Trapped in His Vows

CHAPTER FIVE

The tension from the leaked article followed Elara long after the discussion in the study. Sleep eluded her that night, her mind restless with the implications of being thrust into the public eye.

Every whisper of wind outside the estate, every creak of the house, kept her on edge. This wasn’t just a contract anymore—it was a battlefield, and she had been thrown into the fire.

Morning arrived too soon, bringing with it a whirlwind of preparations. Victoria had wasted no time, calling in stylists, planners, and an entire team dedicated to crafting the perfect illusion of a loving, devoted couple.

Elara sat rigidly in front of the vanity mirror as a makeup artist dusted soft hues across her cheekbones. The stylist behind her worked with delicate precision, pinning her dark waves into an elegant updo. She barely recognized herself.

“You’re tense,” Victoria noted, leaning against the vanity. “Relax. You’ll have to get used to this.”

Elara exhaled sharply. “Forgive me if pretending to be madly in love with a man I barely know isn’t second nature.”

Victoria smirked. “Give it time.”

Elara’s stomach twisted as she met her own reflection. The transformation was breathtaking, but it wasn’t her. It was the version the world needed to see—the perfect, poised wife of Damian Wolfe.

The door swung open, and Damian entered, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp black tuxedo. He looked every bit the composed billionaire, exuding effortless control. His gaze flickered to Elara, assessing her appearance. Something unreadable passed through his eyes before his expression shuttered.

“You look the part,” he said simply.

Elara scoffed, rising from her seat. “Glad to know I’m meeting expectations.”

Victoria clapped her hands. “Alright, lovebirds. The car is waiting. Cameras will be everywhere, so remember—chemistry, eye contact, and for the love of God, smile.”

Elara barely had time to process before she found herself ushered into the sleek black car beside Damian. The moment the doors shut, silence stretched between them. She could feel the weight of his presence, the controlled energy rolling off him.

“This won’t be as difficult as you think,” Damian said after a moment.

Elara turned to him, arching a brow. “Says the man who avoids emotions like the plague.”

His lips quirked slightly. “I don’t avoid them. I control them.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “And what exactly are we supposed to be? Passionate newlyweds? A fairytale couple?”

“Convincing,” he answered simply. “That’s all that matters.”

Elara shook her head. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is, if you stop overthinking.” His gaze held hers. “For tonight, forget the contract. Forget the rumors. Just play the part.”

Before she could respond, the car slowed to a stop. Outside the grand hotel, flashing lights and murmuring voices swarmed like a storm. Elara’s pulse quickened. This was it.

Damian turned to her, lowering his voice. “Are you ready?”

No.

But she nodded anyway.

He stepped out first, extending a hand. With cameras flashing and eyes watching, Elara placed her fingers in his. His grip was firm, steady—grounding. As he pulled her close, a smile curved his lips, effortless and practiced.

Elara swallowed hard. This was more than just an appearance.

This was the first move in a game she had no choice but to play.

The moment they stepped onto the red carpet, chaos erupted. The paparazzi shouted their names, cameras flashing in a frenzy. Damian’s arm circled her waist, pulling her just close enough to sell the illusion without suffocating her. His every move was calculated, deliberate.

Elara lifted her chin, trying to channel confidence she didn’t feel. But the whispers had already begun.

“She’s the mystery bride.”

“How did she land him?”

“She’s an artist, right? What’s she really after?”

The words stung, but she forced a smile, gripping Damian’s arm tighter. He didn’t react, his expression unreadable as he led her through the sea of cameras and flashing lights.

Just as they reached the entrance, a woman’s sharp voice cut through the noise. “Damian, what a surprise.”

Elara turned, her breath hitching at the sight of a statuesque blonde in a sleek black gown. Her smile was cold, her gaze assessing.

“Sophia,” Damian said, his voice measured. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sophia’s gaze flicked to Elara, her lips curving into something that resembled amusement. “And this must be your wife.”

There was something predatory in the way she extended her hand. Elara forced herself to shake it, matching the woman’s smile. “Elara Wolfe.”

Sophia’s grip was firm, unyielding. “How lovely. I must say, you’re quite the enigma.”

Damian’s fingers subtly pressed against the small of Elara’s back, a silent cue to keep playing along.

Elara’s smile didn’t waver. “Mystery keeps life interesting.”

Sophia chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. “Indeed.”

Before Elara could respond, Victoria appeared beside them, her expression carefully neutral. “Damian, we need a moment.”

Damian nodded, excusing himself. Sophia watched him go before turning back to Elara, a spark of amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Let me give you some advice, darling,” she murmured, stepping closer. “Men like Damian don’t marry women like you.”

Elara’s heart pounded, but she held her ground. “And yet, here we are.”

Sophia’s smile widened, as if entertained by the challenge. “For now.”

With that, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Elara exhaled slowly, her pulse still racing. The night had barely begun, and already, the game had changed.

She wasn’t just fighting rumors anymore.

She was fighting enemies she didn’t even know existed.

As she turned back toward the ballroom, another voice stopped her cold. “Elara Hayes?”

A journalist stood just inches away, a microphone clutched in her hands. “A few sources claim you were seen at a struggling art gallery just last month. How does it feel to go from obscurity to billionaire wife overnight?”

Elara’s breath hitched. Before she could answer, Damian reappeared at her side, his hand firm on her back. “My wife’s past is none of your concern.”

The journalist’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “But surely, Mr. Wolfe, the public is interested. After all, love stories like this don’t happen every day.”

Damian’s smile was razor-sharp. “No, they don’t.”

He led Elara inside before she could say another word, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Elara’s pulse thundered in her ears.