The first thing I noticed was the cold band of metal on my finger. It gleamed under the morning sun streaming through the grand bedroom window—too big, too empty, and too silent. My head pounded with a dull ache, as if a thousand memories were trying to fight their way back into my mind.

I sat up, blankets pooling at my waist, and stared at the man sleeping beside me. His dark hair fell over his eyes, his lips slightly parted in peaceful sleep. He looked heartbreakingly perfect—and completely unfamiliar.

Then the memories came back, slow and suffocating: the crowd at the marble altar, the priest’s voice echoing in the cathedral, the sharp glint of cameras, and his eyes—cold and unyielding as they met mine across the aisle.

A knock on the door startled me. The door opened a crack, and a maid peeked in.

“Mrs. Alvarez,” she said, voice hesitant, “the lawyer is here to finalize your marriage contract.”

Mrs. Alvarez.

The name hit me like ice water. I was Althea Ramirez, heiress to a company built on sweat and steel, and he was Damian Alvarez, the ruthless CEO of the rival corporation that had spent years trying to destroy my family’s business. We were sworn enemies. Yet here I was, wearing his name.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded to the mirror. The reflection that stared back looked like a stranger: tangled hair, eyes rimmed red from crying, lips bruised from desperate kisses I couldn’t remember asking for. I hated that I looked like I belonged in his world.

My hands trembled as I tried to twist the ring off my finger. It wouldn’t budge, as if mocking me.

Why did I marry him?

Last night was a blur of champagne, whispered threats, and an ultimatum neither of us could refuse. Our families had finally crossed a line—one that ended in a forced marriage to protect what little peace was left between our companies.

My father’s last words before pushing me down the aisle still echoed: “Marry him, or we lose everything.”

I hated him for it. I hated Damian more. And I hated myself most of all for feeling the burn in my chest when his hand took mine at the altar.

A groan pulled my attention back to the bed. Damian blinked awake, eyes dark and assessing as they landed on me. Even half-asleep, he looked dangerous.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice rough with sleep. He sat up, sheets falling to reveal the lines of his muscled chest. “Good. We need to talk.”

I almost laughed. Talk? With the man who ruined my father’s company, who made me feel things I didn’t want to feel?

I clenched my jaw. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

His gaze hardened. “There’s everything to talk about. Starting with the fact that someone tried to kill you last night.”

I froze. Memories flickered—screeching tires, the blur of headlights, Damian’s arm yanking me away from the speeding car. I thought it was an accident. But his eyes told me otherwise.

“You think it was planned,” I whispered.

“I know it was,” he said, his voice steel. “And now that we’re married, they’ll come after both of us. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.”

My chest squeezed with panic and a thrill I couldn’t explain. Because he was right: the enemies who wanted me dead wouldn’t stop. And now, as much as I loathed him, Damian Alvarez was the only person who stood between me and a funeral.

He reached for me, fingers brushing my wrist. “Althea,” he said, softer this time, “I know you hate me. But if we don’t act like this marriage is real—if we don’t stay together—everything we know will burn.”

The door opened wider, and the lawyer stepped in, briefcase in hand, eyes glinting like he’d smelled blood in the water. Papers rustled as he laid them on the table: a contract binding me to the man I feared and desired, a prison disguised as a promise.

I glanced at Damian, my supposed husband. His eyes were unreadable, his jaw tight. I realized then that this wasn’t just a marriage of convenience—it was a marriage of survival.

I took a breath and squared my shoulders. If this was my fate, I would fight for it. Not just to save myself, but to make sure I never felt powerless again.

Because I was Althea Alvarez-Ramirez now. And no one would break me.

Damian’s POV

Marrying Althea Ramirez was never part of the plan.

Destroying her family’s company? Yes. Taking back everything they stole from my father? Absolutely. But standing beside her at the altar, watching her flinch when I touched her hand—that wasn’t revenge. That was something far more dangerous.

She hated me with every breath she took. I didn’t blame her. I hated me, too.

The moment she stepped into my house—the house that would now be ours—wearing that diamond-white dress like it was armor, I knew I had signed a deal with the devil. Except the devil had fire in her eyes and lips I’d never forget.

I watched her from across the room now. She stood like a statue in front of the lawyer, her spine straight, her voice calm, her eyes empty. That was her way of showing strength—by pretending she didn’t feel anything at all.

The contract lay between us. Five pages of lies and legal promises. No escape clause. No love required.

Only this: live together for one year, appear as a real couple, and protect both our companies from collapse.

It was clever. Clean. Cruel.

“I want three conditions,” Althea said, breaking the silence.

The lawyer blinked. “Excuse me?”

She looked at me, her voice sharper than glass. “One: we sleep in separate rooms. Two: no public displays of affection unless absolutely necessary. And three: I keep my job. I don’t care what your family says.”

