"Mrs. Callahan," the voice said, followed by two sharp knocks. "Mr. Cade is here to see you."
Savannah blinked against the soft morning light, her limbs tangled in silk sheets. She hadn't truly slept more like drifted in and out of anxious dreams. Her voice cracked as she called, "One moment."
She slid from the bed, pulling on a robe. The fabric slipped across her shoulders, cool and impersonal. Just like everything else in this house.
When she opened the door, Lucien Cade stood waiting. Charcoal slacks. Navy blazer. Hair slicked like polished armor. Clipboard in hand.
"You're early," she said.
"You're late," he replied, handing her the clipboard with a corporate smile. "Your morning schedule."
She scanned the list with growing dread.
8:00 AM – Breakfast interview with Vogue Online
9:15 AM – Media coaching session
11:00 AM – Personal stylist fitting
1:00 PM – Spa & manicure (public photo opportunity)
3:00 PM – Walkthrough at Callahan Charity Gala venue
At the bottom, one final note.
All appearances: Mr. Callahan must be referenced in each public statement.
Her lips curled. "You expect me to say his name like a prayer?"
"We expect you to say it like it's yours," Lucien replied smoothly.
Her eyes narrowed. "He's not even here."
"He's everywhere."
That earned a dry laugh from her. "Is this your idea of damage control?"
He smiled without warmth. "This is our idea of precision."
Before she could respond, a young assistant stepped inside carrying three garment bags. She didn't speak. Just hung them across the room and arranged shoes beneath them like laying weapons for battle.
Lucien glanced at his watch. "Driver's at ten. You'll be alone for the Sunrise America shoot."
Savannah frowned. "Alone?"
He nodded. "This is your first televised appearance as Mrs. Callahan. The network wants you front and center."
"You've written my answers, haven't you?"
Lucien handed her a laminated cue card.
"Stick to the script."
She stared at the card. Then at him. "You don't want a wife. You want a press secretary."
"We want a symbol," he replied, his tone icy. "And you wear better heels than the last one."
Savannah's robe swished as she turned from him.
"I'm not a mouthpiece," she muttered.
"You're right," he said. "You're the whole illusion."
She didn't say goodbye when he left.
She just stared at the door until it clicked shut.
The studio was freezing.
Savannah sat under harsh lights, her silk blouse pristine, her hair styled into soft curls that looked effortless but took ninety minutes to sculpt. She inhaled. Slowly. Her hands stayed on her lap, fingers laced.
A production assistant fluttered beside her, brushing invisible powder onto her cheeks.
"You're on in five," a man called from the wings.
"Card," another said, handing her the talking points.
Smile. Mention the Callahan brand. Speak about family values. Reference Rhett in at least three of your answers.
She gritted her teeth. Her lips curled. She'd learned how to smile like armor.
When the cameras turned on, Savannah was already wearing it.
The host, Holly Hart, was luminous and sharp. Her smile said welcome. Her eyes said ambush.
"Savannah Callahan, welcome. Our viewers are obsessed with you."
"Thank you for having me," Savannah replied, smile poised.
"You're a newlywed and already America's most-watched woman. Tell us what's it like being married to Arizona's most elusive billionaire?"
She kept her tone warm. "He's a very private man. But deeply thoughtful."
"Where did you two meet?"
"At one of my charity events in St. Louis. It wasn't planned. He was... unexpected."
"Your wedding was private. Intimate. A lot of rumors have circulated secret contracts, press manipulation. What would you say to those who believe this marriage is staged?"
Savannah didn't miss a beat. "Marrying Rhett taught me a lot about loyalty. About partnership. What we have may not look traditional, but it's very real."
"Children?" Holly's smile sharpened. "Is the Callahan legacy expanding soon?"
The question hit like a glass of ice water.
Savannah faltered.
Just for a second.
One breath too long. One blink too many.
Then
"We're just enjoying the present," she said. "No rush."
The host noticed. So did the camera.
"So no heir on the way yet?" Holly pushed, voice light, but eyes glittering.
"No." Savannah forced the corners of her mouth up again. "Not yet."
The rest of the interview blurred.
Words were spoken. Applause was cued. Her earpiece buzzed with affirmations from Lucien's assistant. But in Savannah's head, the stumble replayed.
That one beat of silence.
That pause of truth.
She didn't belong here.
In the top-floor office of Callahan Global, Rhett sat in silence.
His eyes were glued to the screen. He'd watched the whole segment twice.
He had noticed the hesitation. The way her pupils dilated. The faint tremor of her fingers before she spoke.
He smiled.
Not out of cruelty.
Just curiosity.
He knew the world would devour that moment clip it, meme it, spin it but to him, it wasn't failure. It was revelation.
Her walls cracked.
And the world loved cracks.
His phone buzzed.
Lucien: She needs more prep before the gala.
Rhett didn't reply.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed, swirling whiskey in a glass.
The slip had been real.
And the public would eat her alive.
But something told him so would he.
Savannah arrived home with aching feet and a tighter chest.
The ride back had been silent. Her assistant whispered congratulations, but Savannah didn't hear them.
The moment she walked into the Callahan estate, she kicked off her heels.
Rhett stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink.
He didn't glance at her.
"You looked convincing enough."
She froze.
"Convincing?"
He nodded. "The audience liked it. Even the stumble. Makes you relatable."
She moved slowly toward him.
"You mean the part where I almost choked on the word 'legacy'?"
He took a sip. "Yes. That part."
She stared at him. He didn't blink. Didn't smile.
Something inside her broke.
She picked up a crystal tumbler from the bar.
And threw it.
The glass hit the far wall. Shattered.
Still, he didn't flinch.
"I'm not your product, Rhett."
His voice came cold. "Then stop selling like one."
That was it.
That was the moment.
The moment her fury overtook her fear.
The moment Savannah Callahan stopped performing and started fighting.
She turned from him.
Left the room.
And never looked back.
But behind her, he stood still, staring at the pieces of broken crystal on the floor.
And for the first time, he wondered
What happens when the mask you built starts speaking back?