The next morning, I woke up to three things:
A hangover from sipping Aiden Blackwood's devil-grade whiskey.
My face on three tabloid covers.
A text from Jasmine that made me want to throw my phone into the pool.
Jasmine:You really think you're winning? He's using you, Scar. Just like everyone else.
I didn't reply.
I didn't need to.
Because today, I had a meeting of my own.
And I was done playing small.
—
"You want to join the foundation board?" Aiden asked, one brow raised as he buttered his toast like he hadn't just shocked me with how casually good he looked in a rolled-up dress shirt.
"Why not?" I shrugged from across the dining table. "I'm your wife. I should be seen doing something other than posing in expensive gowns."
He sipped his coffee. "You really want to be involved?"
"I want to build something for myself. And I don't want the press to keep calling me Blackwood's rebound bride."
A pause.
Then he set his cup down.
"All right," he said. "Impress me."
"I'm not doing this to impress you."
He smirked. "That's why it might actually work."
—
The Blackwood Foundation was Aiden's pride and polish — an elite charity division funding global education, tech scholarships, and private research into medical AI.
The board?Mostly men in grey suits who barely acknowledged me as I entered the conference room.
Except one.
He stood as I approached, smiling with clean white teeth and just enough charm to seem natural.
"Mrs. Blackwood," he said, offering his hand. "Elias Wolfe. Head of development strategy."
"Scarlett," I said, shaking it. "I don't use the Mrs. unless it benefits me."
He grinned. "I like you already."
We took our seats, and I noticed Aiden watching.
Expression neutral.
But his hand — curled into a fist on the table.
Interesting.
—
The meeting began. Budgets. Forecasts. Expansion plans.
I listened, took notes, and when the time came, raised my voice.
"What if we shifted part of the funding to underserved inner-city schools with no tech access? Not just internationally — right here in our city."
A few members blinked.
Elias leaned forward. "That's... actually a brilliant angle."
"Of course it is," I said. "We call it homegrown innovation. A story the press will love — the Blackwood family investing in the roots of tomorrow."
Aiden's lips twitched.
Not quite a smile. But almost.
"She's hired," Elias said, half-joking.
"She's already married," Aiden replied coolly, eyes not leaving me.
Oh.
Was that a warning?
Or a claim?
—
After the meeting, I stayed behind to gather my notes.
Elias lingered too.
"You've got real instincts," he said. "Most of these people have no clue what's happening outside a boardroom. But you? You feel it."
"Thanks," I said, surprised by the genuine praise. "I'm still figuring it all out."
"Well," he said, slipping me a card, "if you ever want to brainstorm something off the record... I'd love to take you out. Strictly professional."
I didn't have time to reply.
Because Aiden was suddenly behind me.
"Scarlett," he said smoothly, "we're late for your next appointment."
I turned, brows rising. "We are?"
"Yes." He took the card from my hand, glanced at it, and slid it into his pocket like a magician making a threat disappear. "Good to see you, Elias."
The tension crackled between them like wires stripped bare.
I didn't speak until we were alone in the elevator.
"You're jealous," I said, crossing my arms.
"I'm possessive," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"You're acting like I'm a trophy someone tried to steal."
"No one steals what I already own."
I stared at him.
His face was blank, but his hands were tense at his sides.
"You don't own me," I said quietly.
"I married you," he replied, stepping closer. "In my world, that means something."
The elevator chimed.
Doors opened.
But I was still caught in his gaze, like I'd fallen into something deeper than I meant to.
—
That night, I wore red.
A bold, dangerous red.
We were attending a Blackwood networking dinner downtown — smaller than the gala, but packed with more billionaires than I'd ever seen in one room.
Aiden's eyes flicked to my dress as I descended the stairs of the penthouse.
No words.
Just the faintest tightening of his jaw.
Good.
Let him feel it.
"I'm driving tonight," I said as I reached the bottom.
His brow lifted. "Since when?"
"Since I decided not to let you control everything."
He handed me the keys without argument.
But the look in his eyes?
Challenge accepted.
—
At the dinner, people swarmed Aiden like bees to power.
I stayed by his side, smiling, greeting, playing the role with ease.
But I felt him.
Watching me.
Every move.
Every breath.
He didn't like the way Elias greeted me.
He didn't like the way I laughed at someone else's joke.
And when I excused myself to the bar, he was there within minutes.
"You're making a scene," I said, sipping champagne.
"You're making me irritated," he replied.
"Why? Because I have chemistry with someone who isn't you?"
His eyes flared.
Then dimmed.
Then burned again.
"You want chemistry?" he said lowly, stepping close. "Fine. But remember what happens when you play with fire."
My breath hitched.
"You burn?" I asked.
"No," he murmured, leaning so close his lips brushed my ear. "I do."
—
We didn't speak the rest of the evening.
But the tension between us was loud.
So loud, in fact, I didn't hear my phone buzz until I checked it in the car.
Travis:I saw you on TV. You're not happy. I can tell. Come home, Scarlett. You don't belong in his world.
I stared at the message.
And then deleted it.
I wasn't going back.
I wasn't his.
Not anymore.
Aiden watched me from the passenger seat.
His voice, soft: "What did he say?"
I didn't lie.
"He said I'm not happy."
A long pause.
Then: "Are you?"
I looked at him.
And for once, let the answer show in my eyes.
"I don't know."
He nodded once.
Didn't press.
But I knew he heard more than I said.
—
Back at the penthouse, I headed straight for the kitchen and poured a second drink.
He followed.
Of course.
"You're not sleeping well," he said, watching me over the rim of his glass.
"You're observing me now?"
"I always was."
I turned to him.
Tired. Frustrated. Buzzing with a heat I didn't want to name.
"I don't know what we're doing," I whispered. "Are we still faking this? Or is it something else now?"
A beat.
Then two.
Then he stepped forward, setting his drink down, fingers grazing my wrist.
"Does it feel fake to you?" he asked.
I shook my head. "But it isn't real, either."
His eyes searched mine.
"You want real?" he asked.
"I want truth."
He leaned in.
Close.
Too close.
"I want you," he said. "But I won't chase you. Not until you stop running from what this really is."
And then he left.
Just like that.
Leaving me breathless.Shaken.Wanting.
But not ready.
Not yet.
—