CHAPTER TWO: THE WEDDING THAT WASN'T MINE
AVA MONROE'S POV
The wedding was scheduled for Saturday. Today was Wednesday,
and I still hadn't told anyone.
Not that there was anyone left to tell.
I stood in front of the mirror in the penthouse Ethan insisted I move into, a place with ceilings too high and silence too loud.
The dress, a custom piece flown in from Paris, hung off my body like I was a mannequin.
It was stunning. Too stunning for a fake wedding.
I hated that I looked good in it. Hated that the seamstress smiled at me like I was the luckiest girl alive.
I was a fraud. A pretty one, apparently, but a fraud nonetheless.
"You're overthinking it." Ethan's voice cut into the room like a blade.
He stood by the door, perfectly tailored in navy, looking like sin wrapped in Armani.
"I'm marrying you in three days. I think that earns me the right to overthink."
He raised a brow, then walked in, his hands casually in his pockets. "You're not marrying me. You're marrying the image.
The Kingsley name. Don't romanticize this."
"I'd rather not romanticize anything involving you."
"Good."
He stopped behind me, His reflection towered over mine, cold
and composed.
I stared at the mirror, trying to read his face.
What did he see when he looked at me?, A means to an end?, A way to secure whatever power play he was orchestrating?.
"You're lucky," he said. "Most people sell their souls for less."
I turned to face him. "And what exactly are you selling, Ethan?"
A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Anger?, pain?, Amusement? I couldn't tell.
"Control," he said finally. "And you're going to help me keep it."
He left before I could ask what he meant.
That was Ethan. Dropping bombs and walking away from the
wreckage like it was someone else's mess.
The penthouse was beautiful, sure, but it didn't feel like mine. It felt like a stage.
Every crystal vase and spotless window was part of an illusion I had to play along with.
I spent the rest of the day memorizing the script Ethan's
assistant gave me. Where we met.
How long we'd been dating. Our shared 'memories' that never
happened.
We had three days to convince the world we were madly in love.
Funny, isn't it? How lies are always more rehearsed than the truth.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I stared at the ceiling for hours, listening to the hum of the city below. I wondered if Ethan was asleep,
if he ever truly rested, or if he was just a machine wired to win.
When I finally drifted off, I dreamed of fire. Of standing in a white dress as the world around me burned, and Ethan smiling from the other side of the flames.
I woke up sweating and it hit me.
In three days, I would become Mrs. Ava Kingsley.
A name that wasn't mine.
A wedding that wasn't real and a husband who couldn't be trusted, but still, I got up.
Because pride wouldn't pay the bills and neither would dreams.