Lana stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection—but she barely recognized the girl in the white silk dress.
The ceremony had been cold. Quick. No flowers. No vows. Just signatures and a camera flash that would show the world Dominic Blackwood had made her his wife.
She didn't feel like a wife. She felt like… a prisoner wrapped in satin.
The dress clung to her curves like it didn't belong to her. And maybe it didn't. Nothing in this new world belonged to her.
Not the luxury townhouse they now shared.
Not the diamond ring weighing down her hand.
Not the man standing behind her, watching her in the mirror.
"You look like you're going to be sick," Dominic said, his voice calm, unreadable.
"I might be," Lana replied, not turning around.
He stepped closer, his cologne intoxicating—rich leather, spice, and something darker. Dangerous.
"This arrangement doesn't require love, Ms. Cruz," he said. "Just obedience. Show up to events. Smile. Keep your opinions to yourself. Do that, and your father stays free."
Her jaw clenched. "You say that like you're doing me a favor."
"I am."
She finally turned to face him. "Why me? You could've picked any socialite desperate for your money and fame. Why force me into this?"
His expression flickered. Something unspoken passed through his eyes—quick, unreadable.
"Because," he said, his voice dropping, "you're not just some random girl."
Her stomach tightened. "What does that mean?"
Dominic walked away instead of answering, his shoulders tense beneath his suit.
"Dinner is at seven. Don't be late," he said over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.
Lana's fingers curled into fists.
She wasn't just trapped in a marriage—she was trapped in a mystery.
Who exactly was Dominic Blackwood…
And why did he choose her?