Chapter 3
577 Words
The Perfect Disaster
The Kane family estate looked like someone had taken a European palace, put it on steroids, and sprinkled it with the tears of the working class.
The driveway alone was the length of my entire street. I rode up in the back of a black limousine, the marriage contract burning a hole in my clutch. My signature had been dry for less than forty-eight hours, and already I was wondering if I could fake my own death.
“Smile,” the wedding planner hissed as she helped me out of the car. “Photographers are everywhere.”
I plastered on something I hoped read as joyful bride and not woman plotting homicide.
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Inside, the grand ballroom was a blur of crystal chandeliers, floral arrangements taller than me, and guests dripping in designer labels. It was a perfect storm of wealth and gossip.
And then there was Liam.
Standing at the altar in a tailored black tux, he looked every bit the billionaire prince charming—if prince charming also had the moral compass of a shark.
Our eyes met across the room. He smiled. Not warmly. Not kindly. Just the slow, knowing curve of a man who had already won.
---
The ceremony was a carefully choreographed PR stunt.
Vows that meant nothing.
Rings that felt like shackles.
A kiss that lasted just long enough for the cameras to click, his lips cool and calculated against mine.
He leaned in, murmuring so low only I could hear:
“Convincing, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve seen better acting on daytime soap operas,” I muttered back.
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The reception was worse. Every socialite in the city seemed determined to “welcome” me—by which I mean interrogate me in the nicest possible way.
“How did you two meet?” one woman asked, her diamonds blinding me under the lights.
“Fate,” Liam said smoothly, sliding an arm around my waist. “She bumped into me at a gala.”
I smiled sweetly. “Right after I told him he was blocking the dessert table.”
The woman laughed politely, but her eyes flickered between us, searching for cracks.
---
An hour in, I escaped to the balcony for air. The city stretched out below, glittering under the night sky. My feet ached, my cheeks hurt from fake smiling, and my brain was replaying Ethan’s relieved smile when I’d told him he could start treatment.
I didn’t hear Liam until he was right behind me.
“Already hiding from your husband?” he said, leaning on the railing beside me.
“I thought you’d be busy charming your shareholders.”
“They can wait. You can’t.”
I turned to him. “Is this the part where you tell me what this marriage is really about?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not yet. But soon.”
There was something in his tone—something cold and calculated—that sent a chill down my spine.
---
The rest of the night passed in a blur.
The cake was cut, the first dance performed, the champagne poured.
And when the guests finally left, the driver whisked us away—not to my apartment, not to his penthouse, but to a private jet waiting on the tarmac.
I stared at him. “Where the hell are we going?”
He just smirked.
“Welcome to married life, Mrs. Kane.”
- Writer
