and who had lost.

And now that the topic had turned to "husbands", well-

Grace's husband had left for Australia just two weeks after their wedding-Sixteen and a half hours away by flight, on the other side of the world.

Lasted nearly two years.

A marriage in name only.

For families like theirs, marriage was never about love-it was a calculated transaction, a means to maximize benefits. Personal choice was nothing more than a luxury they weren't entitled to.

Sure, on paper, Grace had married well-a husband of impeccable lineage, wealth, and striking looks. But what was the point?

They had gone their separate ways after a short period they signed the papers. They didn't see each other, not even enough to put on a pretense of a functional marriage.

And who knew? Perhaps Raphael had already built a whole other life for himself in Australia.

Compared to Dana's ostentatious display of affection just now, the outcome of this unspoken contest was painfully obvious.

Still, that didn't stop the onlookers from sneaking glances at Grace, waiting to see how she would react.

Grace resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Feigning indifference, she ignored the sympathetic yet entertained gazes thrown her way, fingers tightening around the stem of her champagne glass. But her lips remained curved-serene, composed, untouchable.

"Your husband dotes on you. Wishing you a happy anniversary."

She lifted her glass, offering a graceful toast.

Dana let out a delighted, coy laugh, lifting her own glass to clink against Grace's.

Normally, this would be where the conversation ended. A polite pause. A moment to let each other retreat with dignity.

But Dana had no intention of letting her off that easily.

With an airy tone, she pressed on, "Enough about me. Grace, if I remember correctly, your anniversary is next month too, isn't it? Your husband-"

"Oh? You seem to remember it even better than I do."

Grace cut her off smoothly, her voice tinged with amusement.

In the reflection of the champagne glass, the fleeting flicker of displeasure in Dana's eyes.

Of course, she remembered.

How could she forget?

She had meticulously orchestrated a "wedding of the century," pouring her heart and soul into every detail, only for Grace's wedding, held barely a month later, to effortlessly overshadow it.

The media had glorified Fontaine's wedding as an "unprecedented grand affair"-until Bellavance and Sterling's union stole the spotlight overnight.

"A spectacle of unmatched opulence."

"The most influential marriage ever."

The coverage of Grace's wedding lasted an entire week. Dana's, meanwhile, faded into obscurity-relegated to nothing more than a footnote in society gossip.

She had swallowed that humiliation for two years.

And tonight, she finally had the chance to turn the tables.

"Did your husband prepare anything for you? Or wait-he's still not back yet, is he?"

Oh, for God's sake.

That was the one topic Dana really didn't need to bring up.

Grace's smile didn't waver, but a vein threatened to pulse at her temple. She had nothing to say to that-because the truth was, her husband had been gone so long, she was starting to forget what he even looked like.

Their last exchange had been a month ago.

And even then, his responses had never exceeded five words per message.

"You know how he is-always business first. Romance has never been his strong suit."

Her tone was light, dismissive, but her gaze locked onto Dana's, a silent warning to drop the subject.

Dana batted her lashes innocently, "Oh dear, you're not mad at me for asking, are you?"

Her lips curved in mock concern as she sighed, "I just think marriage needs time and effort. If you don't nurture it, distance will only grow."

Grace took a slow sip of champagne, her smile dangerously close to cracking.

"Thanks for the advice, darling."

At long last, the auction was about to start.

Buyers began taking their seats in the grand hall. Rows of deep red leather chairs, arranged in a semicircle, faced the illuminated central stage.

Grace and Dana were both seated in the front row, though separated by a few seats.

Low murmurs filled the air as collectors whispered among themselves, discussing the anticipated bids.

Then-a sudden stir at the back of the room.

People turned, one after another, heads tilting in curiosity.

At first, Grace paid no mind. A late-arriving socialite, perhaps, or some celebrity heir.

But the hushed excitement only intensified, spreading like wildfire through the room.

Even those who hadn't initially looked back were now stealing glances, drawn by the growing buzz.

Grace kept her gaze forward-until she caught Dana's eyes on her-one she couldn't quite decipher.

