The sun filtered softly through the tall windows of the penthouse, casting a golden hue over everything it touched. Anastasia stirred beneath her sheets, her lashes fluttering before her eyes blinked open. The haze of sleep quickly cleared as the memory of yesterday crashed back into her like a storm. Her company—her legacy—was now in Dante Montgomery's hands. And no matter how charming or magnetic he appeared, he was the enemy.
She sat up abruptly, throwing off the covers. Today wasn't a day to lounge in self-pity. Today, she was going to reclaim her power.
After dressing in a sleek cream-colored blouse tucked into a pencil skirt and sliding on her heels, she exited her room with purpose. But as she opened the door, she nearly bumped into someone.
Dante.
He stood there, fresh from his own room, dressed in a dark button-down and fitted slacks that hugged his frame far too well for a man she wanted to stay emotionally distant from.
They didn't greet each other. No smiles. Just tense silence as Anastasia brushed past him and headed straight to the dining hall.
She took her seat and began her breakfast without sparing him a glance. The silence between them crackled with unspoken emotions. Still, she could feel his eyes on her—intense, unwavering.
She set down her fork with a clink and looked up sharply. "Why are you staring at me?"
Dante leaned back slightly, a corner of his mouth twitching. "Can't I stare at my wife?"
Anastasia rolled her eyes so hard it could've cracked marble. "No!."
Unbothered, he watched as she shoved another bite into her mouth, but beneath his usual stoic expression was something else—something softer. His usual icy demeanor had thawed just a little, his eyes lingering not with judgment, but fascination.
The clatter of cutlery and china was the only soundtrack until Dante cleared his throat. "We'll be heading to the boutique today."
Anastasia paused. "For what?" she asked flatly, already dreading the answer.
"To try on your wedding dress."
Her fork hit the plate. She stood up slowly, glaring at him. "Seriously?"
He gave a slight smirk. "We discussed this yesterday "
With an irritated huff, she turned and marched out. Moments later, they stood in the private parking lot. Dante clicked the key to his silver Lamborghini.
"You're driving?" she asked, arms folded.
"Obviously," he replied smoothly.
She climbed in, muttering under her breath, and refused to look at him the entire ride. The city blurred past them until they pulled up to one of the most exclusive designer boutiques in New York City. The glass doors gleamed under the sunlight.
Anastasia stepped out and turned to him. "You don't need to follow me inside. I'm not going to run away with the dress."
Dante stepped closer, invading her space just enough to make her pulse skip. He took her hand, firm yet gentle. "The contract says we act like a couple in public. Lovey-dovey, remember?"
Anastasia gave a stiff smile, her fingers curling reluctantly around his. "Right. Lovey-dovey."
They walked into the boutique hand in hand. Heads turned instantly. Dante Montgomery had that effect—he didn't demand attention; it gravitated to him. Whispers fluttered around them.
"Is that Dante Montgomery ?!"
"He's even more handsome in person."
"She's his fiancée? Lucky girl."
Anastasia heard every word, and it made her skin crawl. The envy in their eyes, the way they looked at her like she was a prize winner—it was suffocating.
"Ugh," she muttered.
A smiling designer approached. "Mr. Montgomery , Miss Laurent. We've been expecting you. The boutique is closed for your private appointment. Right this way."
They were led to a lavish suite where racks of wedding dresses stood like a dream. The designer motioned for the assistants, who brought out the centerpiece—a gown unlike any she had ever seen.
It shimmered like starlight, delicate lace cascading over layers of silk, with an illusion neckline and tiny pearls sewn into the fabric like constellations. Anastasia's breath caught.
"I hope you love it, darling," Dante whispered near her ear.
Her ears almost bled from how close his voice was. "Stop calling me that," she hissed, even though her body betrayed her with a shiver.
With trembling fingers, she took the dress and walked into the changing room. The assistants left her alone. She faced the mirror, holding the gown to her chest.
She changed slowly, slipping into the dress, and when she finally turned to face her reflection, she froze.
There she stood, radiant in white, the fabric hugging her curves with ethereal grace. She didn't look like a woman caught in a contract. She looked like a bride. A real one.
Her eyes welled up against her will.
How could something that was supposed to be fake... feel so devastatingly real?
And as she stared at her reflection, the whisper of doubt curled around her heart.
Could a lie this beautiful ever become the truth?.