Chapter Two
915 Words
CHAPTER TWO: The Mansion Wife
Sage didn’t unpack. Not properly.
She stared at the rows of designer gowns hanging in the walk-in closet—soft silks, structured satins, red-carpet drama—and rolled her eyes. The shoes had their own wall. Her entire room looked like a luxury hotel suite designed by someone with trust issues and excellent taste.
It felt like someone else’s life.
Correction: it was someone else’s life.
She just happened to be borrowing it for six months, give or take a scandal.
Her phone buzzed. A new message.
Ezra Cole: “You’re to be dressed and downstairs by 6 PM sharp. Formal. No questions.”
She typed back: “What happens if I’m late?”
The reply came almost instantly.
Ezra: “Try it.”
Sage smirked. For a man who acted like the soul of every funeral, Ezra was growing on her.
She glanced at the evening gown laid out on the bed—black, backless, slit up to her thigh. Subtle. Submissive. Clearly chosen to match Leonardo’s icy, minimalist aesthetic.
She chose a different one.
Soft champagne silk. Off-shoulder. Elegant, romantic, completely out of sync with everything Leo Sinclair stood for. She added a pair of pearl earrings and a nude gloss. No drama, no statement. Just enough softness to make a man used to steel feel off balance.
She arrived in the foyer at exactly 6:00.
Ezra was already waiting. He took one look at her and blinked, then blinked again. “That’s not the dress I selected.”
“No,” Sage said sweetly. “It’s better.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then closed it again. “Fine. Just don’t spill anything on it. It’s a gala, not a battlefield.”
“I’ll try to keep my enemies to a minimum,” she replied, descending the stairs.
Leonardo was waiting by the car.
He wore a dark charcoal suit, crisp shirt, no tie. Understated and lethal. His eyes swept over her, slow and silent, then returned to his watch.
“You’re punctual,” he said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I assumed you’d be difficult.”
“Give it time.”
The ride to the gala was quiet. Tense, but not hostile.
Sage sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching the city lights blur past. She wasn’t used to being chauffeured in bulletproof vehicles. She wasn’t used to sitting next to men who wore danger like a second skin.
Leonardo glanced at her. “You’re not nervous.”
“Should I be?”
“This crowd eats people like you for breakfast.”
She turned her head slowly. “Then they better have strong stomachs.”
He smirked. Just a little.
---
The Sinclair Foundation Gala was held at a luxury art museum. Everything gleamed—floors, walls, teeth. Champagne floated on trays. Diamonds floated on necks. It was a battlefield of smiles and secrets.
Sage stepped out of the car, took Leo’s arm like they’d rehearsed it a thousand times, and walked straight into a room full of people who all secretly wanted her gone.
The photographers went wild.
“Mr. Sinclair! Over here!”
“Is that your wife? She’s gorgeous!”
“Smile for the cameras!”
Leo didn’t flinch. Sage did. Internally.
He leaned toward her and murmured, “Keep smiling. Pretend you’re enchanted.”
“I’m enchanted by your capacity for arrogance,” she said under her breath.
He laughed. A low, surprised sound. Like she’d accidentally told a joke.
Inside, the ballroom was a study in wealth and war. People clinked glasses with one hand and sharpened social blades with the other.
Sage spotted the first enemy within ten minutes.
Tall, blonde, wrapped in navy silk and enough perfume to choke a ghost. Red lips curled in a predatory smile.
“Leonardo,” she purred, gliding over. “You didn’t tell me your little wife was so… quaint.”
Sage tilted her head. “Quaint is such a delicate insult. Would you prefer I call you perfumed or poisonous?”
The woman blinked.
Leonardo didn’t blink. He just sipped his wine and said, “Ladies, if you’re going to fight, do it near the press. Publicity is expensive.”
Sage gave him a look. “I’m not fighting. I’m just stretching my patience.”
He smiled. “Don’t use it all tonight.”
They moved through the gala like ghosts—haunted and haunting. Sage noticed everything. The way people looked at her like she didn’t belong. The way they hovered around Leo like flies to a god.
The way no one asked her a real question.
She made conversation anyway. Soft, sharp, clever replies that left people blinking and trying to catch up. It was a skill her grandmother taught her. Speak like honey, sting like fire.
Later, Leo pulled her aside.
“You’re better at this than I expected.”
“Disappointed?”
“No,” he said slowly, looking at her like he couldn’t decide if she was real. “Confused.”
Sage tilted her head. “By what?”
“You.”
She smiled up at him. “Get used to it.”
He didn’t reply.
He just looked at her, really looked, like she was the one painting in the museum he didn’t know he’d come to see.
And for the first time since the contract was signed, Sage felt something shift.
Not in him.
In her.
- Writer
