EPISODE 6
917 Words
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
His gaze dropped.
Slowly.
Lingering.
I felt it like a touch.
“You don’t knock?” I added, more sharply.
“This is my mansion,” he said calmly. “I don’t need permission to enter any room in it.”
I folded my arms, suddenly aware of how little the nightgown concealed. “After… everything tonight, you couldn’t even pretend to be decent?”
His jaw tightened, eyes darkening. “Decent?”
“Yes. Parading another woman through the mansion hours after… “
“After what?” he interrupted. “After fulfilling our arrangement in public?”
My mouth opened. Closed.
He took a step closer.
Then another.
“You looked very convincing tonight,” he said quietly. “Hot. Radiant. Everyone loved you.”
“And yet,” I said bitterly, “that didn’t stop you.”
“No,” he agreed. “It didn’t.”
His gaze dropped again, slower this time. I could feel the weight of it, heavy, assessing, unsettling.
“If I wanted,” he continued, voice low, “you wouldn’t be in a position to refuse me right now.”
I stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“We’re married,” he said simply. “For six months, you belong to this arrangement.”
Anger flared hot and fast. “You don’t own me.”
His lips curved, not kindly. “Don’t be naive, Brenda.”
Silence stretched.
His gaze lingered once more, something unreadable flickering behind it, hunger maybe, or curiosity sharpened into something more dangerous.
He exhaled slowly.
“Get some sleep,” he said at last.
Then, instead of leaving he turned off the light.
And climbed unto the bed.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What Lucien…”
He lay back, one arm behind his head, clad in nothing but a thin piece of fabric that did nothing to disguise the heat radiating from him.
“We’re keeping up appearances,” he said calmly. “Paparazzi are everywhere.”
I stood frozen, staring at the ceiling as he settled beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Every nerve in my body screamed awareness.
I didn’t sleep.
Neither, I suspected, did he.
And somewhere in the darkness between us, something shifted quietly, dangerously waiting to explode.
………………
His phone had been buzzing since 5:12 a.m., abandoned on the marble nightstand like a crime scene he didn’t feel like approaching yet. When he finally picked it up, the screen lit up with notifications stacked on notifications.
Mentions.
Tags.
Articles.
Opinions.
He didn’t need to open anything to know what they were saying.
But he did anyway.
“Vale’s Wife or Vale’s Prop?”
“Contract Marriage? Here’s Why We’re Not Buying It.”
“Mrs. Vale Has Zero Corporate Presence. Red Flag???”
Lucien exhaled slowly through his nose.
He had faced hostile takeovers, lawsuits, men who wanted his blood and competitors who smiled while plotting his downfall. None of them annoyed him like public speculation.
Because this wasn’t business.
This was personal.
Across the room, Brenda stood near the window, still wrapped in one of the silk robes the staff insisted she wear in the mornings. She hadn’t slept much. He could tell by the way she hugged herself, eyes fixed on the garden outside like she was afraid to look at anything else.
She didn’t need to ask what was wrong.
She already knew.
“I’m trending,” she said quietly.
Lucien glanced at her. “You shouldn’t be online.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, not turning around. “They’re not calling you a paid bride.”
That landed.
Lucien didn’t respond immediately. He hated when things landed.
Instead, he scrolled again.
Memes had already begun circulating.
One had a photo of him and Brenda at the gala, circled in red.
Body language experts says: no chemistry.
Another showed Camille exiting a luxury hotel weeks ago.
The Real woman vs The PR wife.
His jaw tightened.
“This isn’t your fault,” he said finally.
Brenda laughed softly; not humor, not bitterness, just disbelief.
“Everyone says that right before blaming you.”
Before he could reply, his phone rang again.
This time, it wasn’t the internet.
It was the board.
THE BOARDROOM.
The Vale Holdings boardroom had always smelled like power and expensive mistakes.
Lucien walked in twenty minutes later, expression carved from stone. Twelve people sat around the glass table; powerful men and women who had helped build his empire and who would happily dismantle it if necessary.
“Let’s not waste time,” one of them began. “The marriage is under scrutiny.”
Lucien sat at the head table and interrupted. “Everything I do is always under scrutiny.”
“Yes,” another voice cut in, “but this time it’s destabilizing investor confidence.”
Screens lit up around the room.
Charts.
Graphs.
Social sentiment analysis.
Red dominated.
“The public thinks it’s fake,” a woman said bluntly. “They think she’s temporary.”
Lucien leaned back. “They’re wrong.”
“Then prove it,” someone else snapped.
Silence followed.
Then the suggestion came.
Carefully and Casually. Like it hadn’t been rehearsed.
“If Mrs. Vale is legitimate,” the chairman said, folding his hands, “she should be visible. Integrated and Involved.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “Involved how?”
A long pause.
“Make her your Personal Assistant,” he replied.
- Writer
