Chapter 2
1250 Words
The Performance Begins
The City Hall clerk had processed their marriage license with the same enthusiasm she'd shown the three couples before them. Adrian's lawyers stood witness, two men in identical gray suits who nodded at appropriate moments and left immediately after.
"Three signatures right here, here, and here,” the clerk instructed.
Maya's hand cramped on the third signature. Mrs. Maya Westwood. The name looked wrong.
"Congratulations," the clerk said, already looking past them to the next couple.
Outside, a photographer waited. Adrian's hand found the small of her back—Section 8.3, physical contact permitted for documentation purposes.
"Smile," he said.
She did. He didn't.
The photographer took six shots and disappeared.
"That's it?" Maya asked.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Something?"
Adrian's phone buzzed. He checked it, frowned. "The car's waiting."
The penthouse was worse in daylight. Everything white and chrome and empty.
"Rebecca prepared the east wing for you," Adrian said, not looking at her. "Your belongings were moved this morning."
"You went through my apartment?"
"Movers went through your apartment. I signed the authorization." He loosened his tie. "Your lease has been terminated. First and last month's rent refunded."
Maya's throat tightened. "You can't just…"
"Read Section 9.4. Consolidation of residences within one week of marriage. You signed it."
"I didn't think you'd actually…"
“My word isn’t empty, Dr. Chen.”
"It's Dr. Westwood now. Legally."
Something flickered across his face. "Your wing is down that hall. Mine is the opposite. The kitchen is shared. I'm rarely here for meals."
He walked away before she could respond.
Her "wing" had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and floor to ceiling windows that made her dizzy. Her clothes looked ridiculous in the walk-in closet scrubs and clearance rack dresses lost in all that space.
She found Adrian's note on the nightstand: Charity gala Saturday, 7pm. Stylist arriving Friday, 2pm. Black tie.
No signature. Just orders.
Maya crumpled the note and threw it across the room.
The stylist's name was Dominique, and she descended on Maya like a well-dressed hurricane.
"Arms up. Turn. Another way. Shoes off."
"I don't even know what this gala is for"
"Children's hospital. Very visible. Mrs. Westwood needs to make an impression." Dominique circled her like a shark. "We'll go with Emerald. Bring out your eyes. Hair up. Subtle jewelry."
"I don't have subtle jewelry."
"Mr. Westwood provided options." She opened a case filled with diamonds that probably cost more than Maya's medical degree.
"This is insane."
"This is your life now, darling. If I’m going to live it, I may as well look good.."
Saturday evening, Maya didn't recognize herself in the mirror. The emerald gown clung perfectly. Her hair was swept up, showing her neck. The diamond earrings caught the light.
She looked expensive.
She looked like Adrian Westwood's wife.
Adrian appeared in his tuxedo, checking his watch. He glanced at her, paused.
"That works," he said.
"High praise."
"The car's downstairs."
The gala was everything Maya hated: too many people, too much champagne, conversations that meant nothing. Adrian's hand stayed on her back, a constant cold pressure.
"Smile," he murmured as cameras flashed.
She smiled.
"Mr. and Mrs. Westwood!" A woman in red approached, all teeth and false warmth. "Congratulations on your marriage."
"Thank you," Adrian said, voice smooth.
"So sudden, wasn't it? After all those years of well." The woman's smile sharpened. "I'm sure Maya knows all about your history, Adrian."
"Ancient history, Patricia."
"Three years isn't that ancient." Patricia's eyes fixed on Maya. "Did he tell you about Ziba? The yacht party that made Page Six?"
Adrian's hand tightened on Maya's back. "Patricia"
"I'm sure he's reformed now. Marriage changes people." But her tone said she didn't believe it.
Maya felt Adrian tense beside her. She stepped forward, extending her hand.
"Patricia, is it? I'm Maya. And no, Adrian didn't tell me about Ziba because I don't care about Ziba." She kept her smile pleasant. "I care about the man I married. The one who's here now."
Patricia's smile faltered.
"If you'll excuse us," Maya continued, "I see someone we need to greet."
She steered Adrian away, feeling his surprise.
"That was.."
"Necessary," Maya said. "Just playing the part."
They circulated through the gala, Adrian's hand never leaving her back. He introduced her again and again: "My wife, Maya."
She noticed things. How he deflected personal questions. How his smile never reached his eyes. How he positioned himself between her and anyone who got too close.
Then she saw her.
The woman was stunningly tall, blonde, and poured into a black dress. She moved through the crowd like she owned it, heading straight for them.
"Adrian." Her voice was honey over broken glass.
Adrian's entire body went rigid. "Isabelle."
"Married. How unexpected." Isabelle's eyes raked over Maya. "I give it six months."
"Isabelle"
"Does she know about Prague? Or was it just Ziba you're hiding?" Isabelle's smile was vicious. "All those promises you made, Adrian. Remember?"
Maya felt Adrian's hand slide around her waist, pulling her against his side. The contact was electric, nothing like the impersonal touches from earlier.
"Isabelle, meet my wife." His voice dropped, cold and dangerous. "Maya is the only promise that matters now."
The possessiveness in his tone sent heat through Maya's chest.
Isabelle's composure cracked. "You can't be serious."
"Deadly serious. Now if you'll excuse us." He guided Maya away, his grip firm.
They ended up on a balcony, away from the crowd. Adrian released her immediately, running a hand through his hair.
"I apologize. That was…"
"Your ex?"
"Among other things."
Maya leaned against the railing. "She seems lovely."
"She's a nightmare." He loosened his bow tie. "The yacht party she mentioned? Her cocaine. Her friends. I was just there."
"But you took the fall."
"Better than her going to prison." He laughed bitterly. "Stupid, in retrospect."
"You loved her."
"I thought I did. Turns out I just loved the idea of someone wanting me for me, not the money." He met her eyes. "Ironic, considering our arrangement."
Maya didn’t know how to respond.
Adrian's phone buzzed. He checked it, and his jaw clenched.
"We should go," he said.
The car ride home was silent. Maya watched the city blur past, hyperaware of Adrian beside her. His jaw was still clenched, his hand fisted on his thigh.
"Thank you," he said finally. "For what you said to Patricia."
"I meant it. I don't care about your past."
"You should. It's quite colorful."
"Everyone has a past, Adrian. Mine just involves less yachts and more ramen noodles."
He almost smiled.
At the penthouse, they separated to their wings. Maya changed into pajamas, scrubbed off the makeup, took down her hair. Became herself again.
She was heading to bed when she heard his voice.
Low. Tense. Coming from his study.
She shouldn't listen. She should respect his privacy.
She moved closer.
"... don't care what the board thinks, Marcus. We need this merger." Pause. "I know the timeline. I know the risks." His voice cracked slightly. "I can't lose this. Not after everything."
Silence.
"Just fix it. That's what I pay you for."
Maya heard something crash a glass, maybe. Then nothing.
She stood in the hallway, hand pressed to the wall, listening to the silence from Adrian's study.
He'd sounded different. Not cold. Not calculating.
Desperate. Human. Real.
She went to bed wondering which version of Adrian Westwood she'd actually married and which one she was starting to care about.
- Writer
