Chapter 13:
The cameras were already waiting.
Elara realized it the moment the car slowed to a stop. Even before the door opened, she saw the flashes through the tinted windows — sharp bursts of light that felt almost aggressive, as if the world outside was eager to tear something from her.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress.
Adrian stepped out first, calm and composed as ever. When he turned and offered his hand, she hesitated only for a second before placing hers in his. His grip was steady, grounding, yet distant — like a reminder that everything about this moment had been calculated long before she arrived.
As soon as her heels touched the pavement, the noise erupted.
"Mr. Blackwood!"
"Mrs. Blackwood, look this way!"
"Is this marriage real?"
The questions overlapped, rushed, relentless. Elara's chest tightened, and without thinking, she moved closer to Adrian. Her hand slipped around his arm, clinging more out of instinct than intention.
He leaned slightly toward her.
"Smile," he murmured quietly. "Softly. Not too much."
She obeyed.
The smile felt unnatural on her lips, fragile and forced, but she held it anyway. The cameras devoured it. Every flash felt like a judgment.
One of the reporters stepped forward, bolder than the rest.
"Sir, there are rumors this marriage is contractual. Is there any truth to that?"
Adrian stopped walking.
The sudden halt sent a ripple through the crowd. Even the cameras seemed to pause, waiting.
Elara's breath caught.
Adrian turned toward her, his hand settling firmly at the small of her back. The touch looked intimate, protective. It felt practiced.
"There is no contract," he said calmly.
Elara's heart stuttered.
"No arrangement," Adrian continued, his voice steady and convincing. "My wife and I chose each other. That is all."
A lie — delivered with absolute confidence.
For a brief, dangerous moment, Elara almost believed it.
The crowd erupted in murmurs. Some nodded, satisfied. Others smiled knowingly. The tension dissolved as quickly as it had formed.
Adrian offered a polite smile to the reporters. "Thank you for your concern."
And just like that, it was over.
Inside the car, the silence pressed down heavily.
Elara stared straight ahead, her reflection faint against the dark window. The woman staring back looked composed, elegant — nothing like how she felt inside.
"You didn't tell me," she said softly.
Adrian loosened his tie, unbothered. "Tell you what?"
"That you would deny it," she replied. "That you'd lie."
His eyes flicked toward her briefly. "Would you have preferred the truth?"
She hesitated.
"Yes," she said finally. "At least then I would know where I stand."
Adrian exhaled slowly. "Where you stand is beside me. That's all the public needs to know."
"And what about what I need to know?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away.
"This marriage survives because people believe in it," he said instead. "Belief is fragile. We can't afford cracks."
Elara nodded, though her chest ached. "You're very good at this."
"At what?"
"Pretending."
A faint pause. Then, "I don't pretend. I adapt."
The gates of the Blackwood estate came into view, tall and unyielding.
As the car passed through them, Elara felt something settle inside her — not fear, not anger, but a quiet understanding.
This marriage wasn't built on truth.
It was built on control.
And for the first time since she had said yes, she wondered how long she could survive inside a lie that wasn't hers.