Will you be my Wife?

LISA The flashing lights of a hundred high-society cameras still danced behind my eyelids, but the cold weight of the platinum band on my left ring finger was the only thing anchoring me to reality. I was married. To Julian Vance my boss. As we stood at the edge of the grand ballroom for our wedding reception, surrounded by the elite of the city, my heart hammered against my ribs. For a fleeting, foolish second, looking at how breathtakingly handsome he looked in his custom tuxedo, a wave of heat rushed to my cheeks. I felt myself blush, a tiny sprout of hope blooming in my chest that maybe, just maybe there was a sliver of truth to the vows we had just exchanged. Julian leaned down, his lips brushing past my ear. I braced myself for a whisper of reassurance. "Try not to look so desperate, Lisa," he murmured, his voice laced with pure venom. "It’s embarrassing to watch you try to play the blushing bride. Remember why you’re here." The words cut through me like an icy blade. Before I could even swallow the lump in my throat, he pulled back, his face returning to a flawless, camera-ready mask of a doting husband. He gave my waist one last tight, possessive squeeze, dropped his hand, and walked away without looking back, leaving me stranded under the glittering chandeliers to mingle with a group of billionaire tech investors. I stood there, feeling small, exposed, and entirely confused. The heavy fabric of my designer wedding gown suddenly felt like a straight jacket . "Well, well. If it isn't the new Mrs. Vance." I blinked, turning to face a woman with sharp, feline eyes holding a recorder with the distinctive logo of Plushies Magazine. "I'm Monica from Plushies," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes. "The city is absolutely reeling, Lisa. Last week you were just a low-level staff getting publicly dragged out of the building, and today you're wearing a million-dollar ring. Tell me, how exactly does an ordinary girl from the typing pool manage to capture the heart of the country's most elusive bachelor overnight?" My breath hitched. The question was a trap, designed to expose the loopholes in our sudden romance. "Julian and I... we’ve kept our private lives separate from work for a long time," I stammered, my voice lacking any real confidence. "It was... a sudden decision, but—" "A sudden decision?" Monica interrupted, a snide, knowing smirk spreading across her face. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice so the surrounding guests couldn't hear. "Or a very calculated one? Because looking at you right now, standing here all alone while your husband ignores you across the room, you don't look like a loved woman. You look like a temporary PR shield. Enjoy the luxury while it lasts, darling. Plushies knows a fake when we see one." She patted my arm condescendingly and swept past me. Between Julian's cruel reminder and the journalist’s sharp insults, a heavy, suffocating sadness settled over me. I spent the rest of the night acting like a ghost at my own wedding. The silence in the back of Julian's sleek black luxury car on our way to his penthouse mansion was deafening. The city lights flashed across his sharp profile, but he didn't look at me once. He was already typing away on his tablet, completely detached. Staring at the glass window, the humiliation of the evening boiled over into a quiet, burning resolve. The marriage contract is for five years. If I stayed under his thumb, letting him degrade me while I smiled for the cameras, I wouldn't have a soul left by the time it was over. I remembered the governing rules of the contract we had signed. Both parties are granted exactly one single, irrevocable amendment to the terms. I turned my head, my eyes locking onto him. "Julian." He didn't look up from his screen. "What?" "I’m exercising my right to make my contract amendment right now." Julian scoffed, a dark, amused smile playing on his lips. He finally tilted his head to look at me, his eyes full of billionaire arrogance. "Already? Let me guess. You want a bigger monthly allowance? Or maybe access to the family's private estate? Think it through, Lisa. You only get one shot at this. Don't waste your only leverage on something trivial." "I don't want your extra money, Julian," I said, my voice steady, cutting through the quiet of the car. "And I'm not asking for perks. I want less time. I am exercising my amendment to reduce our marriage contract from five years to one." The amusement instantly drained from Julian's face. "You think one year is enough to endure my world, Lisa?" he whispered, his voice a low, threatening growl that vibrated against my skin. "You have no idea what you just signed up for." I didn't blink. I forced myself to look him dead in the eye, hiding the tremble in my hands. The next morning, I woke up in the massive, unfamiliar guest suite of his penthouse. My body felt stiff and heavy, the emotional hangover of the wedding weighing me down. Sighing, I reached for my phone on the nightstand. The first thing that popped up on