Mia's POV
The elevator ride to Christian's penthouse took forty-five seconds.
I counted every one.
Christian stood beside me, his hand still gripping my elbow. Not hard. Just firm enough to remind me I couldn't escape.
The doors opened.
He guided me inside, and despite my terror, my breath caught.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Central Park. The city glittered below us like scattered diamonds. Everything was white and chrome and glass—beautiful and empty. Like a museum, not a home.
Sit. Christian pointed to a white leather couch.
I sat, my wedding dress pooling around me.
He walked to a bar, poured amber liquid into a crystal glass, and downed it in one swallow. His shoulders were rigid. His jaw tight.
When he turned back to me, his ice-blue eyes blazed with fury.
You can drop the act now. His voice was deadly quiet. There's no one here to fool.
My hands twisted in my lap. Christian
You're not Vivienne. He stalked toward me, each step deliberate. Your voice is different. Lower. Softer. You walk differently, shorter steps, less confidence. You even smell different.
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Vivienne wears Chanel No. 5, he continued. You smell like vanilla and butter. Like you spent the morning baking instead of preparing for a wedding.
Heat flooded my cheeks. I was decorating my dad's birthday cake when
I don't care about the cake. He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of me, caging me against the couch. I care that you walked into my cathedral. Signed my marriage license. Kissed me in front of five hundred people. All while pretending to be someone else.
His face was inches from mine. I could see gold flecks in his blue eyes. Could smell his cologne—something expensive and dark.
Could feel the heat radiating off his body.
Who the hell are you? he demanded.
Mia. My voice came out as a whisper. Mia Chen. Vivienne's older sister.
Something flickered across his face. Older?
By two years.
I didn't know she had a sister.
Most people don't. The words tasted bitter. Vivienne doesn't like to mention me. I'm not pretty enough to be useful.
Christian's eyes narrowed. He straightened up, putting distance between us.
I could breathe again.
Tell me everything, he said. From the beginning. And don't lie—I'll know.
So I told him. All of it.
Vivienne vanishing. Mom's gambling debts. The stolen wedding fund. Dad's heart attack. The impossible choice.
Christian listened without interruption, his expression unreadable.
When I finished, he walked back to the bar and poured another scotch. This time, he didn't drink it. Just held the glass, staring out at Central Park.
Your mother is a piece of work, he said finally.
I know.
Your sister is selfish and cruel.
I know that too.
And your father has no idea any of this happened.
Tears burned my eyes. If he finds out, it'll kill him. Literally. The stress
Will trigger another heart attack. Christian turned to face me. So you sacrificed yourself. Walked down that aisle. Married a stranger. All to protect a man who doesn't even know you did it.
He's my dad. He's the only person who ever My voice broke. He's the only one who ever chose me.
Christian studied me for a long moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.
Then his walls slammed back up.
Here's the situation, he said, his voice turning cold and businesslike. I have a billion-dollar merger announcement Monday morning. Every investor at that wedding believes I married Vivienne Chen—supermodel, influencer, society darling. The perfect wife for my brand image.
My stomach dropped. I'm none of those things.
No. You're a pastry chef from Brooklyn who burns regular food and apologizes too much. His smile was sharp. If my investors discover I married the wrong woman, the merger collapses. My reputation is destroyed. Everything I've built for ten years crumbles.
I'll confess, I said quickly. I'll tell everyone the truth. Take all the blame
And then what? He stalked back toward me. You go to prison for fraud? Your mother goes to prison? Your father has another heart attack and dies thinking his daughter is a criminal?
He crouched in front of me, forcing me to meet his eyes.
That helps no one, Mia.
Then what do you want from me?
His gaze dropped to my mouth. Just for a second. Then back to my eyes.
A deal.
My pulse jumped. What kind of deal?
You stay married to me for six months. Long enough to secure the merger and establish our relationship publicly. You'll attend events, smile for cameras, play the devoted wife. His voice was clinical. Cold. In exchange, I pay off every debt your family owes. The stolen wedding fund. Your father's medical bills. The mortgage on his restaurant. All of it.
Six months. As his wife.
And after six months? I whispered.
We divorce quietly. I give you five hundred thousand dollars to open your own bakery. You disappear from my life forever. His eyes held mine. It's a business arrangement. Nothing more.
Nothing more, I repeated numbly.
We maintain separate bedrooms. Separate lives. The marriage is for appearances only. His jaw tightened. Do we have an agreement?
I thought of Dad's smile. His restaurant. His dreams.
Yes, I heard myself say.
Christian's expression didn't change, but something flashed in his eyes. Relief? Disappointment? I couldn't tell.
He stood and pulled out his phone. My lawyers are drawing up a contract. You'll sign it tonight. Elena—my assistant, will be here tomorrow morning to begin your training.
Training?
How to be Mrs. Christian Steele. How to walk, talk, dress. How to convince the world you belong in my life. His smile was cold. You'll need to be perfect, Mia. No mistakes. No slip-ups. Can you do that?
I didn't know. But I nodded anyway.
Good. He checked his phone. The contract should be
His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and his expression went cold.
What? I asked. What is it?
He turned the phone to show me.
A news headline: INTERNATIONAL FUGITIVE DAMIAN CROSS ARRESTED IN PARIS
And below it, a photo of Vivienne in handcuffs, tears streaming down her face.
Your sister married a wanted criminal, Christian said quietly. She's being held for questioning. They're determining if she's an accomplice or just incredibly stupid.
The room spun. We have to help her
No.
Christian, she's my sister!
She's an adult who made her choice. She ran away. Abandoned you. Let you take her place and face the consequences. His voice was merciless. Now she faces her own.
But
No, Mia. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. You signed a contract the moment you said 'I do' in that cathedral. You belong to me now. Not to your sister. Not to your mother. Me.
Heat flooded through me—anger and fear and something else I didn't want to name.
I don't belong to anyone, I said, my voice shaking.
Christian's lips curved into a dangerous smile. We'll see about that.
His phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, and his expression darkened.
What now? I asked.
He showed me the screen.
An email from his head of security.
Subject: URGENT - Marcus Webb
I read the first line and my blood turned to ice.
Webb has hired a private investigator to prove your wife is not Vivienne Chen. He has photos from the wedding comparing her to old pictures of Vivienne. Estimates 72 hours before he has enough evidence to go public.
I looked up at Christian, panic clawing up my throat. Three days? We only have three days before everyone knows?
Before Marcus knows for certain, Christian corrected. He's my biggest competitor. If he exposes this scandal, he destroys me and takes the merger for himself.
Then we're finished. It's over
No. Christian's voice was steel. It's just beginning.
He pulled me to my feet, his hands firm on my shoulders.
For the next three days, you are Vivienne Chen Steele. Perfect, polished, completely convincing. His eyes bored into mine. We attend every event. We're affectionate in public. We give Marcus nothing to use against us.
And if he finds proof anyway?
Christian's smile was dangerous.
Then we make sure the truth he finds is the one we want him to believe.
He released me and walked toward the stairs.
Get some sleep, Mrs. Steele. Tomorrow, your real performance begins.
He paused at the bottom step, his back to me.
And Mia? Don't try to run. I'll find you. And your father will pay the price.
The threat hung in the air between us.
Then he was gone, climbing the stairs to his bedroom, leaving me alone in this cold, beautiful prison.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
I know who you really are. And I'm going to destroy you both. - M.W.
Marcus Webb.
The timer had started.
And I had seventy-two hours to become someone I wasn't.
Or watch both our worlds burn.