The Contract Bride

twelve – Her POV (On Display)

The dress wasn’t mine.

Of course, it wasn’t.

Nothing about my life was mine anymore—not the penthouse I slept in, not the glittering diamonds he tossed onto my dresser, and certainly not the sleek black gown I was zipped into tonight.

It clung to me like a second skin, slit high enough to make me blush, neckline deep enough to make me furious. I caught my reflection in the mirror one last time, muttering under my breath.

“I look like I belong to him.”

The thought made me burn. And yet, a traitorous part of me whispered that maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.

A knock at the door. Sharp. Controlled. Him.

“Elena,” Alexander’s voice slid through the wood, low and commanding. “We’re leaving.”

I opened the door to find him in a tailored black suit, tie perfectly knotted, hair slicked back with ruthless precision. He looked… lethal. The kind of man who owned every room he walked into.

And for tonight, I was his accessory.

He let his eyes drift over me slowly, deliberately, like he was appraising something he already owned. His jaw tightened for just a second before he extended his arm.

“Shall we?”

I almost refused out of pure spite. But I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow anyway, because what else could I do?

The event was a business dinner, held in a private ballroom at one of the city’s most exclusive hotels. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, and every head turned as Alexander Steele entered the room.

Correction: as Alexander Steele entered with me.

Whispers followed us like shadows. Who is she? The bride? The Carter girl?

My skin prickled under the weight of their stares. I wanted to shrink, disappear. But Alexander’s hand covered mine where it rested on his arm, his grip firm. Possessive.

“Stand tall,” he murmured without looking at me. “You’re mine tonight. That makes you untouchable.”

The words should have felt like chains. Instead, they sent a shiver down my spine.

Introductions blurred. Men in suits, women in diamonds, all eager to flatter him, to be in his orbit. And me? I was the quiet storm at his side, smiling when necessary, burning inside every time his thumb brushed my knuckles in silent claim.

At one point, Damien Blackwood—yes, that Damien Blackwood—sauntered up to us. Dark-haired, smug, with eyes that lingered far too long on me.

“Steele,” Damien drawled, lifting his glass. “Didn’t think you’d finally settle down. And with such… unexpected taste.”

I stiffened, cheeks heating at his bold stare. Alexander’s grip on me tightened like steel.

“Careful, Blackwood,” he said softly, dangerously. “You’re looking at my wife.”

The way he said it—my wife—wasn’t just a statement. It was a warning, a line drawn in blood.

Damien smirked, clearly enjoying the tension. “Of course. My mistake.” He winked at me before strolling off.

The second he was gone, I whispered, “You didn’t have to say it like that.”

“Like what?” Alexander’s gaze stayed fixed on Damien’s retreating figure.

“Like I’m property.”

Finally, he looked down at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but his voice was low enough that only I could hear.

“You are under my protection, Elena. There’s a difference.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then a waiter passed with champagne, and Alexander smoothly plucked a glass, handing it to me as though the conversation hadn’t just sliced through the air.

“Drink,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

Hours passed. Every time I tried to step away, Alexander reeled me back in with a touch, a look, a quiet command. He introduced me not as “my wife” this time, but Elena Steele—a name that wasn’t mine but sounded far too natural on his lips.

And the way people looked at me changed. Respectful. Curious. Envious.

It was intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

By the time the evening wound down, my feet ached, my head buzzed, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing.

As we stepped out into the cool night air, Alexander’s hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer. Not for show this time. Not for anyone else’s eyes.

“See?” he murmured against my ear, his breath warm, his tone wickedly satisfied. “The world already believes you belong to me.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. “But I don’t.”

He stopped, turned me to face him under the glow of the hotel lights. For a moment, his mask slipped, raw intensity blazing in his eyes.

“You will, Elena.” His voice was a promise. A threat. A vow. “Sooner or later, you will.”

And God help me… I was terrified he might be right.