The next evening, the mansion buzzed with preparation. Servants moved quietly through hallways, arranging fresh orchids and polishing marble floors until everything gleamed like glass.
Amira stood before the full-length mirror in her room, wearing the gown Sophia had sent earlier that day — a deep red satin dress with an open back and a slit that whispered confidence with every step.
She barely recognized herself.
The color made her skin glow, her eyes brighter. Yet, somewhere beneath all that elegance, she still felt like the girl who once sold her textbooks to pay rent.
The door opened behind her. She didn't have to turn to know who it was; his presence filled the space before his voice did.
"You look… presentable," Leonardo said.
Amira smiled faintly at his reflection in the mirror. "Is that your version of a compliment?"
He adjusted his cufflinks. "It's my version of honesty."
"You might want to work on your delivery," she replied.
For the first time since they met, he smiled — a small, reluctant one that softened his features. "Noted."
He stepped closer, his reflection standing behind hers. The faint scent of his cologne — cedarwood and something sharper — brushed against her senses.
"You'll stay beside me at all times tonight," he said. "Smile when you have to. Speak only when necessary."
"Got it," she said. "Be seen, not heard."
"It's not an insult. It's strategy," he said calmly. "These people smell weakness faster than perfume."
"Then it's a good thing I smell like red satin," she muttered under her breath.
He didn't reply, but she caught the edge of another almost-smile before he turned toward the door. "Let's go, Mrs. King."
The Gala
The black limousine rolled through the gates of the Eko Grand Hotel, where flashes from camera lights exploded like fireworks. Security held back a crowd of reporters.
When the door opened, Leonardo stepped out first, tall and poised, every inch the billionaire CEO. Then he turned and offered his hand.
Amira hesitated — just long enough to feel the world's gaze — then took it. His fingers were warm, steady. Together, they walked into the sea of light.
"Mr. King! Over here!" "Is this your wife?" "How long have you two been married?"
Questions flew like arrows, but Leonardo didn't flinch. He simply placed a guiding hand at the small of her back and kept walking.
Inside, the ballroom shimmered with crystal chandeliers, gold-rimmed glasses, and laughter too rehearsed to be real. The air smelled of perfume and power.
"Smile," Leonardo whispered beside her. "You're doing fine."
She tilted her head slightly and gave the cameras a soft smile, careful, practiced. Her heart, however, thudded like it wanted to escape.
They made their way toward the center of the hall, where the city's most powerful figures mingled — senators, tycoons, designers, faces she had only ever seen on magazine covers.
"Leonardo," a tall woman greeted, gliding toward them in a silver gown. She leaned in to air-kiss his cheek. "So this is the mystery bride."
Leonardo's voice was smooth. "Amira, meet Eliza Vance — business partner, board member, and unfortunately, a friend."
Eliza's laugh was soft, musical, and laced with challenge. "A pleasure. You're braver than I thought," she told Amira, eyes glinting.
Amira smiled politely. "Or maybe just unlucky."
Eliza blinked, then laughed genuinely. "Oh, I like her."
Leonardo's lips curved faintly. "Don't encourage her."
As Eliza walked away, Amira leaned toward him. "She likes you."
"She likes my money," he said dryly. "Everyone here does."
"Even your wife?"
He looked at her then — really looked — and for a heartbeat, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "You're not like them," he said quietly.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
The Dance
The band began to play a slow, elegant tune. Couples drifted toward the center of the floor.
Leonardo turned to her. "We should dance. Appearances."
She blinked. "You dance?"
"I do many things people don't expect."
He held out his hand. She hesitated, then placed hers in his. His palm was warm, the grip firm but careful.
As they moved onto the dance floor, cameras turned. The crowd seemed to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of the music and the faint thud of her heart.
"You're trembling," he murmured.
"I'm wearing heels that hate me."
"You're lying," he said softly.
She looked up, startled. His gaze met hers, calm but intense, as though he could read her thoughts.
"Maybe I'm nervous," she admitted.
