Behind The Mask

Chapter 7: The Black Armor

POV: Fiona

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the blank wall.

It had been hours since I left Maxwell in the breakfast room. I had told him no. I had told him to learn how to be poor. And for a little while, it felt incredibly good to say it.

But as the afternoon went on, my mind started to race.

If Maxwell lost his company tonight, he would blame me forever. He would tell everyone that his crazy, emotional wife ruined his life. He would use his lawyers to drag out our divorce, making my life a living nightmare just to punish me.

I didn't want him to have that power over me. I wanted to leave him, yes. But I wanted to walk away cleanly. I wanted to leave him when he was at the very top of his billionaire mountain, so he would know, without a single doubt, that his money meant absolutely nothing to me.

I looked at the clock. It was five in the evening.

I stood up and walked to my large closet. For the past two years, I had dressed to please Maxwell. I wore soft pastel colors, sweet floral dresses, and his favorite red silk. I wanted to look like the perfect, gentle wife his grandfather demanded.

Not tonight.

I reached to the very back of the closet and pulled out a long, sleek black dress. It had long sleeves, a high neckline, and a sharp, elegant cut. It was the kind of dress a woman wore to a funeral.

Perfect.

I put the dress on. I didn't curl my hair into the bouncy, happy waves Maxwell liked. Instead, I pulled it back into a tight, slick ponytail. I skipped the pink blush and put on a dark, blood-red lipstick.

When I looked in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize myself. The crying, begging wife was dead. The woman staring back at me looked cold, sharp, and untouchable.

At exactly six-thirty, I walked down the grand staircase.

Maxwell was pacing in the grand foyer, nervously checking his silver watch. When he heard my heels clicking on the marble stairs, his head snapped up.

He froze. His eyes widened in surprise as they swept over my black dress, my slick hair, and my dark lipstick. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"I am ready," I said, my voice completely flat.

Maxwell swallowed hard. "Fiona... you look..." He shook his head, looking almost intimidated. "Thank you for coming. I know you are angry, but this means a lot to..."

"I am not doing this for you, Maxwell," I interrupted smoothly, walking right past him toward the front door. "I am doing this so you have no excuse to blame me when this marriage officially ends. Let's get this over with."

The car ride to the Jordan estate was completely silent.

Maxwell sat on the opposite side of the luxurious backseat. Usually, I would spend these car rides trying to hold his hand or ask him about his day. Tonight, I just stared out the dark window at the passing city lights. I could feel him watching me, but I didn't give him even a second of my attention.

When we finally pulled up to the massive iron gates of his grandfather's estate, Maxwell cleared his throat.

"Fiona," he said nervously. "When we get inside, Arthur will be watching us like a hawk. The investors are looking for any sign of weakness. I need you to smile. I need you to hold my arm."

"I know the rules of the contract, Maxwell," I said without looking at him. "I will play my part. But do not push your luck."

The driver opened my door, and I stepped out into the cool night air. Maxwell walked around the car and offered me his arm. I linked my arm through his, but I made sure my grip was loose.

We walked through the massive double doors of the estate and were immediately led into the grand dining room.

Arthur Jordan was sitting at the head of a long mahogany table. He looked old and sick, but his eyes were still sharp and cruel. Sitting around the table were three older men in expensive suits, I guessed, the key investors.

"Ah, Maxwell," Arthur rasped, slamming his walking cane against the floor. "You finally made it. And you brought your... lovely wife."

Arthur looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly at my sharp black dress. I didn't flinch. I just offered a small, polite, icy smile.

"Good evening, Arthur," I said perfectly.

Maxwell pulled out a chair for me, playing the part of the perfect gentleman. We sat down, and the dinner immediately began.

For the next hour, it was pure acting. Maxwell laughed at the investors' terrible jokes. He poured my water. He rested his hand softly on my knee under the table, trying to make it look like we were a loving couple. His hand felt heavy and suffocating, but I didn't move away. I smiled perfectly when spoken to, and I gave polite, short answers.

Arthur watched us closely, his eyes darting back and forth. Slowly, the tension in the room began to fade. The investors seemed impressed.

The waiters came out to clear the main course plates. Maxwell leaned in close to my ear, a relieved sigh escaping his lips.

"You're doing perfectly," he whispered. "Thank you."

I didn't answer him. I just took a slow sip of my water.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the front of the house.

Everyone at the table jumped. The wooden doors of the dining room were suddenly thrown wide open, hitting the walls with a violent BANG.

Maxwell stood up so fast his chair almost tipped over.

Standing in the doorway, completely soaking wet from the rain, was Camilla Jones.

She was a total mess. Her hair was plastered to her face, her mascara was running down her cheeks in dark black streaks, and she was breathing heavily. She looked furious and completely unhinged.

"Camilla?" Maxwell choked out, his face turning pale white.

Arthur Jordan slammed his hands on the table. "What is the meaning of this?! Who let this woman inside?"

"No one had to let me in, Arthur!" Camilla screamed. She pointed a shaking finger directly at Maxwell. "I know the security codes! Because your precious, perfect grandson gave them to me!"

The three investors gasped, leaning back in their chairs in absolute shock.

"Camilla, shut up," Maxwell hissed, stepping away from the table. "Get out of here right now before I call the police."

"No!" Camilla shrieked, tears of rage mixing with the rain on her face. She stomped into the dining room, not caring that she was ruining Arthur's perfect dinner. She pointed at me.

"You kicked me out last night for her?!" Camilla yelled at Maxwell, her voice cracking. "I gave you two years of my life! I kept my mouth shut while you pretended to be the perfect husband to this boring, pathetic little secretary! And you threw me out into the rain just because she finally found her spine?"

The dining room went dead silent.

Arthur's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. The investors looked at Maxwell with pure disgust. The carefully built image of the stable, respectable CEO was shattering into a million pieces right in front of their eyes.

"You promised me, Maxwell!" Camilla cried, pulling a piece of paper from her wet purse and throwing it onto the floor. "You promised me that the moment Arthur died and you got the money, you would divorce her and marry me!"

A collective gasp swept through the room.

Maxwell looked at me, pure panic and terror flashing in his dark eyes. For the first time in his life, the powerful billionaire had absolutely zero control.

I sat perfectly still in my chair. I slowly placed my napkin on the table. I didn't scream.

I just looked at Maxwell, a slow, cold smile spreading across my dark red lips.

Checkmate.