Married to a Scandal

~CHAPTER V~

Selene's POV

Selene had organised events like this for others more times than she could remember. She chose flowers for how they looked in pictures, not for their smell. She arranged seating so that certain families stayed far apart. She even double-checked that the officiant knew everyone’s names. But she had never imagined what it would feel like to be at the centre, rather than managing everything from behind the scenes.

It felt, she decided, like watching her own crisis unfold in real time and being contractually forbidden from fixing it.

"You look stunning," Mia whispered, adjusting the train of a dress that had cost more than Selene's first year of running Apex. "Also terrified. Try to look less terrified."

"I don't do terrified."

"You're doing it right now."

Selene smoothed her expression back into place.

They were expecting two hundred guests. Cameras were set up at three angles, pre-approved by her team; if this wedding was going to be photographed, it would be done her way. Her father sat in the second row, calm and unreadable, resembling a man reviewing a business deal. Arthur sat next to him, awkwardly out of place.

At the end of the aisle, Luca stood waiting. His hands were folded neatly. He looked every bit the part of someone calm and composed. Yet, according to Pavel, he had spent the entire morning complaining about his tie. The contrast between his outward appearance and his earlier frustration was striking.

He watched her walk toward him with an expression she couldn't immediately place.

"You clean up well," he murmured once she reached him, low enough that only he and the officiant would hear it.

"So do you. Try not to look surprised about it."

"I'm never surprised. Merely appreciative."

The officiant started the ceremony. Selene had heard the same words used in four other society weddings this year. They always served the same purpose: a public agreement presented as a declaration of love. She had written toasts for these ceremonies but never thought she would be a part of one herself.

"Do you, Luca Alexander Kensington, take Kang Selene—"

"I do," he said with a wink before the officiant could finish the sentence, a relaxed smile on his face that made half the guests chuckle. Selene, however, didn’t join in the laughter. She saw it for what it was: a deliberate attempt to shift attention away from something deeper.

"Do you, Kang Selene, take Luca Alexander Kensington—"

"I do." Her voice sounded steadier than she thought it would. She had practised being calm for six years, and it always worked for her.

The rings came next. When he took her hands, she was surprised by how warm they felt. It was an odd detail to notice, and she couldn't believe it made her feel a flutter in her chest. It was an unwelcome reaction, but she couldn’t help it. As his thumb brushed briefly over her knuckles while sliding the ring into place, that small touch sent a rush of unexpected emotion through her.

She looked up. He met her gaze, and for a brief moment, the playful mask fell away.

"You may kiss the bride."

It should have been nothing but a formality, a quick moment for the cameras. His hand gently found her jaw, deliberate and soft. When his mouth met hers, it felt unexpected and unhurried, unlike the practised ease he showed for the photographers. For one disorienting second, everything else faded away: the ballroom, the cameras, her father's unreadable expression, all replaced by the warmth of his mouth and the pressure of his hand on her jaw.

Two hundred people applauded. Selene barely heard them.

He pulled back first, close enough that his forehead nearly touched hers, close enough that when he spoke, it was for her alone, too quiet for the microphones and too quiet for the front row, pitched exactly for the narrow, private space between their two faces.

"This is the one lie I don't mind telling," he murmured.

He straightened up, giving the smile that photographers loved, and offered her his arm as if nothing had happened at all.

Selene accepted it with a smile that was just what the cameras were hoping for. As the applause filled the air, she let it guide them both down the aisle. She reminded herself, with the determination she used in every successful negotiation, that his quiet words didn’t mean a thing. It was just part of the show, another light remark he tossed out effortlessly.

She almost believed it.

But some very small, very unfamiliar part of her kept turning the sentence over anyway, long after the reception began, long after the toasts and the photographs and the careful, practised dance they performed across the ballroom floor for an audience that would never know the difference.

This is the one lie I don't mind telling.



She wasn't sure what bothered her more: that he said it at all, or that for a brief moment, she hoped it wasn't a lie.