His perfect scandal

No turning back

Chapter Five,

I know something is wrong the moment the cameras turn toward me.

Not gradually. Not after thought.

Instantly.

The room hesitates. Conversations falter mid sentence. A glass pauses near someone’s lips. A laugh breaks out too loudly, too late, as if someone is trying to smooth over a silence that has already landed.

Caleb’s hand presses more firmly at my back.

“Don’t look yet,” he murmurs.

I look anyway.

A photographer has stepped closer than before, his lens angled upward. Another adjusts his stance. A third lifts his camera just enough that I catch my reflection in the glass behind him.

I look composed.

I don’t feel composed.

“Why are they doing that?” I ask quietly.

Caleb’s gaze moves across the room, measured and assessing. “Because someone decided to test how real this marriage is.”

Something cold settles in my chest.

The gala doesn’t stop. Music continues, smooth and indifferent. Laughter resumes in careful waves. Servers glide between guests as if nothing has changed.

But it has.

Eyes linger now. Attention doesn’t bother to hide. People look at me without pretending they aren’t.

Not as a novelty.

As a question.

We move forward anyway.

Caleb guides me through the room with an ease that feels practiced, his presence creating space without effort. I match his pace, my posture straight, my expression controlled. I refuse to look uncertain. Uncertainty invites conclusions.

Introductions blur together.

“My wife, Nina.”

He says it evenly every time. No emphasis. No apology.

I answer when spoken to. I smile when expected. I listen more than I speak.

And I understand something quickly.

No one here cares who I am.

They care how long I’ll last.

“You’re handling this beautifully,” a woman says, her tone polished. “Not everyone manages sudden circumstances so well.”

“I didn’t realize there was a correct way to exist,” I reply.

She pauses, then laughs lightly and moves on.

Caleb tilts his head toward me. “Careful.”

“I was polite.”

“You were exact,” he says. “That unsettles people.”

At the bar, he orders without asking. Water for me. Whiskey for him.

“Do you always decide that for me now?” I ask.

“Only when people are watching.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It’s strategic.”

Time blurs. Faces repeat. Compliments sound rehearsed.

Somewhere along the way, I stop feeling nervous.

Not because I’m comfortable.

Because I’m focused.

I start watching the room the way Caleb does. Who watches him. Who avoids him. Who looks at me like I’m temporary.

And I understand why he brought me here.

I’m not decoration.

I’m disruption.

We step onto a private terrace overlooking the city. The noise dulls behind the glass. Cool air brushes my skin.

“They’re waiting for me to slip,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because uncertainty makes people uncomfortable.”

“And I’m uncertain.”

“You’re visible,” he says. “That’s worse.”

Before I can answer, the terrace door opens.

Evelyn steps outside, composed but tense. “We have a problem.”

“The press,” she continues. “They’re pushing a narrative.”

She turns the tablet toward me.

WARD’S WIFE SEEN AS TEMPORARY FIX AMID CEO SCANDAL

Temporary.Fix.

“They think I’m disposable,” I say.

“They think the marriage is,” Evelyn replies.

“They’re speculating,” Caleb says.

“They’re preparing,” Evelyn corrects. “If this sticks, every appearance becomes damage control.”

I look between them. “So what now?”

Caleb meets my gaze. “We remove doubt.”

“How?”

“We give them something definitive.”

“No,” I say immediately. “You don’t decide that for me.”

“Then decide,” he says calmly. “Now.”

“Decide what?”

“Whether you play the role tonight… or let them tear it apart tomorrow.”

“The role?”

“The wife who isn’t going anywhere.”

Silence stretches.

I look back through the glass. Cameras linger. Eyes follow us.

“If I do this,” I say slowly, “it changes things.”

“Yes.”

“Permanently.”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you become a question mark,” he says. “And question marks don’t survive in my world.”

The words aren’t cruel.

They’re factual.

Something settles inside me.

Not fear.

Resolve.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask.

He studies me. “Trust me.”

I let out a short breath. “That’s ambitious.”

“But necessary.”

I step closer. “If I do this, it’s not for you.”

His gaze deepens. “Then who?”

“For me.”

“Good,” he says. “That makes it real.”

Evelyn clears her throat. “We should return.”

I nod. “Let’s end the guessing.”

We walk back inside together.

This time, I don’t hesitate.

Caleb’s hand closes around mine as we step into the light.

Cameras flash.

And I understand, with sudden clarity—

Whatever I agree to next won’t be something I can undo.