Chapter 2: The first morning
1231 Words
The sun filtered through the tall glass windows, painting golden streaks across the silk sheets. Ariella stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open to unfamiliar surroundings: polished marble floors, velvet curtains, and silence so thick it rang in her ears. It wasn’t a dream.
She was in Elian De Luca’s penthouse.
Her heart sank.
The previous night replayed in fragments: the wedding that never happened, her sister’s betrayal, the blinding humiliation, the drunken haze at the bar, and the cold, calculated offer from the man who had appeared out of nowhere with a contract and a smirk.
A marriage contract.
She sat up quickly, wincing as her head throbbed. Her wedding dress, crumpled in the corner, mocked her. She wasn’t a bride. She wasn’t even a woman in love. She was a... transaction.
The sound of quiet footsteps drew her attention. A tall figure appeared at the doorway, holding a tray.
“Awake,” Elian said coolly, stepping in. “Good. I brought you breakfast. Or rather, the staff did. I just thought you might eat it if it came from me.”
Ariella blinked. “Why are you still here?”
“This is my home.”
Her stomach knotted. “Right.” She wrapped the sheet tighter around her chest. “So… this wasn’t some… mistake?”
Elian set the tray on the bedside table. “If you mean our arrangement, no. You signed the contract, remember?”
She did. Last night, when all she had left was a bottle of cheap whiskey, tear-streaked cheeks, and a voice that had trembled too much to argue. He’d offered salvation in ink and legal jargon. One year of marriage. A fake one. In exchange for shelter, dignity, and money she desperately needed.
She felt nauseated.
“So what now?” she asked, voice dry.
He moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. “Now, we make it believable. You’re my wife. At least on paper.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Great. Just what every girl dreams of: being a wife on paper.”
He turned, his expression unreadable. “You were crying in an alley, Ariella. What did you think would happen? That your prince charming would rescue you and love you back to life?”
She stiffened.
“Sorry,” he added a beat later, not sounding sorry at all. “That was harsh. But reality is harsh. And you needed an out.”
She looked away. “I didn’t need you.”
“No, you needed a roof over your head. Money in your account. And a way to disappear from the headlines before the vultures ate you alive. I gave you all three.”
She stared at him, lips trembling. “And what do you get out of it?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Finally, he walked toward the dresser and picked up a black suit jacket, slipping it on smoothly. “That’s not your concern.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But I’m the one pretending to be your wife. I should at least know why.”
He met her gaze. “Because the world needs to believe I can care about something other than power. You, Ariella Moretti, are my perfect cover story.”
Her stomach twisted at how effortlessly he said it.
“So I’m your image rehab?” she snapped. “Your PR stunt?”
“Call it whatever you like,” he replied, adjusting his cufflinks. “Just play your role, and everything you need will be handed to you.”
She wanted to scream, to throw something, to tell him to shove his smug face and his Armani suit. But the truth was, he wasn’t wrong. She did need him.
She bit her lip and turned away, tears prickling her eyes. “I want clothes. And my own room.”
Elian raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have a closet filled by noon. But your room is here. With me.”
She whipped around. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“No intimacy unless mutually agreed upon,” he recited. “But the public will assume we’re sharing a bed. You’ll sleep here for appearances. You can pile pillows between us if that makes you feel better.”
Her cheeks burned.
He walked toward the door, voice quieter now. “You wanted a lifeline, Ariella. This is it. Don’t bite the hand that offered it when no one else did.”
And with that, he was gone.
Hours Later
Ariella stood in front of the walk-in closet, mouth open.
Dresses. Shoes. Silk. Cashmere. Everything had been delivered within hours. Her torn wedding dress had been replaced by labels she could never afford in her old life.
Her fingers brushed a silver satin gown. She hated how soft it felt. Hated that even now, part of her thrilled at the touch of luxury.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in,” she said flatly.
A woman entered in her late forties, with sharp red glasses and a clipboard in hand. “Ms. Moretti, I mean, Mrs. De Luca. I’m Lillian, your publicist. We need to prep for the press release.”
Ariella blinked. “Press release?”
Lillian smiled in a tight, rehearsed way. “Of course. News broke last night that you were jilted at the altar. Mr. De Luca stepped in. Heroic. Romantic. The world’s rooting for you both.”
She felt like vomiting.
“Your first appearance as a married couple is tomorrow night,” Lillian continued. “There’s a gala for the De Luca Foundation. Cameras. Journalists. The works.”
Ariella couldn’t breathe. “You want me to go... out there? Already?”
Lillian glanced up. “Darling, you’re the story of the year. But don’t worry, we’ve prepared your entire backstory. Childhood friends. Reconnected six months ago. Private wedding. Tragic circumstances brought you together. Very Nicholas Sparks.”
Ariella’s laugh came out hollow. “You’ve done this before.”
Lillian smiled again. “Let’s just say Elian knows how to clean up a mess.”
That Night
She stood on the penthouse balcony, wrapped in a white robe, the city stretching endlessly before her. Below, the world kept turning, unaware that a broken girl was pretending to be whole just to survive.
She heard the door slide open behind her.
“You hate me,” Elian said.
She didn’t turn around. “I don’t know you.”
“That’ll change.”
Ariella scoffed. “I doubt it.”
He stepped beside her, resting his hands on the railing. “I know you’re scared.”
She stared ahead. “Not scared. Just… lost.”
They stood in silence for a while, the wind brushing her hair back gently.
“I meant it when I said this would help you,” he said. “Not just financially. You’ll be protected. No more betrayal. No more begging.”
She looked at him, her eyes soft for the first time. “Why do you sound like you understand?”
He hesitated. Then, in a voice so low she
almost didn’t hear it, “Because once, I had nothing too.”
Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them. A fl
icker of shared pain. Of secrets neither wanted to reveal.
And at that moment, Ariella didn’t feel like a pawn.
She felt like a mirror.
- Writer
