Chapter three
1499 Words
Chapter 3: The Public Face of a Private War
The next morning, Alina woke up to the sound of soft knocking.
She blinked at the ceiling, confused for a moment. She had forgotten where she was. Forgotten that the life she once had—the chaos, the comfort, the noise—was all gone.
She was in a different world now.
Probably, she had even forgotten she was married.
Now, there was only silence, luxury, and Damon Wolfe.
The knock came again, sharper this time.
She sat up reluctantly and called out, “Come in.”
Marta entered with her usual calm grace, holding a black garment bag and a tray of coffee and toast.
“Good morning, latest wife,” she said gently. “Mr. Wolfe has requested your presence at an event this afternoon.”
“Event? Who?” Alina complained.
She had to frown.
“What kind of event?”
“A press brunch with the Wolfe Foundation’s top donors. The media will be present.”
She sat up straighter. “I am not going anywhere.”
She didn’t flinch.
“It is not optional, madam.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but something in Marta's eyes stopped her. Her facial expression had to be respected. It wasn't fear exactly. It was more like... caution.
“The dress code is formal,” she added.
“He has asked that you wear this dress.”
She laid the garment bag on the edge of the bed and poured the coffee.
“Your car leaves in two hours. He will meet you there at the venue.”
And then she was gone, leaving only the scent of rich coffee and the weight of obligation in the air.
---
Two hours later, Alina stood in front of a floor-length mirror, trying to dress well and not look like she was about to be executed.
The dress Damon chose was deep emerald green, fitted to perfection, with off-shoulder sleeves and a thigh-high slit that screamed trophy wife.
She hated how stunning and gorgeous it looked on her—but at the same time, loved it.
The makeup artist had arrived not long after Marta left and worked on her in silence. She didn’t make even small talk. She didn’t ask about Alina’s love life or offer beauty tips. It was all professional—smooth hands, quiet brushes, soft commands.
The makeup artist seemed to be a professional at her work. The makeup was cool and attractive, soft and simple.
Now she looked flawless—hot and sweet, like someone she couldn’t recognize.
The car was waiting downstairs, black and sleek like everything else in Damon Wolfe’s black world.
Alina cat-walked to the car like she owned the world.
---
Arriving at the venue, it was a glass-domed garden terrace on the 30th floor of a downtown hotel. Chandeliers floated above manicured plants, and photographers swarmed the steps like bees drawn to blood.
As soon as she stepped out of the car, the flashes started.
“Alina! Over here!”
“Mrs. Wolfe, the newest bride—how does it feel to be married to the richest man in the city?”
“Was it love at first sight?”
“Is it true your father’s company collapsed because of Damon Wolfe?”
That last one really hit her hard...
Security moved quickly, clearing a path. A firm hand touched her lower back—it was Damon. She hadn’t even seen him arrive.
He leaned in close and whispered, “Smile.”
She wanted to shove him away, but she had to force her lips into a practiced expression.
Not too happy. Not too cold.
Just enough to make them wonder.
Damon’s hand stayed on her waist as they walked up the steps together.
Every camera was focused on them. Every step was a performance.
Like it was just acting.
Gosh!
Inside, the air smelled like roses and money. The tables sparkled with crystal glasses and silverware, and the room was filled with people wearing expensive designer suits and fake smiles.
Damon didn’t slow down. He guided her to a private table near the center, nodding at familiar faces as he passed with his wife.
“You are late,” an older woman said as they sat down. Fashionably, they supposed.
Alina recognized her from business magazines—Mrs. Celeste Renner, founder of some cosmetics empire. Her diamonds could fund a small country. They were expensive jewelry she had on her.
“This must be the new Mrs. Wolfe,” she said, turning her large, cat-like eyes to Alina.
“She is,” Damon said smoothly. “Alina, meet one of the foundation’s most generous donors.”
She extended her hand politely. “A pleasure, Mrs. Renner.”
She took Alina's hand, squeezing it just hard enough to hurt.
“You are very young.”
“She’s old enough to be intelligent,” Damon said before Alina could even respond.
Celeste just laughed. She was clearly amused. She turned her attention back to her drink.
---
The event dragged on painfully. Small talk. Fake laughs. Clinking glasses. Alina smiled until her face ached and nodded until her neck felt stiff.
But Damon, of course, was in his element—cold, charming, strategic. Every move he made was calculated. But as Alina watched him work the room, she realized something that made her stomach twist:
He wasn’t pretending.
This was who he was.
Smooth. Ruthless. Untouchable. Tough.
“Is this because he is wealthy or handsome that he acts this way?” Alina wondered.
God forbid that this man should own me. A man who could ruin someone’s life in the morning and donate to cancer research in the afternoon.
And now… I am his wife. Really? Wow.
---
During a brief break, she slipped away and found herself on a balcony overlooking the city. She took a deep breath of cool air, finally alone with her thoughts.
But the peace did not last long.
Damon came around and found her minutes later.
“Running already?” he asked.
“I needed air,” she replied, gripping the stone railing.
He stood beside her, his presence as suffocating as it was magnetic.
“You handled yourself well in there,” he said, studying her profile.
She turned to him. “Why do I need to ‘handle’ anything? I’m not your employee. I didn’t sign up for PR duty.”
He raised a brow.
“You signed up to be my wife. This is part of the role.”
“I didn’t know the role came with a script.”
“It always does,” he said quietly. “In this world, appearance is everything. If you want to survive, you play the part.”
She looked at him.
“And what part are you playing, Damon?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked out over the city like it belonged to him.
“Whatever I need to,” he said finally.
“Uhmmm. I see.”
There it was—the honesty beneath the charm.
Damon Wolfe didn’t care who he had to become, as long as he stayed in control.
She hated that part of her understood it.
“Let’s go inside,” Damon insisted.
---
When they returned to the table, the host took the microphone.
“Thank you all for joining us. Before we close today’s event, we have a special announcement. Mr. Wolfe, would you like to do the honors?”
Damon stood, tugging her to her feet with him. She blinked in confusion.
He took the mic and smiled that usual smooth, practiced fake smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here. Your continued support makes everything the Wolfe Foundation does possible. And today, I would like to introduce you to someone very important to me.”
He looked at her, and the room went still.
“My wife, Alina Hayes.”
Polite applause followed. Her throat felt dry.
There she was. Nervous and confused.
“She will be joining the board as our youngest member and ambassador for our women’s initiative,” he continued.
“Wait. What?”
She turned to him in shock, but his expression didn’t waver.
“She’s smart, compassionate, and ready to make a difference in this company.”
She wanted to scream because she had not agreed to any of this. He was using her again.
A pawn on his golden chessboard.
For God’s sake, why would he just make decisions for me without telling me? Alina whispered to herself.
But she smiled anyway—because the cameras were watching.
Every eye in the room was on her.
And because this was the life she had agreed to… or at least, the cage she had walked into.
So she had to comply.
And if she wanted to survive it,
She had to learn to play by his rules…
Until she finds a way to break them.
- Writer
