Purchased Vows

Chapter 3: The Performance

Three days passed in a blur of silence and avoidance.

I stayed in my wing of the house, Marcus stayed in his. We didn't see each other. We didn't speak. Mrs. Henderson brought me meals in my room, and I spent my days reading, watching TV, and trying not to think about what I'd done.

But on the morning of the fourth day, a knock on my door woke me before dawn.

"Ms. Chen?" Mrs. Henderson's voice was gentle. "You have an appointment at nine. A car will be here in an hour."

"Appointment?"

"Mr. Sterling arranged for a stylist. For the wedding."

The wedding. Today. My stomach twisted, and I pulled the covers over my head. I couldn't do this. I couldn't marry a stranger for money.

But I had to. Because I'd signed the contract. Because I'd already taken his money—the first payment had hit my account yesterday, and I'd immediately transferred it to pay off Mom's most urgent medical bills.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, letting hot water wash over me until my skin was pink. When I emerged, wrapped in a towel, there was a dress hanging on my closet door.

A wedding dress.

Simple, elegant, white silk that shimmered in the morning light. It was beautiful. Too beautiful. And it made this feel real in a way the contract hadn't.

The stylist arrived at nine—a woman named Elena with sharp eyes and even sharper scissors. She worked in silence, cutting and styling my hair, applying makeup with the precision of an artist. When she was done, I barely recognized myself.

"You look beautiful," Mrs. Henderson said, her eyes soft. "Mr. Sterling will be pleased."

I didn't want to please him. I wanted to run.

But at two o'clock, I was standing in front of the mirror in that white dress, my hands shaking, my heart racing. The door opened behind me, and I saw Marcus's reflection.

He was wearing a black tuxedo, perfectly tailored, and he looked... devastating. Handsome in a way that made my breath catch. But his expression was cold, distant, like he was attending a business meeting, not his own wedding.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice flat.

"No." The word came out before I could stop it. "I'm not ready. This is insane. We don't even know each other."

"We don't need to know each other." He moved closer, and I caught the scent of his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made my head spin. "We just need to sign a piece of paper and take a photo. That's it."

"That's it?" I turned to face him, the dress swishing around my legs. "This is my wedding day, Marcus. My only wedding day, probably. And you're treating it like a transaction."

"Because that's what it is." His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—regret, maybe. But then it was gone. "Don't romanticize this, Olivia. Don't make it into something it's not."

"I'm not romanticizing anything. I'm just..." I trailed off, not sure what I was trying to say. "I'm scared."

His expression softened, just for a second. Just enough to make my heart skip. "I know. But it's just a ceremony. Ten minutes, and it's over. Then we go to the gala tonight, and you play your part. That's all."

"Play my part." I repeated the words, hating them. "What if I can't? What if I'm a terrible actress?"

"Then you don't get paid." His voice was hard again, and I flinched. "This is a job, Olivia. Treat it like one."

The words stung, but they were true. This was a job. I was an employee, not a bride.

The ceremony was exactly as he'd said—ten minutes, in a private room at city hall, with a judge and two witnesses I'd never met. Marcus's assistant and his lawyer. No family. No friends. No one who mattered.

I said "I do" with a voice that didn't sound like mine.

He said "I do" with the same flat tone he used for business calls.

The judge pronounced us husband and wife, and Marcus kissed me.

It wasn't a real kiss—just a brush of his lips against mine, quick and perfunctory. But it sent a jolt through my entire body, and I saw his eyes widen slightly. He felt it too. That electricity. That connection.

But then he pulled away, and the moment was gone.

"Congratulations," the judge said, smiling like this was a normal wedding. "You may kiss the bride again if you'd like."

Marcus didn't. He just signed the marriage certificate, handed it to his lawyer, and walked out of the room without looking back.

I stood there in my wedding dress, surrounded by strangers, and realized I'd just married a man who couldn't wait to get away from me.

The gala was that night.

Elena came back, this time with a different dress—a deep blue gown that hugged my curves and made me feel like someone else. Someone confident. Someone who belonged in this world of wealth and privilege.

Marcus was waiting in the foyer when I came downstairs, and I saw his eyes track over me, a flicker of something—appreciation?—before his expression shuttered again.

"You look... acceptable," he said, and I wanted to slap him.

"Thanks. You look... like you're going to a funeral."

A corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Funny. But tonight, you need to be charming. Engaging. Like you're in love with me."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Then fake it." He moved closer, and I caught his scent again. "Watch me. Follow my lead. When I touch you, lean into it. When I smile, smile back. When I say something, look at me like I'm the most interesting person in the room."

"Even if you're not?"

"Especially if I'm not." He reached out and adjusted a strand of my hair, his fingers brushing against my cheek. The contact made me shiver, and I saw his eyes darken. "We're putting on a show, Olivia. Make it convincing."

The gala was at a hotel ballroom that looked like something out of a movie. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, waiters in white gloves carrying trays of champagne. And everywhere, people who looked like they'd never worried about money in their lives.

Marcus's hand found the small of my back, and I jumped at the contact.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "They're watching. Smile."

I forced a smile, and he guided me through the crowd, introducing me as his wife with a warmth in his voice that was completely fake. But it was convincing. So convincing that I almost believed it myself.

"Olivia, this is Senator Thompson and his wife," Marcus said, his hand still on my back, his thumb moving in small circles that made it hard to think. "Olivia is a recent graduate. She's been focusing on her career, but now that we're married, she'll be taking on more charity work."

"Wonderful," the senator's wife said, her eyes assessing me. "And how did you two meet?"

I froze. We hadn't prepared for this. We hadn't discussed our story.

But Marcus didn't hesitate. "At a charity event, actually. She was volunteering. I was... captivated." He looked at me, and for a moment, I saw something real in his eyes. Something that made my heart race. "I knew I had to have her."

The words were part of the act, but the way he said them, the way he looked at me—it felt real. Too real.

We moved through the crowd, Marcus playing the doting husband, me playing the blushing bride. He kept his hand on me constantly—my back, my arm, my waist. Each touch sent sparks through my body, and I found myself leaning into him, craving the contact.

It was dangerous. I knew it was dangerous. But I couldn't stop.

"Having fun?" he asked during a lull, his voice low, his lips close to my ear.

"No. This is exhausting."

"Good. That means you're doing it right." He pulled me closer, and I felt the heat of his body against mine. "You're a natural, Olivia. I almost believe you're in love with me."

The words hit like a punch. Because the scary thing was, in that moment, with his arm around me and his eyes on mine, I almost believed it too.

The night ended with a slow dance. Marcus pulled me onto the dance floor, his hand on my waist, mine on his shoulder. We moved together, and for a moment, it felt real. Like we were a real couple. Like this wasn't all a lie.

"You're a good dancer," I said, my voice soft.

"I'm a good actor," he replied, but his hand tightened on my waist, and he pulled me closer. "This is all part of the performance, Olivia. Don't forget that."

"I won't." But as the song ended and he pulled away, leaving me standing alone on the dance floor, I realized I was already forgetting.

I was already starting to feel something I shouldn't.

Something that would destroy me.