Something about Dana's expression was off.

With a slight frown, Grace slowly turned her head.

At first, she saw only a striking woman in her forties, poised and elegant-a familiar face from years past.

Lydia.

Once a celebrated film star, she had vanished from the industry after winning Best Actress six years ago. Rumors swirled that she had married into a Mining empire, retreating into quiet luxury.

No wonder the room was abuzz-it was rare for someone of her stature to make a public appearance.

But just as Grace was about to look away, she caught something through the crowd-just a glimpse.

A figure.

Familiar, yet unmistakably foreign.

Her fingers turned ice cold.

Her spine went rigid.

No.

It couldn't be.

And yet-

His gaze was already locked onto hers.

There was no mistaking it now.

The sharp jawline, the sculpted features.

And those icy, steel-blue eyes-piercing, distant, unreadable.

Her long-absent husband.

Raphael Sterling.

No wonder Dana had been watching her like that.

Her husband-who was supposed to be in Australia, the man she hadn't seen in nearly two years, had just walked in--with a woman the entire room was staring at.

Grace immediately schooled her expression, thick lashes sweeping down as she turned her focus back to the front.

With an easy, practiced motion, she smoothing the fabric of her dress as if nothing had happened.

The charged energy from before dissipated, swallowed by the quiet intensity of the auction atmosphere.

"Raphael, you mentioned your wife is here. Why not go say hello?"

Lydia, appearing disinterested in the ongoing bids, turned to the man beside her.

Raphael's gaze flickered briefly toward the woman seated ahead of him.

His voice was calm, unhurried.

"I already did."

"Oh? When?" Lydia arched a brow.

From the moment they landed to their arrival at the venue, he was always around her side.

Curious.

She had always wanted to meet the woman Raphael Sterling had deemed worthy of marriage.

Raphael merely smiled faintly, offering no further explanation.

Lydia tilted her head but didn't push.

"Well, when my husband arrives in Paris next week, you should bring your wife to dinner with us."

"Alright."

The hammer fell once, twice-and at last, the star of the night emerged.

A pair of 18th-century Girandole earrings, their double-tiered, teardrop silhouette glimmering under the auction lights.

Each side held thirty meticulously arranged diamonds, a breathtaking relic of a bygone era.

A gloved expert from the auction house handled them with reverence.

Unlike the other pieces tonight, these earrings had never been publicly displayed before this moment.

The legend claimed they had once been a token of devotion from a French emperor his favored consort.

The matching ring had long been lost to history, and given that most 18th-century jewelry was often dismantled and repurposed over time, for this pair of earrings to have remained perfectly intact made them all the more rare and precious.

Tonight, collectors had come from all over the world just for this.

Grace had no doubt Raphael was one of them.

To impress his new companion, perhaps?

She stole a quick glance toward Raphael-only to catch him shaking his head slightly at something Lydia was saying.

Grace's original plan had been simple-see the earrings in person, then leave.

But now...

She was curious.

How high would the bidding go?

She retracted her shifted forward heels.

The starting bid: one million.

It skyrocketed almost instantly.

By the time it reached three million, the air had grown heavy with tension.

A murmur rippled through the room.

"I think Sterling is bidding."

"If it's him, we don't stand a chance."

"Had I known, I wouldn't have bothered."

Sterling.

One of the most powerful financial dynasties in Europe.

And its heir-Raphael-had ventured to Australia to expand their empire two years ago.

In an astonishingly short time, he had seized control of the country's private banking sector, drawing in the wealth of its elite.

Yet, no one had expected him to return-that suddenly.

"Bang."

The crisp knock of the gavel echoed through the hall.

Final bid: 3.2 million dollars.

The pair of earrings-unsurprisingly-fell into Raphael's hands.

"Thank you. Tonight wouldn't have gone so smoothly without you." Lydia smiled as she departed, flanked by her assistant and security detail.

"Just doing what I was asked."

Raphael had merely been fulfilling a request-escorting an important client's wife and securing the item she desired. Winning a woman's favor had nothing to do with him.

