It's been three days since I started this charade—
And it's already annoying the shit out of me.
As I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the ridiculously short and very much not-my-style dinner gown clinging to my body, I couldn't help but feel… exposed.
Not just physically. Emotionally.
Like I was baring my soul to the damn mirror.
God. I'm crazy.
Don't get me wrong—I love dressing up and looking good. But give me a comfy hoodie and baggy trousers, and I'm good to go. This? This wasn't me.
This was her.
God, I wondered, how does Selena function in these dresses without going insane?
Moving away from the mirror, I walked back into the bedroom, leaving the closet behind like it had personally offended me.
I sat down on the couch, staring around like I hadn't been sleeping in this room for the past three days. Everything still felt... foreign. Cold. Like a showroom in a luxury magazine, not a home.
Then my eyes landed on a portrait of Selena.
Of course, she looked stunning. She always did.
"That girl," I muttered under my breath, "she's anything but ugly, isn't she?"
I stood and tried to copy her posture—shoulders back, chin lifted, like the world belonged to her.
I held it for a few seconds, trying to perfect the charade.
Be her. Be her. Be her.
But no matter how hard I tried… it always felt like I was wearing someone else's skin.
My eyes drifted to another frame—this one of Selena and Killian.
He looked strong and cold as ever, that aura of power practically bleeding through the glass.
And her? She looked like the perfect trophy wife. All poise and elegance, smiling just enough to appear in love, but not too much to seem uncalculated.
I stared at it longer than I should've.
But I doubt my sister is anything but.
Selena plays perfect. But I know better.
Deep in thought, I nearly jumped when a knock echoed at the door. I hadn't been expecting it.
"Yes? Who's there?" I called out, quickly slipping into my Selena voice.
"Madam, it's Mira," came a soft voice from the other side.
Mira. The live-in maid.
"Come in," I said, sitting up straighter as she entered.
"It's time for dinner," she said, her tone polite and practiced.
Dinner?
God, how long have I been sitting here?
"Okay," I replied, nodding and rising from the couch.
I followed her down the now-familiar, beautiful hallways—the kind of hallways that screamed, I'm money. I'm power. I'm elegance. I'm timeless.
Everything about this place whispered luxury and legacy, and yet… none of it felt like it belonged to me.
After what felt like forever, we finally arrived at the unnecessarily large—though admittedly stunning—dining room.
It was empty.
Good.
"Mr. Reign called in earlier to pass his apologies. He won't be able to join you for dinner tonight," Mira said as we approached the dining table.
That's good news.
"Oh?" I asked, keeping my eyes forward and my tone indifferent—just like Selena would. "Did he mention when he'd be back?"
"No, madam. The movements of Mr. Reign are unpredictable and unquestionable. He can come or go at any time he pleases."
Sweet Lord, I almost choked. This is juicy.
My brows arched.
So this was the misery Selena had been living in?
Damn.
"You don't need to inform me of what I already know," I snapped, letting the coldness drip from every word.
"Know your place," I added, sharp and final.
Mira quickly shifted her expression, bowing slightly.
"I'm sorry, madam."
I didn't respond.
I walked over and sat at the right side of the long, seemingly endless dining table — the kind of table meant for kings, queens, and corporate empires.
And me.
The fake.
God, that was harsh.
But isn't that how she would've said it?
Or maybe… I'm starting to sound a little too much like her.
No, it's not. This is for the better.
I heard her footsteps hurrying toward the kitchen like someone had set fire to her heels.
Then—she paused. Turned back.
"Would you like me to bring in your favorite wine, madam?"
Favorite wine?
Code red. I repeat—code red.
My heart skipped. But I cleared my throat, lifted my chin, and forced myself to stay in character.
"Yes," I replied coolly, as if the question hadn't sent a lightning bolt of panic through my spine.
Arrogance. Detached. Perfect.
Act like her. Always.
I looked around the dining room to pass time while Mira brought out the food.
Five minutes later, she returned — and I'll give her this much: I was actually enjoying the eating part of this whole ridiculous charade.
The aroma of roasted chicken and lasagna (or whatever Americans eat for dinner) filled the air, and I swear, I almost moaned.
Just as I raised my fork, ready to finally taste the greatness…
That voice.
Wanted and unwanted. Expected and infuriating.
"Hey baby," he said, his voice echoing through the room like it owned the air itself. "I'm sorry. I thought I wouldn't be home today."
My heart exploded — not from love. From sheer rage.
He walked closer, casually removing his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves like this was a romantic drama and not my actual nightmare.
"I see I'm just in time for dinner," he added smoothly, then leaned down and kissed my cheek like he hadn't just stomped on my one moment of peace.
Unhand me, you demon.
He leaned in, cupping my cheek with one hand, eyes scanning the dining table.
"This looks good," he said, sparing a glance at Mira before looking back at me.
"I'm going to go freshen up. I'll join you soon."
Another kiss. Another unwanted peck.
Blurgh.
Does he have a quota of kisses to give per hour? Is there a law that says I must be touched every five minutes?
God. I need a reset button.
Or a priest.
Remembering what I was here for—why I was doing this—I forced myself to lean into the role. Pretended to be interested. I guess.
"How was your day?" I asked, doing my best impression of a doting, devoted wife.
Blurgh.
Somebody give me an award, Now!. Best Actress in a Psychological Thriller Disguised as a Marriage.
"Boring," he replied, running his fingers through my hair like I was some damn dog—
Even though… it felt kind of nice.
"Meetings. Investors. You know, boring stuff that wouldn't entertain you."
I rebuke you in the name of the Lord. Just let me eat in peace.
"Hmm, you're right—that does sound boring," I replied, pretending to be so into his little investor adventures.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek black wallet.
"Take my credit card," he said casually, placing a shiny black Amex beside my plate. "Go shopping tomorrow. You look like you need it. Loosen up a little."
I blinked.
Oh. Rich ting!
I forced my brows to stay in place.
Did he seriously think everything in life could be fixed with money?
I mean… he's not wrong.
It can buy happiness.
It can definitely buy mine.
But that's not the point. You get the plot.
"Hmm, maybe I will," I said, picking up the black card and twirling it between my fingers.
"That's my girl," he said, lips curling into something that looked like a smirk—
Except… I don't think I've ever actually seen him smile.
And still, his hand was in my hair.
Like a damn dog.
With a kiss on my lips that left me kind of breathless—
That's a lie.
More like... shocked.
"Excuse me," he said smoothly, before heading upstairs and leaving me sitting there—mouth slightly open, brain buffering.