The gown Cassie picked for me was red.
Not wine red. Not deep velvet.
But blood red.
Fitted like second skin, slit high up the thigh, the neckline plunging low. Every inch screamed scandal. Every inch whispered humiliation.
"Smile," Cassie purred as she adjusted the diamond clasp at my neck. "You're representing Damien Wolfe's empire now."
"I thought you were his favorite," I murmured, not looking at her.
"Oh, I am," she replied sweetly. "But he wants the world to see you. You're his leash now. His trophy bride. He likes to remind people that even the purest girls can rot if you keep them in his house long enough."
Claiborne helped with my makeup—silently, gently. Her eyes lingered longer than usual when she handed me the mirror.
"You don't have to be quiet forever," she said softly. "Even wolves bleed if you bite hard enough."
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't ready to bite.
Not yet.
**
The gala was held at one of Damien's hotels downtown. Glittering chandeliers. Champagne towers. Billionaires and heirs with cold smiles and hungrier eyes.
We arrived as a trio—Damien in a dark suit, Cassie in black, me in red.
An unholy trinity of power, lust, and silence.
Every camera turned.
Every whisper grew.
"That's his wife?"
"She looks... so young."
"Poor thing. She won't last six months."
Damien leaned close as we entered the ballroom, his hand settling on my bare back like a brand.
"Smile," he said. "And don't embarrass me."
I smiled.
But it wasn't real.
It was the smile of someone who had learned how to crack porcelain and wear the shards like armor.
**
Cassie disappeared halfway into the event—flirting, laughing, draping herself across foreign investors like a siren.
Damien handled deals, handshakes, cold greetings.
And I?
I floated.
I watched.
I learned.
"You're Damien's wife?" a voice asked behind me.
I turned.
A man. Older than Damien, maybe mid-thirties. Sharp suit. Green eyes with a glint of danger.
"Diana Wolfe," I replied, guarded.
He didn't offer a handshake. Just smirked.
"I'm Rhys Langston. Damien and I used to play on the same chessboard... until he flipped the table."
My heart skipped.
He sipped his drink, never breaking eye contact.
"Tell me, Diana. Do you know who you married?"
"Yes."
"No," he said calmly. "You don't. But you will. And when you do, maybe you'll come find me."
"Why would I?"
He leaned in.
"Because I'm the only one who doesn't want to break you. Just watch you burn."
And then he walked away.
**
Later that night, Damien pulled me to a quieter lounge upstairs—past the velvet ropes and away from the cameras.
He closed the door behind us. Locked it.
"You looked comfortable," he said coldly. "With Rhys."
"He introduced himself."
"And you smiled."
I stared at him. "What did you expect me to do? Spit in his drink?"
He stepped closer. "Don't test me, Diana."
I didn't back down.
"You paraded me in front of the world like an ornament. You made me Cassie's assistant. You turned my silence into survival. Don't act shocked when I finally start playing the role you cast me in."
He gripped my jaw, not hard, but enough to still my words.
"You think you're learning me?" he whispered. "You think you've figured out the rules?"
My voice didn't tremble.
"I'm learning how to outlive you."
A long silence.
Then he released me with a sharp exhale.
"I don't need another Cassie," he muttered.
"Good," I said, straightening. "Because I'm not her."
He studied me.
Then... something strange happened.
He smiled.
Not cruel.
Not amused.
Something quieter. Darker. Like recognition.
And that scared me more than his anger.
Because if he saw me now... truly saw me...
Then maybe I was changing into exactly what he wanted all along.
**
Later, alone in the back seat of the car, I stared out the window.
Claiborne sat beside me, silent as ever.
But her hand brushed mine for a moment.
And I realized—
For the first time since this marriage began, I hadn't cried.
Not once.