I'd been legally married to a demon for approximately thirty-six hours when I discovered my face was all over the internet.
Not like, a little bit all over the internet, I mean 'everywhere'. News sites, gossip blogs, Twitter trending topics, TikTok conspiracy theories. My very average, very forgettable face plastered across screens worldwide with headlines that made me want to fake my own death.
"VALEK INDUSTRIES CEO SECRETLY MARRIED"
"Who Is Riven Kael? Everything We Know About Azryth Valek's Mystery Husband"
"FROM NOBODY TO MRS. BILLIONAIRE: The Cinderella Story That Has Everyone Talking"
That last one particularly annoyed me because (a) I was not a "Mrs." anything, and (b) Cinderella didn't get magically bound to her prince via demonic contract, so the comparison was deeply flawed.
I discovered all this while sitting on the ridiculously expensive couch, scrolling through my phone in mounting horror. Azryth had disappeared into his office hours ago for "business matters," leaving me alone to contemplate my imprisonment.
Except apparently my imprisonment was now public knowledge. Sort of.
The official story, according to the press release that Valek Industries had issued at six AM sharp, was that Azryth Valek, reclusive CEO and billionaire extraordinaire, had secretly married his "long-time partner" Riven Kael in an intimate private ceremony. The relationship had been kept quiet due to privacy concerns, but the couple was now ready to share their joy with the world.
'Long-time partner'. I'd known the man for less than two days.
The press release included a photo, I didn't remember anyone taking a photo, but there it was: me and Azryth, looking like we belonged in a wedding magazine.
He was in one of his perfect suits, I was in clothes I definitely didn't own yesterday (someone must've dressed me while I was unconscious, which was a whole other violation I'd deal with later), and we were standing close enough to suggest intimacy.
His hand was on my lower back. I was smiling.
I didn't remember smiling.
Actually, I was pretty sure that photo was completely fabricated, which raised some concerning questions about demonic photoshop capabilities.
My phone buzzed, a text from a number I didn't recognize.
*"Riven??? RIVEN IS THIS TRUE?? You got MARRIED?? To AZRYTH VALEK???? Call me immediately!!!"*
Sarah from accounting, somehow she'd gotten my personal number.
Another buzz. Then another. Then my phone basically had a seizure as messages poured in from coworkers, distant acquaintances, people I'd spoken to exactly once at a company mixer three years ago.
Everyone wanted details, everyone had questions, everyone was suddenly my best friend.
I turned my phone off and threw it across the room.
"Problem?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Azryth had materialized in the doorway, because apparently in addition to being a demon CEO, he was also part ninja.
"You," I said, standing up so I could properly glare at him. "You told the entire world we're married."
"Yes." He said it like I'd commented on the weather. "That was rather the point of the press release."
"I didn't agree to this!"
"You agreed to the binding, the public relations management is simply damage control." He moved into the room, and I noticed he was carrying a garment bag. "The narrative needed to be established before speculation ran rampant. This way, we control the story."
"The story is a lie!"
"The story is strategically curated truth." He draped the garment bag over a chair. "We are legally married, that's fact, the timeline and nature of our relationship is simply... compressed for public consumption."
"Compressed." I laughed, a little unhinged. "You mean completely fabricated."
"Semantics." He unzipped the garment bag, revealing a suit. Not just any suit, an expensive suit, the kind of suit that probably required a master's degree in fashion to properly appreciate. "Put this on."
I stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"The press briefing is in two hours, you'll need time to prepare."
"Press briefing." The words came out flat. "You're joking."
"I don't joke about public relations." He pulled out the suit, examining it with a critical eye. "The media is demanding answers, we'll provide them together, as a united couple very much in love."
"Absolutely not."
"Absolutely yes." He turned those ember eyes on me. "This isn't negotiable, Riven, the marriage announcement has generated significant attention. Ignoring it would only fuel more invasive speculation, we make one public appearance, answer a few carefully selected questions, and satisfy the media's curiosity."
"I can't... I don't..." I gestured helplessly. "I'm not good at lying, I'll mess it up. They'll know something's wrong."
"Which is why we're going to practice." He thrust the suit at me. "Go change, we have work to do."
***
Turns out, pretending to be madly in love with someone you barely know and actively resent is harder than it looks.
"Smile more," Azryth instructed for the fifteenth time. "You look like you're being held hostage."
"I 'am' being held hostage!"
We were in his office, which was exactly as intimidating as you'd expect a demon CEO's office to be. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a desk that probably cost more than a car, art that was definitely worth more than a house. He'd been drilling me on "proper behavior" for the past hour.
"You're being melodramatic." He adjusted his tie in a mirror that I was pretty sure was eighteenth-century and priceless. "Now, when they ask how we met, you say..."
"We met through work," I recited mechanically. "It was gradual, friendship that became something more."
"Better. And when they ask why we kept it secret?"
"Privacy, we wanted to be sure before going public."
"Good." He turned to face me. "And if they ask personal questions about our relationship?"
"Deflect with humor. Let you handle the details." I tugged at the suit collar, it fit perfectly, which somehow made it worse. "This is never going to work, one question, one wrong word, and the whole thing falls apart."
"Then don't say the wrong words." He crossed the room, stopping directly in front of me. "The key to successful deception is believing your own lie. Don't think of this as pretending, think of it as playing a role."
"I'm a data analyst, not an actor."
"Then learn quickly." His hand came up to my collar, adjusting it with practiced efficiency. "The media is ruthless, they'll scrutinize everything, your body language, your word choice, how you look at me." His fingers lingered for a moment. "We need to be convincing."
The contact made the binding flare. I felt it in my chest, that weird double-heartbeat sensation that reminded me we were fundamentally connected.
Azryth must've felt it too, because something flickered across his face. Gone too quickly to read.
"We should practice physical contact," he said, stepping back. "Married couples have a certain... ease with each other. Casual touches. Proximity."
"You want to practice touching each other."
"I want to ensure we don't flinch every time we're in the same space." He held out his hand. "Take my hand."
I looked at his offered hand like it might bite me.
"It's a hand, Riven. Not a venomous snake."
"Your hand is attached to you, which is arguably worse than a snake."
Despite my protest, I took his hand. His skin was warm, warmer than it should be, the binding hummed, content with the contact.
"There," Azryth said. "That wasn't so terrible, was it?"
"It's weird."
"It's necessary." He pulled me closer, positioning us like we were posing for a photo, his other hand came to rest on my lower back. "This is how we'll stand for photographs, close enough to suggest intimacy, but not so close as to appear staged."
I was suddenly very aware of how tall he was. How solid, how his cologne smelled like expensive things I couldn't name.
"You're tense," he observed.
"You're a demon who forced me into a magical marriage, tense seems appropriate."
"Fair point." But he didn't let go. "Try to relax, imagine I'm someone you actually like."
"That requires more imagination than I possess."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Was that almost a smile? On his face?
"When we're out there," he said, serious again, "I'll guide you, follow my lead, if you're uncomfortable, squeeze my hand twice, I'll redirect the conversation."
"You're giving me an escape signal?"
"I'm ensuring we both survive this without exposure." He released me, stepping back. "This may be a performance, but it's a performance with very real consequences if we fail."