That honor belonged to someone else-Mr. Bellington, Lydia's husband, a man who held dominion over much of Australia's mining industry.

Raphael had never gone to such lengths for anyone.

Not even for his own wife.

Their marriage was nothing more than a civil arrangement-polite, distant, mutually indifferent.

As Lydia's silhouette disappeared beyond the grand hall, Raphael turned back toward the room, searching for one particular figure.

But the seat where she had been sitting was now empty.

Dana hadn't won the bid for what she wanted tonight.

But she had stumbled upon something even more entertaining.

Catching up with Grace before she could leave, she sighed with exaggerated regret.

"Ah, what a shame. Your husband ended up buying those earrings after all."

She tilted her head, smiling sweetly, but her eyes gleamed with mischief.

"You're so lucky, Grace. And here I thought you didn't even know he was back! You little liar."

The faint relaxation in Grace's expression vanished immediately.

Her lips curled up just slightly, but there was not a trace of a smile in her eyes.

Dana had come solely to taunt her-to watch her falter, to see her mask slip.

But Grace knew all too well-whether Raphael had bought those earrings for a movie star or some other woman, it had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Her dynamic with Dana was an oddly delicate one-outwardly warm, yet beneath the surface, a never-ending rivalry disguised as friendship.

Bound by their equal wealth and status, they couldn't openly turn against each other-not yet, at least.

Their lives had always intertwined, their paths overlapping since childhood.

Competing over grades, skiing, horseback riding-in adulthood, it was about who commanded more attention, who owned rare treasures, and now, who had the better husband.

How pointless.

Grace stifled a yawn.

She didn't even bother coming up with an excuse.

If Dana wanted to think she had won, then let her.

She certainly wasn't expecting her ever-absent husband to suddenly change character overnight.

Soft classical music still played in the background.

Grace lifted her lashes lazily-only to see Dana's expression suddenly freeze.

What now?

She followed Dana's gaze, only for a warm, weighty presence to settle onto her shoulder.

Bare skin met the heat of a firm palm.

Had Raphael's voice not sounded at that exact moment, she might have actually jumped.

This was insane.

"Are you ready to go?"

His voice was deep, rich-calm and familiar, like this was just another ordinary evening for a husband and wife.

For one long second, Grace's mind completely blanked.

She turned her head as naturally as she could, and even in three-inch heels, she still had to tilt her chin up.

Before her, a face sculpted to impossible perfection loomed close, magnified in her vision.

She had only truly lived with this man for two weeks.

And her assessment of him had been simple-

Raphael Sterling was a master of appearances.

Poised, courteous, untouchable.

He never misstepped, never revealed too much, never gave away anything beyond what was necessary.

Like a storm cloud heavy with rain, but never breaking.

He would offer just enough to be polite-but nothing more.

Even now, his hand rested only lightly on her shoulder, the weight of it barely there.

But his gestures were immaculate-a slight nod toward Dana, a composed greeting, effortlessly refined.

He was only four years older than her, yet he carried himself with the unshakable composure of a man a decade ahead of his peers.

Grace knew the rules of this game.

Raphael had given her face, and she would return the favor-especially with Dana still watching.

Their eyes met.

His gray-blue gaze was unreadable.

Grace blinked once, then smoothly shifted her focus to the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.

"Sure," she said, her voice sweet as honey.

"I was just finishing up with my friend."

It was almost comical-how different they seemed now, standing together like this, compared to just an hour ago, when she had only just learned he was back.

Dana was momentarily stunned.

She had to admit-at this distance, Raphael Sterling was breathtaking.

His presence commanded attention effortlessly.

Even she had been momentarily distracted.

Grace found herself vaguely grateful for his well-timed entrance-saving her from a question she had no way of answering.

Even if that question had only come up because of him.

"Dana."

Grace turned back to her, her expression serene.

Dana snapped back to reality, half-narrowing her eyes as she studied them again.

She didn't find what she had been hoping for.

Instead, what she saw was a flawless display-a husband and wife standing together, a vision of effortless elegance.

She clenched her teeth.