my screen was the draft of the email I had started writing the previous night, the official legal notice to our lawyers to formally lock in the one-year amendment. But before I could review it, my phone began to buzz violently with notifications. Social media alerts were flying in by the second. Apprehensively, I tapped open the main entertainment app, bracing myself for the worst. I expected to see embarrassing photos of me stammering, or a scathing article from Plushies Magazine exposing me as a fraud. Instead, my eyes widened. The top trending headline was an exclusive from Plushies Magazine. The cover image was a breathtaking, beautifully lit shot of me looking out into the ballroom, looking elegant, ethereal, and completely untouchable. The headline read: "The Enigmatic Grace of Mrs. Vance: Why Julian’s New Bride is the Most Captivating Power Player in the City." I scrolled down in utter shock. The article, written by Monica, the very same journalist who had mocked me to my face—was a glowing, reverent piece. She praised my poise, called my quietness 'mysterious and sophisticated,' and painted our marriage as a legendary love story. The weak, shameful angles of me looking confused had been completely wiped from the internet. A sudden wave of relief and lightheartedness washed over me. Anxious to see if he knew about this, I wrapped myself in a silk robe and slipped out of the bedroom. I followed the faint aroma of espresso down the hall toward the study. Through the glass doors, I stopped. Julian was sitting behind his desk. He wasn't wearing his armor-like power suit. His hair was slightly messy, and his white dress shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean muscles of his arms. He looked... surprisingly human. And painfully handsome. I pushed the door open quietly. "Julian?" He looked up from his tablet, his eyes scanning me before turning completely indifferent. "You're awake." "The articles this morning..." I started, holding up my phone. "The Plushies Magazine piece. They changed the entire story. It’s... it’s beautiful. Did you have something to do with this?" Julian leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "I don't want my wife to look like a fool, it reflects poorly on my choices," he said coldly, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Your lack of confidence yesterday was a liability to the Vance Group image. I simply had my legal team remind the publication of the cost of a defamation lawsuit. I corrected the narrative for the sake of my brand." My chest tightened slightly. Of course. It was just business. But as I looked at him, I realized that even if his motives were purely selfish, he had still protected me from public humiliation. My heart fluttered against my will. He wasn't entirely a monster. I took a breath, stepping closer to his desk. "Regardless of the reason... thank you, Julian. It really helped—" Before I could finish, his personal phone rang, cutting me off. Julian glanced at the caller ID and picked it up. The moment he pressed the phone to his ear, the relaxed, human version of him vanished. His face hardened into a ruthless, terrifying mask. "Speak," Julian commanded. He listened for a few seconds, his eyes fixing onto the wall behind me. When he spoke again, his voice was pure ice. "Do it. Pull all of our advertising contracts from Plushies Magazine. And call the network executives. I want Monica blacklisted from every major media outlet in the country by noon. I don't care if it ruins her career. Make sure she never writes a single word in this industry again." A chill ran down my spine. I stood frozen in the center of the room, my breath catching in my throat. He was systematically destroying the woman who had insulted me at the reception. Julian ended the call and tossed the phone onto the desk. He stood up slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow over me as he crossed the room. He stopped right in front of me, so close I could smell the sharp scent of his expensive cologne mixed with dark coffee. He tilted his head down, his dark, intense eyes searching my face, noting the shock and the sudden heat radiating from my skin. A ghost of a smirk touched his lips, though his eyes remained dangerously guarded. "You're looking at me differently today, Lisa," he murmured, his voice dropping to that smooth, intoxicating pitch that made my knees weak. "Did you suddenly change your mind about that contract amendment?" I stared up at him, my heart hammering so loudly against my ribs I was terrified he could hear it. Looking at his sharp jawline and the ruthless power radiating off him, my mind spun into chaos. He was a dangerous man. A man who could erase a person’s entire life with a single phone call. He was cruel, controlling, and completely emotionally unavailable. I should be submitting that amendment right now to escape him. But as his dark eyes locked onto mine, a terrifying realization washed over me. I didn't want to run. Even knowing how badly he could break me, looking at him right now... I wanted to stay.