I smirked. “So we’re starting with a list of demands. Classic Ramirez move.”

She crossed her arms. “Do you agree or not?”

I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’ll agree—if you follow one rule.”

She hesitated. “What rule?”

“No lies. If we’re doing this, I want honesty. No secrets between us, Althea. Not even the ones that hurt.”

Her jaw tensed. “Fine.”

The lawyer, clearly uncomfortable with the tension, cleared his throat and slid the pen across the table. “If you both agree, please sign.”

Althea signed without a word. I followed.

Just like that, it was done. We were no longer enemies. We were something worse.

We were husband and wife.

Later that night, the silence in the mansion was heavier than ever. I stood in the hallway between our rooms, staring at her door like it held answers I didn’t know I was searching for.

I knocked.

A few seconds passed. Then the door opened just wide enough for her to look out. She had removed her makeup, her face bare and tired, but still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I need to tell you something.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she stepped aside. I walked in, noting the untouched bed, the unopened suitcase. She hadn’t unpacked. She hadn’t even accepted this as real yet.

“I wasn’t lying about what I said earlier,” I said quietly. “Someone is targeting you.”

“Because of you,” she replied.

I nodded. “Yes. And if I could erase what happened between our families, I would. But we don’t have that luxury.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you think they’ll come after me again?”

I hesitated. “Yes. And not just you. Your father. Your company. Mine. Someone wants us to fall.”

Her voice cracked just slightly. “Then why force us into this marriage? Why make it worse?”

“Because the enemy doesn’t want peace. They want chaos. And you and I, Althea—we’re the only ones standing between them and total control.”

Her eyes met mine. For the first time, I saw a flicker of something there. Not hate. Not anger.

Fear.

But also… trust.

Tiny. Fragile. But there.

I didn’t move closer. I knew better than to push her. But I needed her to understand this wasn’t just politics or power anymore.

“This isn’t just a marriage,” I said. “It’s a war.”

She held my gaze. “Then let’s make one thing clear, Damian. I didn’t choose this. But if I’m going to fight in it… I’m not losing.”

I smiled, not out of amusement, but admiration.

“Good,” I said softly. “Because neither am I.”

Althea’s POV

I used to believe betrayal came with warning signs.

A shift in the air. A pause in a conversation. A gut feeling that something wasn’t right.

But betrayal doesn't always scream. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Like the way Damian looked at me during our wedding. Calm. Cold. Calculated.

Like he already knew how the story would end.

And now? I was standing in a designer dress on the marble staircase of his mansion, pretending to be his perfect wife while paparazzi swarmed the gates outside. I hated this. I hated him.

“Smile,” he whispered through his clenched teeth, wrapping an arm around my waist as we walked toward the waiting press. “You’re madly in love, remember?”

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed back.

“Too late,” he replied with that infuriating smirk. “They’re already taking pictures.”

And just like that, he pulled me closer—too close—and dipped his head low enough for the cameras to catch a moment they’d label passionate.

His lips brushed mine.

It was soft. Too soft.

Not like revenge. Not like hate.

It was... a kiss.

And for a split second, I forgot to breathe.

I pushed him away before I could process what just happened, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. “If you ever do that again—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice calm, unreadable. “Kiss my wife in public?”

“You don’t get to call me that,” I snapped.

“But I did marry you,” he said, stepping closer. “You said ‘I do,’ remember?”

“I also said I hate you.”

He tilted his head. “Funny. You didn’t sound like it a second ago.”

My palm itched to slap him, but I forced my hands to stay at my sides. The cameras were still clicking. Smiles had to be painted on. Lies had to be rehearsed.

This marriage wasn’t just business—it was a performance.

But what no one knew was that backstage, everything was burning.

---

Damian’s POV

She flinched when I kissed her.

Good. She should. Because nothing about this was safe.

Especially not her.

I had enemies watching from the shadows. Althea might have walked into my world as a pawn, but now she was the only leverage I had to keep both our companies alive. If anything happened to her under my watch, it would be more than a scandal—it would be blood.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

> You looked happy today. She fits beside you better than your last one.

I stared at the message, my pulse tightening.

Althea hadn’t seen it. Good. She didn’t need to.

I deleted the text and shoved the phone into my pocket.

But as we walked back inside the mansion, I felt her hand brush mine by accident. She pulled it away like I’d burned her.

“You’re not safe here,” I said under my breath.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning.”

She scoffed. “I’m not afraid of you, Damian.”

“You should be,” I replied. “But not for the reason you think.”

---

That night, lightning lit up the sky.

I couldn’t sleep. Not because of the storm—but because I kept hearing her voice in my head.

You don’t get to call me that.

I wanted to hate her. I needed to hate her. But the way she looked at me tonight—it wasn’t just fire. It was heartbreak.

And something tells me she’s hiding more than just anger.

Maybe… I am too.