The moment the car door closed, I stopped smiling.
My face ached from holding an expression that wasn't mine. My chest felt tight, like I'd been breathing through glass all night—careful not to shatter, careful not to show weakness.
The city lights blurred past the window as the car moved, but I barely noticed them. All I could see was the reflection of myself in the dark glass.
Lucian Blackwood's fiancée.
The title felt heavy. Too heavy.
I rested my forehead against the window and closed my eyes, replaying the night whether I wanted to or not.
The applause.
The cameras.
His hand—firm, controlled—guiding me like I was something fragile, something valuable, something owned.
"You're doing well," he'd said.
Like I was a performance.
Like I was something to be evaluated.
I hadn't expected him to be so… calm.
No cruelty. No mockery. Just a quiet dominance that made everything worse. If he had been harsh, I could have hated him easily. If he had been kind, I might have softened.
But Lucian Blackwood was neither.
He was precise.
And that scared me more than anything else.
Back in my apartment, the silence swallowed me whole.
I slipped out of the dress carefully, laying it across the chair like it was evidence of a crime I hadn't chosen to commit. My heels came off next, then the necklace Cassandra had picked so thoughtfully.
I stared at it for a long time before placing it down.
This is my life now.
The thought burned.
I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as I finally let myself feel everything I had held back all night.
Anger.
Fear.
Resentment.
And something worse—confusion.
Why did his gaze linger the way it did?
Why did my chest tighten when he stepped closer on the balcony?
Why did the words not yet echo in my mind like a threat and a promise at the same time?
I hated that part most of all.
My phone buzzed.
Cassandra: You home? Talk to me.
Tears pricked my eyes.
I typed back quickly.
I'm home. I survived. Barely.
The dots appeared immediately.
Proud of you. You were incredible. I saw how strong you were.
Strong.
I laughed softly, bitterly.
I don't feel strong, I replied.
You don't have to feel it for it to be true, Cassandra sent back. And remember—this doesn't define you. He doesn't define you.
I held the phone to my chest, breathing slowly until my heart settled.
I wanted to believe her.
Later, I stood in front of the mirror again—this time without the dress, without the jewelry, without the illusion.
Just me.
"I'm not yours," I whispered to my reflection. "No matter what the contract says."
But even as I said it, doubt crept in.
Because contracts were binding.
Because power like his didn't loosen its grip easily.
Because the world had already decided who I belonged to.
And yet…
I remembered the way his eyes darkened when I challenged him.
The way he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking.
The way he didn't dismiss me—didn't underestimate me.
That scared me almost as much as the contract itself.
I slid the black card out of my wallet and placed it on the bedside table.
Lucian Blackwood's card.
A key.
A leash.
A warning.
Tomorrow, the real rules would begin.
Tomorrow, the performance would deepen.
But tonight—
Tonight, I let myself cry quietly into my pillow, mourning the life I had lost… and bracing myself for the one I was being forced to live.
Because somewhere deep inside me, beneath the fear and anger, a dangerous thought was taking shape.
If this is a battle…
I won't lose myself without a fight.