If she had known things would turn out like this, she would have brought her own husband tonight.

"You said your husband wasn't romantic." Dana laughed lightly. "You almost had me fooled."

Grace stilled for a fraction of a second.

Did Dana really just repeat her words in front of this man?

Would Raphael think she had been badmouthing him behind his back?

Grace forced a chuckle.

"You always know how to tease me."

Her tone was light, casual, dismissive.

"But I really should get going. My husband just landed, I'm sure he's exhausted."

She tilted her head toward Raphael, her voice soft and affectionate.

"Isn't that right, darling?"

A beautiful face.

A beautiful smile.

And a voice laced with honey.

For half a second, Raphael's back stiffened.

Then, just as quickly, he recovered.

He never understood the intricacies of these games women played-but still, he humored her.

"Mmm."

The fingers on Grace's shoulder tightened slightly-just enough for her to feel the dry warmth of his touch, enough to send a faint ticklish sensation through her skin.

Grace resisted the urge to pull away.

She just wanted to leave.

Dana had lost interest.

"I should go too-wouldn't want my husband to miss me too much."

Grace, internally, rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

The two women exchanged polite, insincere smiles.

Grace let Raphael guide her out of the venue, his arm loosely around her as they made their way through the crowd.

The Bentley was already waiting at the entrance.

The chauffeur, ever composed, swiftly opened the rear door.

The moment the door shut, enclosing them in the plush interior, Grace exhaled-finally free to drop the mask she had been wearing all evening.

She rubbed her cheeks-her face actually hurt from smiling too much.

Leaning back into her seat, she immediately reclaimed her personal space. The gap between her and Raphael was wide-

And just like that, the distant, unfamiliar silence settled back in.

Their usual dynamic.

The cold, indifferent version of their marriage.

Without a word, Grace reached for a tissue and swiftly removed her contact lenses, blinking a few times as relief washed over her.

At last, her eyes could breathe.

The partition between the driver and the back seat rose slowly.

Only then did she catch it-the faint trace of cologne in the air.

The scent...

Familiar.

She turned her head slightly, lips parting as if to say something-

But in the end, she swallowed the thought.

One of them stared ahead, the other gazed out the window, watching as the city lights flickered past.

The streets were alive-young people spilling out of bars, laughing, drinking, celebrating.

In stark contrast, the atmosphere inside the car was eerily still.

Then-

"Do you like the earrings?"

His voice broke the silence-deep, smooth, unreadable.

Grace hadn't expected him to bring it up, let alone catch what Dana had said earlier.

Without turning her head, she quickly brushed it aside.

"No. Don't worry. Whoever you bought them for, it's none of my business."

Her posture remained the same-facing the window, as if the passing cityscape held infinite fascination.

Raphael's brow furrowed ever so slightly.

He couldn't tell if her light, detached tone was genuine-or if there was a trace of something else beneath it.

By nature, he wasn't someone who offered explanations. He had never felt the need to.

But she was his wife.

That made things... different.

"Lydia's husband asked me to bid on them." He paused, deliberately omitting the name. "He's one of our major clients."

Raphael paused for a moment, deliberately leaving out the client's name..

The mining industry was a breeding ground for envy and rivalry, and discretion was paramount.

This was precisely why the Bellingtons had kept a low profile despite being married for years.

A beat of silence.

Then-

"Mm."

A short, indifferent acknowledgment.

Grace didn't press further.

The car slipped back into wordless stillness.

Raphael glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Her lashes fluttered shut, her head tilting slightly against the seat.

She must be tired.

A sliver of city light filtered in through the tinted window, casting a soft glow across her face-the striking contours, the curve of her lips.

His gaze lingered for a second too long before he pulled it away, shifting subtly in his seat.

But then, without meaning to, his attention drifted downward-to her hands.

Slender fingers, elegantly intertwined.

Adorned in luxury, glittering jewels.

But-

No wedding ring.

His eyes darkened slightly.

The memory of her delayed recognition earlier that night replayed in his mind.

Combined with what his family had told him...

A thought settled, unspoken, at the back of his mind.