He smiled faintly. "Good. That means you care."
"About what?"
"About not embarrassing me."
She laughed quietly, relaxing despite herself. "You're impossible."
"And you're improving," he said, twirling her once before pulling her close again.
The move wasn't romantic, not exactly — but something in her chest shifted, a warmth she hadn't expected.
When the song ended, applause rippled through the hall. Leonardo bowed slightly. "You did well, Mrs. King."
"High praise," she teased.
He offered his arm. "Come. Let's greet the investors before someone starts a rumor."
The Rumor
They didn't have to wait long.
Half an hour later, as they mingled with guests near the champagne fountain, a woman in a velvet dress leaned toward a group of reporters. Her whisper was low, but the words carried:
"She's not really his wife. Everyone knows he married her for publicity. Poor girl's just a stand-in."
Amira froze.
Across the room, she saw the reporters exchange glances. Cameras turned subtly in her direction.
Leonardo's jaw tightened. He leaned closer, his voice a low warning. "Ignore it."
Her pulse raced. "They're saying I'm fake."
"You're not," he said evenly.
"But they don't believe that."
He turned to face her fully. "Then make them believe it."
Before she could ask what he meant, he cupped her chin gently, tilted her face upward — and kissed her.
The ballroom gasped. Cameras flashed.
The kiss wasn't long, but it was deliberate — enough to silence the whispers, enough to make her knees weaken and her mind spin.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was calm but his eyes burned with something darker. "There. Now they'll think twice before calling you a stand-in."
Amira blinked, speechless. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did," he said quietly. "You're my wife, remember?"
Then he walked away before she could find her words.
The Fallout
The rest of the night passed in a blur of lights, laughter, and murmured congratulations.
When they finally returned to the mansion, Amira kicked off her heels and sank onto the couch.
Her heart was still racing. She touched her lips, half expecting to feel evidence of what had just happened.
The sound of footsteps made her look up. Leonardo stood at the doorway, loosening his tie.
"You handled yourself well," he said.
"That kiss wasn't in the contract."
He met her gaze steadily. "Neither was the rumor."
She opened her mouth, then closed it. "You could've just denied it."
"That wouldn't have worked," he said simply. "People believe what they see, not what they hear."
He turned to leave, but she stopped him. "You didn't have to protect me."
"I wasn't protecting you," he said without turning around. "I was protecting the company."
But his voice had softened at the edges, and she knew it wasn't entirely true.
When he disappeared down the hall, she sat there a long while, staring at the quiet room, her pulse refusing to calm.
The Morning After
The next morning, social media exploded.
Headlines screamed:
"CEO Leonardo King and His Stunning Wife Share First Public Kiss!"
"The Paper Bride? More Like a Power Couple!"
Sophia appeared at Amira's door with her usual calm efficiency. "You're trending. Mr. King is pleased."
Amira blinked. "Pleased?"
"Yes. Stock prices rose three percent overnight. The public loves romance."
Amira laughed softly. "Romance. Right."
Sophia's eyes flicked to her face. "Careful, Mrs. King. In this world, image is everything. Sometimes, pretending long enough makes people forget what's real."
After she left, Amira looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips still tingled faintly.
Pretending. That's what this was supposed to be.
So why did it suddenly feel real?
Late Night (Leonardo's POV)
Downstairs, Leonardo sat alone in his study, scrolling through the day's headlines.
Every photo showed him and Amira — her smile soft, his hand at her back, that kiss frozen forever in digital ink.
He should've felt triumphant. The board would be satisfied, the media distracted.
But instead, he felt unsettled.
Her eyes when he kissed her — startled, honest, unguarded — had burned into his thoughts.
He poured himself a glass of whisky, but it didn't help. He reached for the photograph on his desk again — the same one from before. The woman in the picture smiled with the same fearless spark Amira sometimes showed when she challenged him.
He exhaled, setting the glass aside. "Not again," he muttered.
But some ghosts have a way of finding new faces to haunt.