A Wife On Display 2
1367 Words
The morning of the gala, Sophia woke with her stomach in knots. She sat at her small kitchen table with a half-empty mug of coffee growing cold in her hands, staring at the single sheet of paper Ethan’s assistant had slipped under her door yesterday:
“Claire will collect you at 10 a.m. Dress fitting. Mandatory.”
Mandatory.
Sophia exhaled slowly, her nerves prickling. Every step she took into Ethan Carter’s world reminded her she was out of her depth. Tonight wasn’t just dinner. Tonight was the first test—the first time the city would see her not as Sophia Bennett, the journalist scraping by, but as Mrs. Carter.
By ten sharp, Claire arrived, sleek in a pencil skirt and heels that clicked against the floor with precision. Her face was polite but guarded, as though she didn’t approve but was too professional to say so.
“The boutique has prepared several options,” Claire said crisply as they slid into the waiting car. “Mr. Carter wants you to look appropriate. I’ll be helping you make the right choice.”
Sophia bit the inside of her cheek. Appropriate. The right choice. Words that already made her feel like she didn’t belong.
---
The boutique was nothing like the shops Sophia was used to. Velvet carpets. Gilded mirrors. Dresses displayed like artwork. A hush of exclusivity filled the air, the kind of silence that whispered: if you have to ask the price, you don’t belong here.
Claire guided her through rows of gowns, pulling out a few at a time. “This one accentuates the shoulders. This one elongates your frame. Try these first.”
Sophia obediently changed into the first—a silver gown with intricate beading that shimmered like ice. She stepped out of the dressing room nervously, tugging at the neckline.
Claire tilted her head, assessing her like a sculptor critiquing stone. “Beautiful. But…not commanding enough. You need presence.”
Back she went. The second gown was emerald silk, fitted like it had been poured onto her. Too revealing. She turned before Claire could comment.
Finally, the third dress. Midnight blue. Off-shoulder. Flowing. When she stepped out, the boutique staff went silent. Claire’s eyes flickered briefly with approval, though her lips didn’t move.
“That one,” Claire said firmly. “That’s the one.”
Sophia turned to the mirror, barely recognizing herself. She looked…different. Taller. Stronger. Almost like she could belong in Ethan Carter’s world. Almost.
She tugged nervously at the fabric. “I don’t know. It feels too—”
“Perfect.”
The voice froze her.
Her eyes snapped to the mirror, and there he was. Ethan Carter, leaning casually against the doorway, his sharp suit making him look like he’d stepped out of a glossy magazine. His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, sending a flush crawling up her neck.
“You—” Sophia stammered. “You shouldn’t just walk in here.”
“This is my boutique,” Ethan replied smoothly, echoing what she already suspected. “And I wanted to see if you’d pass.”
Her brows shot up. “Pass? I’m not an audition.”
He didn’t flinch. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his presence filling the space until her breath caught. “No. You’re supposed to be my wife. Which means the entire city will be watching you tonight. Judging you. If you think they’ll be kind, you’re wrong.”
Sophia’s chin lifted, defiance sparking. “And what if I fail?”
His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unwavering. “Then you’ll embarrass me.” A pause. Then softer, lower: “But I don’t think you will.”
Something in his voice steadied her, even as her pulse raced. She turned back to the mirror, watching their reflections side by side. Him, a man of steel. Her, a woman trying to hold her ground.
For the first time, she wondered if maybe she could.
---
That evening, the gala glittered like another universe. Chandeliers rained golden light over marble floors, champagne glasses chimed, and laughter mingled with the soft notes of a live orchestra.
Sophia descended the grand staircase on Ethan’s arm, every head turning, every eye whispering. Her hand rested lightly on his sleeve, her back straight, her smile poised—just as he’d instructed.
The whispers swelled.
“Who is she?”
“Not one of us.”
“Where did he find her?”
Ethan leaned slightly toward her, his lips brushing near her ear. “Smile, Sophia. Not too much. Just enough to keep them guessing.”
Her smile curved, practiced but steady. And though her stomach fluttered, she kept walking.
He introduced her to senators, CEOs, men with sharp smiles, women dripping diamonds. Each one assessed her. Some polite. Some curious. Some cold. She met them all with careful words and calm eyes. But underneath, her nerves buzzed.
Then came her.
“Ethan,” purred a voice like silk dipped in venom.
Sophia turned. A woman in scarlet approached, tall, elegant, diamonds flashing at her throat. Camilla Sterling. The name was whispered around the room even before she reached them.
Camilla’s red lips curled into something too sharp to be called a smile. “And this must be your…wife.”
Sophia extended her hand, polite, composed. “Sophia Bennett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Camilla’s gaze swept over her like a blade before she accepted the handshake with a grip almost painful. “Camilla Sterling. I’ve known Ethan for years.” Her eyes slid to him, warm with challenge. “Imagine my surprise when I heard you’d gotten married. So sudden.”
Ethan’s tone was smooth, indifferent. “Surprises are good for the market. And sometimes…for life.”
Camilla’s gaze darted back to Sophia, lips curving. “You must feel overwhelmed, Sophia. This world isn’t easy for newcomers.”
The words were honeyed, but the sting was clear.
Sophia’s heart raced, but she remembered Ethan’s warning. Don’t look small. She straightened, offering a calm smile. “I imagine it isn’t. But I’m not here to make it easy. I’m here to make it mine.”
Camilla’s smile faltered, ever so slightly, before she excused herself.
When she was gone, Ethan’s lips curved faintly. “Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Sophia muttered, still reeling. “I practically fought a duel with her smile.”
He chuckled softly, the sound low, rare, and dangerous. “Get used to it. You’ll fight many more.”
---
Later in the evening, as the orchestra shifted to a slower melody, Ethan turned to her. “Dance with me.”
Sophia blinked. “I don’t—”
“Smile,” he interrupted, extending his hand. “They’re watching.”
Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, firm, pulling her onto the dance floor. The world around them blurred as he guided her easily, his movements precise, commanding.
“You’ve done well tonight,” he murmured as they turned.
“That almost sounds like a compliment.”
“It was.” His eyes burned into hers. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
Her pulse quickened, but not from nerves. Something electric buzzed in the small space between them, in the way his hand rested at her waist, in the way their steps aligned too perfectly.
She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze away. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re learning.”
The music slowed, and for one suspended moment, Sophia forgot the contract, the rules, the whispers. It was just his hand, his eyes, the dangerous closeness that felt far too real.
When the song ended, Ethan released her, his mask sliding back into place. “Enough for tonight.”
Back in the car, exhaustion weighed on her, but her mind spun. She had survived. She had stood tall. And somehow, impossibly, Ethan Carter had looked at her as if she were more than just a contract.
Staring at her reflection in the window, Sophia realized som
ething unsettling.
For the first time, she didn’t just feel like she was playing the role of Ethan’s wife.
She almost believed it.
- Writer
