The Public Show
1168 Words
The mansion was silent again that night, but Skylar’s mind refused to be still. After dinner, she returned to her room, shut the door softly behind her, and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. The words Logan had said still echoed in her mind.
"From this moment on, you are Mrs. King."
The weight of those words sat heavy on her chest. She walked over to the large bed and sat down, her fingers toying with the edge of the blanket. Sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flashes of cameras, the hungry eyes of the public, the whispers and speculations that tomorrow would bring.
Would they laugh at her? Would they call her desperate for marrying so soon after her broken engagement? Or would they envy her for winning the attention of the man every magazine called untouchable?
Hours passed as she tossed and turned. By the time she finally drifted into a shallow sleep, the faint gray of dawn was already breaking through her curtains.
Her rest didn’t last long. A knock sounded at her door—polite but firm.
“Mrs. King?” a soft voice called. “The designers and makeup artists have arrived.”
Skylar blinked blearily, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Eight, ma’am.”
She sat up, realization hitting her. The banquet. Today.
Dragging herself out of bed, she glanced at her phone. Logan had sent a message hours ago—short, concise, like everything he did.
> I’ll pick you up by six. Be ready.
No good morning, no warmth. Just a man who knew how to keep to business. Still, something about the simplicity steadied her nerves.
The rest of the morning disappeared in a blur of fabric, makeup brushes, and camera flashes. Logan’s mansion had turned into a mini fashion studio. Designers from top luxury houses bustled around her, whispering about cuts, fabrics, and angles.
Skylar stood before the mirror, feeling like a mannequin. Dresses of silk and lace were draped, pinned, adjusted, and replaced. By the time they settled on the final gown, even she had to admit it was breathtaking.
The dress was pure elegance—an off-shoulder white gown made of satin and tulle, fitted perfectly to her slender frame. It shimmered subtly under light, hugging her waist before flowing out like soft waves at her feet. Tiny crystals were sewn into the fabric, catching every flicker of light and scattering it like diamonds.
Her hair was swept up into a sophisticated bun with a few delicate tendrils framing her face. Her long lashes cast gentle shadows on her cheeks, her eyes—brown and luminous—looked larger than ever, glimmering with a mix of nerves and strength. Her lips were painted in a faint rosy hue, soft yet bold enough to draw attention.
Her fair skin glowed under the soft powder of foundation, and her small, graceful figure looked like something out of a dream.
When she finally stood to her full height and looked at herself, Skylar froze. The woman staring back from the mirror was… stunning. Not just beautiful, but radiant. Ethereal.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself.
One of the designers smiled, clearly proud. “Mrs. King,” she said softly, “you’re the definition of perfection tonight.”
Skylar blinked at the title. Mrs. King. It still felt foreign, yet in the reflection, it looked natural—like the name was made to rest on her.
By 5:30 p.m., the team finally stepped back, satisfied. Every curl of her hair, every brushstroke on her face, was in place.
She had barely caught her breath when a murmur passed through the workers. The sound of footsteps echoed from downstairs—measured, confident, familiar.
Logan had arrived.
He was punctual, of course. 6 p.m. sharp.
When Skylar stepped into the living room, his gaze immediately found her. For a moment—just a moment—his carefully guarded composure slipped. His gray eyes darkened, and something unreadable flickered there. Admiration, maybe. Or surprise.
She looked… breathtaking.
But he was Logan King—the man who had built empires, who never flinched before presidents and rivals. He masked it in seconds, schooling his features into calm indifference.
“You’re ready,” he said smoothly, his voice low but steady.
Skylar gave a small nod. “Yes.”
He offered his arm, and she hesitated before resting her hand lightly on it. The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of his suit, unsettling her more than she wanted to admit.
The drive to the venue was silent but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Skylar stared out the tinted window as city lights glided by. She could already see flashes of cameras waiting outside the banquet hall in the distance.
When their car stopped, chaos awaited.
Dozens of reporters swarmed the red carpet. Cameras flashed relentlessly. Security struggled to hold back the crowd.
And then—silence fell.
Because the door opened.
Logan King stepped out first, tall and commanding in his black suit. The crisp lines of his attire matched the sharp edges of his jaw, and when he turned to offer his hand to Skylar, every lens pointed toward them.
The world seemed to hold its breath as she emerged.
Skylar Perry—no, Skylar King—stepped gracefully onto the carpet. Her dress shimmered like starlight under the bulbs, her dark hair gleaming against her fair skin. Every camera clicked, desperate to capture even a glimpse.
The crowd murmured in awe.
“Who is she?” someone whispered.
“She’s beautiful.”
“That must be her—Logan King’s mysterious wife!”
Skylar’s hand rested on Logan’s arm, her chin lifted with quiet dignity. She could feel his steady presence beside her—cold, calm, protective.
They walked forward together, every step a statement. Every gaze followed them as they entered the hall.
The internet exploded before they even reached their seats. Pictures flooded social media. Headlines screamed:
> “Logan King’s Wife Finally Revealed—The Angel Who Stole the Billionaire’s Heart!”
“Henry King’s Ex-Fiancée Outshines Them All!”
“The Queen Beside the King!”
While in another part of the city, two people watched with burning envy.
Henry King stared at the screen, his jaw tight, his knuckles white around his glass of whiskey. Beside him, Rose sat rigid, her eyes wide and dark with fury.
Skylar looked too radiant, too perfect.
“She looks… different,” Henry muttered, disbelief and bitterness tangled in his tone.
“Different?” Rose hissed, glaring at the photo. “She looks like she’s won!”
Henry said nothing. But deep down, he knew—it wasn’t just her beauty that won tonight. It was her silence. Her poise. Her transformation.
And for the first time, he realized the woman he’d taken for granted had become something untouchable.
Something royal.
Skylar King.
And the world now knew it.
- Writer
