Chapter 14: The Photo That Lied
By morning, the headline had spread like wildfire.
Florida didn't realize how far until she stepped into the hallway and saw two maids whispering near the stairwell — a phone clutched between them.
They stopped talking when they saw her.
Smiled too politely. Looked away too quickly.
Downstairs, the butler avoided her eyes. The chef didn't greet her like usual.
Something had shifted.
She slipped into the dining room and sat alone.
Breakfast was waiting — warm and untouched.
Her phone buzzed again.
She picked it up, heart already tight.
Another notification.
"Who is Bryant Kings' mystery wife?"
"From invisible to iconic: meet the Ice Prince's hidden queen."
"Love or arrangement? Body language experts weigh in."
Florida stared at the screen, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves.
There were photos now. Dozens. From the gala. Angles she hadn't seen. Bryant's hand on her waist. The tilt of her head toward him. Her uncertain smile caught mid-motion.
The comments stung more than the headlines.
> She's so lucky.
She looks scared to breathe near him.
Is she pregnant?
This doesn't feel like love. This feels like... a contract.
Florida lowered the phone.
Her tea had gone cold.
She didn't know what hurt more — the lies people believed, or the truths they guessed too closely.
---
Later that afternoon, a woman arrived at the estate.
She was tall, immaculately dressed, holding a designer bag and a thin black folder.
Florida didn't recognize her — but the woman smiled like she knew exactly who Florida was.
"I'm from Vogue Visage Weekly," she said, her voice smooth. "We'd love a ten-minute interview. A few lifestyle shots. Nothing invasive."
Florida blinked. "I didn't agree to—"
"Oh, don't worry. Mr. Kings' office gave tentative approval. Just soft content. Fashion angle. We can blur anything you're uncomfortable with."
Florida froze.
Fashion.
That word alone made her heart shift.
But not like this.
Not as an accessory.
Not as "Mrs. Kings."
She stepped back. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing any interviews."
The woman tilted her head, surprised. "Even just one question? People are curious. This photo—" she flipped open her folder to the headline— "is everywhere. You've become a symbol overnight."
Florida's fingers curled at her sides.
"I'm not a symbol," she said softly. "I'm not anything."
The woman hesitated. "Right... well. If you change your mind, call me."
She handed over a sleek card and left.
Florida stared at the name: Chloe Trent, Senior Editor.
---
That night, Bryant still didn't come home.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the business card between her fingers.
The world wanted her face.
Her story.
But no one wanted her.
> The photo told a beautiful lie.
But she still lived the quiet truth.
And the louder the world became…
…the more invisible she felt inside it.
---
End of Chapter 14