The gala was held in one of the most expensive art museums in the city, an old marble cathedral converted into a palace for the wealthy to congratulate themselves under a ceiling of chandeliers and stolen art. The entrance alone glittered with a thousand glass shards, each one catching the light like a diamond. A string quartet played something elegant and cold, the kind of music that made you feel judged just for breathing.
The moment we stepped out of the car, cameras exploded in our faces.
I stiffened, breath catching.
"Smile," Adrian murmured without even looking at me, the command slipping out of him like instinct.
So I did.
A smile made of porcelain and lies.
Cameras flashed like insects swarming a corpse.
"Mr. Vassari! Over here!"
"Is this your wife?"
"How long have you been married?"
Wife.
The word scraped down my spine.
Adrian didn't hesitate, his hand slid around my waist, slow but firm, drawing me into him until our bodies aligned. His grip wasn't soft. It wasn't romantic. It was possession disguised as affection.
"Yes," he said smoothly. "My wife."
Whispers rippled through the crowd, some impressed, others terrified. Everyone curious.
We walked in together, his hand never loosening. It was strong enough to remind me of the contract, the threat, the brother being held somewhere far from these chandeliers.
Inside, the museum was transformed into a glittering battlefield. Conversations floated like perfume, sweet, toxic. People clinked glasses full of champagne they didn't pay for. Gold-rimmed masks hung on the walls as part of the exhibit, but the real masks were on the faces of the guests.
Adrian, of course, moved through them like he owned the entire world.
I followed, playing my role.
A well-dressed accessory.
A pretty lie on his arm.
Leverage in heels.
But I watched. I paid attention.
Because the moment you stopped paying attention in a world like this, you bled.
Every time Adrian shook a hand, it was calculated. A press of dominance disguised as politeness. Each person greeted him with too-wide smiles, too-polite tones, hiding fear behind etiquette.
This world wasn't built on wealth.
It was built on power wearing a tailored suit.
We had barely stepped away from the first cluster of admirers when an older man approached—mid-sixties, expensive rings heavy on his fingers. His smile glistened like oil.
"Adrian," he said, voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous.
Then his gaze shifted to me.
"So this is the new Mrs. Vassari."
My throat tightened.
Adrian's hand remained on my waist, unwavering.
"Yes," he replied. "She's… irreplaceable."
The word caught me off guard. I looked up sharply.
Adrian wasn't looking at me when he said it—he was still watching the older man—but the tone…
it wasn't cold.
Not warm, either.
Something layered. Something unreadable.
The older man nodded politely, but his eyes sharpened. Assessing me like an object up for auction. Testing my worth. Calculating leverage.
Adrian tightened his hold just a fraction.
And the man moved on.
Later, when the wave of attention lulled, Adrian guided me to a quieter alcove—a dim balcony overlooking the main hall. Still public. Still on display. But less suffocating.
"You're doing well," he said, gaze scanning the crowd as though he were guarding a throne.
I crossed my arms. "You sound surprised."
He arched a brow. "Should I be?"
"You brought me here to smile pretty while you pretend you're not a criminal."
His expression didn't change, but the air around us sharpened.
"I brought you," he said, voice low, "because people here are dangerous. And if you look weak, they'll devour you."
"Then maybe you chose the wrong person."
His eyes narrowed. "You think I chose wrong?"
"You think you chose right?"
We stood inches apart, breathing the same air, both refusing to step back. His eyes were storm-grey and unreadable. Mine probably showed every ounce of fury he'd forced into me.
Before he could respond, a woman appeared—tall, stunning, wrapped in a silver dress that clung like liquid metal. Her perfume was expensive and sharp.
"Adrian," she purred, her eyes flicking to me with a practiced smile. "You didn't tell me you were bringing a date."
His arm slid even tighter around my waist.
"Wife," he corrected immediately. The word cut like a blade.
The woman's smile froze, then recalibrated. "Congratulations. Unexpected."
"Life often is," Adrian said smoothly.
She leaned in, ignoring me entirely. "You'll have to tell me everything later."
"There's nothing to tell," he replied, tone ice-cold.
She held his gaze a beat too long before turning away, heels snapping against the marble like gunshots.
I let out a slow breath. "An ex?"
"No."
"Liar."
He turned his head toward me. "You're testing my patience."
"Good," I whispered. "Now you know how you make me feel."
His jaw clenched—sharply, dangerously. I wasn't sure if I'd pushed too far…
But then—
A sound tore through the museum.
Glass. Shattering.
Screams rising like a wave.
Chaos breaking open.
I flinched, heart slamming into my ribs.
Adrian reacted instantly.
He grabbed my hand. "Stay behind me."
"What's happening—"
"Stay close," he snapped, voice edged with something I'd never heard from him before.
Guards flooded the entrance. Shouts echoed from every direction. Someone yelled orders. Someone else yelled back in panic.
Gunfire cracked in the distance.
Adrenaline surged through me, tightening every nerve.
"Was this for you?" I gasped as he pulled me down a side corridor I didn't even know existed.
"Everything is for me," he muttered. "Or against me."
Another blast shook the walls.
I stumbled, but he pulled me upright, grip firm and steady.
We moved through a service hallway that smelled faintly of paint and dust. Behind us, the museum erupted into chaos—shouts, footsteps, more screams.
Adrian shoved me gently but firmly against the wall, his body shielding mine. Not trapping. Protecting.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, breath sharp.
"No," I whispered.
Relief flashed across his face, so quick I almost missed it.
"Good."
He checked the hallway, muscles tense, jaw tight. He looked like a man who'd been hunted more than once. A man who knew how to survive ambushes.
A man who expected them.
My chest tightened with a new kind of dread.
Because for the first time, it hit me:
I wasn't just leverage in this marriage.
I was now a target.
Adrian's hand came up suddenly, cupping my cheek, tilting my face toward him. His touch wasn't gentle, but it wasn't harsh either. It was grounding. Fierce.
"Look at me," he said.
I did.
His eyes were burning, cold fire, sharp and focused. Not soft. Not kind. But there was something there. A promise. A threat. A vow.
"No one touches you," he said. "No one."
The words hit something deep inside me. Something I didn't want to feel.
He grabbed my hand again, interlocking our fingers like a chain.
"Come," he murmured, pulling me with him. "We're leaving."
And for the first time…
I didn't resist.
For the first time…
I didn't want to.