Chapter Four
1432 Words
The following morning came far too quickly.
Emma woke to the soft hum of the city outside, the sunlight filtering through sheer curtains she forgot to close last night. For a brief second, she didn’t remember where she was. The luxurious silk sheets, the impossibly soft mattress, the unfamiliar scent of expensive cologne woven into everything—it wasn’t home. It wasn’t her life.
Reality crashed back in like a tidal wave.
The contract. The marriage. Alexander Knight.
She groaned, burying her face into the pillow. It wasn’t a nightmare. It’s real. All of it.
A sharp knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
“Mrs. Knight?” Margaret’s voice floated in, polite but firm. “Mr. Knight asked me to inform you that you’re expected downstairs in thirty minutes. You have an appointment.”
Emma sat up abruptly. “Appointment?”
“Your makeover.”
Her heart sank. “Oh.” Of course. It wasn’t enough to sign her life away. Now she had to look the part too.
“Thanks,” Emma mumbled, forcing her voice to sound stable.
“I’ve laid out something for you in the wardrobe,” Margaret added before her footsteps faded down the hall.
Emma dragged herself out of bed and shuffled toward the massive walk-in closet.
When she opened the door, her jaw nearly hit the floor.
A cream-colored silk blouse paired with high-waisted black slacks. Minimal, elegant, expensive. It was the kind of outfit that screamed money without even trying. A pair of nude heels sat perfectly beneath the hanger.
She sighed. “Well... welcome to the role, Mrs. Knight.”
***
Half an hour later, Emma found herself sitting inside a private luxury salon—one of those exclusive places where the average person couldn’t even get an appointment without waiting months or knowing the right billionaire.
She tried not to gape at the mirrored walls, gold accents, and the endless rows of beauty products she couldn’t even pronounce.
Alexander sat in the corner, scrolling through his phone like he wasn’t even present. His expensive tailored suit hugged his tall frame, his expression unreadable as usual.
“Couldn’t you just... drop me off and pick me up later?” Emma muttered as the stylist combed through her hair.
“No,” he answered simply, not looking up. “I need to approve the result.”
She twisted in her chair to glare at him. “Approve? I’m not a product on a shelf.”
His gaze finally flicked up, bored but sharp. “No, you’re not.” But you’re representing me now. You walk into every room with my name attached to yours. So yes, I approve.”
Emma clenched her jaw. “Charming. You must be a hit at parties.”
The stylist chuckled quietly under her breath but wisely kept her focus on the job.
“Trust me, darling,” the woman said with a warm smile, “he’s not the worst man I’ve worked for.”
Alexander’s lip twitched in the faintest suggestion of a smirk.
The makeover took nearly three hours.
By the time they finished, Emma hardly recognized herself. Her hair was styled into soft, elegant waves that framed her face perfectly. Her makeup was natural but polished—enhancing her deep brown eyes, her full lips glossed in a muted rose.
The stylist turned her chair toward the mirror. “What do you think?”
Emma stared at her reflection in disbelief.
“I...” Her voice caught. “I look...”
“Expensive,” Alexander finished smoothly, standing and straightening his cuffs. “You look exactly how you’re supposed to look.”
Emma blinked back, the sudden sting behind her eyes. It’s just makeup. Just hair. It doesn’t change who you are inside.
Still... It was jarring. To look like someone else. Someone who belonged in his world.
***
As soon as they stepped outside, Alexander’s personal driver opened the back door of a black Rolls-Royce.
“Where are we going now?” Emma asked, sinking into the buttery leather seat.
Alexander adjusted his cufflinks. “Our first public appearance.”
Her stomach twisted. “Already?”
“Of course.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t think you’d have time to ease into this, did you?”
She sighed, leaning her head back. “Why do I feel like you enjoy torturing me?”
“Because you make it entertaining.”
She scowled but bit her tongue.
The car pulled up to an art gallery in the heart of the city. Cameras flashed instantly. Photographers crowded the entrance, snapping shots of celebrities, investors, and high-profile socialites.
Panic surged in Emma’s chest. “I... I can’t do this.”
Alexander turned, eyes sharp. “You can. You will. Listen carefully.”
He reached out suddenly, his fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face toward him. “Look at me.”
Her breath caught. His touch wasn’t rough—it was commanding, but not cruel.
“This is how it works,” he murmured. “You stay close.” Smile. Keep your hand in my arm. Do not flinch when they call your name. You’re Mrs. Knight now. Own it.”
Her heart hammered. His scent—rich, woodsy, mixed with something uniquely him—was overwhelming.
“And if I mess up?” she whispered.
“You won’t.” His thumb brushed her jaw lightly before dropping his hand. “Because you don’t have a choice.”
The door opened. Flashes exploded like fireworks.
Alexander stepped out first, all confident swagger and dominance, then extended a hand toward her.
Emma swallowed her fear... and placed her hand in his.
The crowd roared with camera clicks as they stepped onto the carpet.
“Mr. Knight! Mr. Knight! Over here!”
“Is this your wife? Mrs. "Knight, look here!”
“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Knight!”
Emma pasted on the best smile she could manage while gripping Alexander’s arm so tightly that her nails might have drawn blood.
But if he noticed, he didn’t show it.
In fact... he seemed to lean slightly closer. His hand rested on the small of her back—possessive, commanding, like he was staking a claim in front of the world.
“Breathe,” he muttered under his breath, lips barely moving. “Smile like you belong.”
Fake it till you make it.
She forced herself to breathe, lifting her chin. Her smile softened. Her spine straightened.
And surprisingly... It worked.
Inside the gallery, the chaos quieted into polite chatter, glasses clinking, and soft classical music.
Alexander led her through the crowd, exchanging cold nods with business people and air-kisses with socialites.
Everyone looked at them. Looked at her.
The whispers followed.
“Is that really Alexander’s wife?”
“She’s... normal.”
“Pretty, though. Where did he find her?”
“Was there a secret wedding?”
Emma’s skin prickled, but she kept her smile firmly in place.
Until...
“Well, well... didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”
A sultry voice sliced through the air. A tall, perfectly put-together blonde stepped into their path.
Vanessa Monroe. Emma recognized her instantly from the tabloids—heiress, model, and one of Alexander’s most persistent exes.
Vanessa’s lips curved into a mocking smile as her icy gaze dragged over Emma. “So this is the wife. How... quaint.”
Emma’s pulse raced.
Alexander’s jaw ticked. “Vanessa,” he said smoothly. “Always a pleasure.”
Vanessa ignored him, stepping closer to Emma. “You must be very... special to have caught his attention.” Her gaze swept from Emma’s shoes to her hair, dripping with condescension. “Or maybe... very convenient.”
Emma’s fingers curled into fists, but before she could speak, Alexander’s arm tightened around her waist.
“Careful, Vanessa,” his voice dropped, lethal and cold. “Watch how you speak to my wife.”
Vanessa blinked, stunned for a half-second, before masking it with a brittle laugh. “Of course.” Wouldn’t want to upset the happy couple.”
With a final glare at Emma, she turned and sauntered away.
Emma released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Alexander’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. His lips dipped into her ear, his voice low and razor-sharp. “Get used to it, Mrs." Knight. This is just the beginning.”
Her heart pounded. Her skin burned where his fingers rested against her waist.
And for the first time since signing that contract... Emma realized just how deep she was in.
- Writer
