Chapter Three: Smoke and Cameras
1394 Words
The morning after the announcement, the world shifted.
Arielle Devereux woke not as herself, but as a symbol. The headlines were relentless—on television, in newspapers, across every corner of social media. Her name, once barely whispered in elite circles, now spilled from every news anchor’s mouth like confetti.
“Heiress Engaged to Elusive Billionaire: Meet Arielle Devereux.”
“Who Is Kairo Vescari’s Chosen Bride?”
“Modern Royalty? The Strategic Marriage of Power and Wealth.”
Her phone buzzed relentlessly with messages from strangers and old acquaintances, journalists and fashion houses, all clawing for a piece of her.
But what struck her most was not the sudden attention—it was how quickly the world crafted a narrative for her. In the absence of her own voice, they built one for her.
Graceful. Polished. Obedient. Quiet. The ice princess with a heart of gold.
And Arielle let them.
Because to speak out was to break formation—and she didn’t yet know what shape her future would take. Not until she understood more about the man who had put her in this spotlight.
Meanwhile, at the top of the Vescari Tower, Kairo watched the same headlines from behind tinted glass.
He stood in his office, towering over the Manhattan skyline, the city reflecting in the dark windows behind him. The media frenzy had gone precisely as planned. Every outlet, every influencer, every business column had latched onto the announcement like vultures. Stocks surged. Investors buzzed. And the Devereux name, once teetering in corporate relevance, had become a golden tag again—because of him.
He had given them an illusion. A beautiful engagement. A fairytale narrative.
Now the public was feeding on it, blind to the real game beneath the surface.
A soft knock broke his concentration.
He turned as Clara—his loyal assistant—entered, tablet in hand.
“She’s gone quiet on social media,” Clara said without preamble. “No interviews, no posts. No curated engagement photo dump. Not even a story.”
“She’s playing it smart,” Kairo said, almost amused.
“Or she’s resisting.”
“She won’t,” he replied with certainty. “She’s observant. Controlled. She’ll watch and wait until she understands the rules.”
Clara hesitated. “And what happens when she starts asking about your past?”
Kairo’s face darkened.
“She won’t,” he said simply, turning his attention back to the window. “She’ll be too busy learning how to survive in mine.”
Later that evening, Arielle found herself being whisked away by a personal driver—this time not sent by her parents, but by Kairo himself. The car was sleek, almost too quiet, the kind of transport you weren’t just driven in—you were displayed in.
She was dressed in another designer ensemble chosen by a stylist she hadn’t even met—her schedule now filled by strangers, her appearance curated down to the pearl clips in her hair.
Tonight, she was to make her first public appearance with Kairo as his fiancée.
It was a benefit gala hosted by the Langford Foundation, an exclusive annual event attended by the wealthiest and most powerful figures in New York. The kind of room where money wasn’t just wealth—it was language. Culture. Armor.
And Arielle was expected to shine.
The car doors opened to a sea of camera flashes. Paparazzi lined the barricades like wolves. Screams echoed as photographers called their names.
“Kairo! Arielle! Over here!”
“Kiss for the cameras!”
She stepped out slowly, her satin gown cascading like liquid night around her ankles. Kairo was already waiting, dressed in a classic black tuxedo that made him look like he walked out of a noir painting—dangerous, elegant, controlled.
He offered his arm, and she took it.
The cameras went wild.
The walk down the carpet was a dance of pretense and performance. Kairo’s grip on her was light but firm. Their chemistry was picture-perfect. He whispered into her ear now and then, just enough to give the appearance of intimacy.
She smiled when she had to. Tilted her head at the right angle. Let herself be photographed like a mannequin in a showcase window.
But inside, she felt hollow.
Once inside the ballroom, the chaos of flashing lights gave way to elegant orchestral music and the soft clink of crystal glasses. The crowd parted instinctively as they entered—people lowering their voices, watching them with a mix of awe and envy.
They were no longer two individuals.
They were an empire on display.
Throughout the evening, Kairo made the rounds with ease. He shook hands with senators, joked with billionaires, and traded investment forecasts like old friends exchanging wine recommendations. He introduced Arielle when necessary, always with reverence but never emotion.
She was an accessory. A part of the pitch. His soon-to-be.
At one point, while sipping champagne near the gallery wing, she found herself momentarily alone.
A voice drifted toward her.
“So… this is the bride-to-be.”
She turned to find Celeste Langford, heiress to the Langford Foundation and a long-time presence in Manhattan's social elite. She was poised, calculated, and famously venomous with a smile.
“I must say,” Celeste continued, circling her like a shark in Dior, “you’re not what I expected.”
Arielle didn’t flinch. “No one ever expects me. That’s why I’m useful.”
Celeste blinked, taken aback for just a moment.
Then she smirked. “Well played. But be careful. Kairo doesn’t keep his toys for long.”
Arielle smiled politely. “I’m not a toy. I’m a weapon.”
She walked away before Celeste could respond.
Kairo noticed.
He had been watching from a distance, sipping whiskey, eyes sharp. Celeste had underestimated Arielle, and it amused him. But there was also something else—a flicker of pride. His so-called pawn was adapting faster than he anticipated.
When she returned to his side, he leaned closer.
“Impressive,” he murmured.
“Which part?” she asked.
“Making Celeste speechless.”
Arielle looked up at him, her voice low and calm. “You put me in a cage, Kairo. I intend to decorate it.”
He studied her for a moment.
Perhaps this would be more interesting than he thought.
The ride home was quiet.
Arielle stared out the window, no longer feeling the need to speak. She was already composing herself for the next battle, the next performance, the next spotlight.
But inside, her thoughts churned.
What did Kairo really want? Why had he chosen her?
He could have married an influencer, a celebrity, a business mogul’s daughter with twice her media training. But instead, he chose the quiet one. The invisible one.
She suspected it wasn’t affection.
It was strategy.
And that made her part of a war she didn’t yet understand.
When the car stopped outside her building, she opened the door before the driver could help her. Kairo made no move to follow.
“Aren’t you coming up?” she asked, her hand still on the door.
He looked at her, eyes unreadable. “Not tonight.”
“But one day you will.”
He didn’t answer.
She stepped out, the door closing behind her with a soft finality.
The moment she entered her penthouse apartment, she let the smile drop. Her fingers reached behind her ears, pulling off the diamond earrings. Her heels were kicked aside. Her breath released from the prison of her chest.
Then she walked straight to her vanity, pulled out a notebook, and began to write.
Observations. Names. Patterns. Weaknesses.
If she was going to be used in this game, then she would learn the rules.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d find a way to turn the board.
Across town, Kairo stood alone on his balcony.
The city stretched out below him, glittering with false promises.
He hadn’t planned on being affected. Arielle had been a means to an end—a face that would charm the press, a name that would soothe boardrooms, a presence that would grant him access to rooms closed off for years.
But there was something beneath her quiet surface.
Something careful. Watching. Waiting.
He had used her as bait.
But now he wondered…
What if he’d unleashed a predator instead?
- Writer
