I didn't sleep.
The room was too quiet. The sheets too stiff. The silence too loud.
I laid awake, staring at the ceiling until the sky outside turned grey. No one came. No one knocked. I didn't know what time breakfast was, or if I was even allowed to eat.
So I didn't move.
Not until the door finally creaked open late in the afternoon.
A maid stepped inside, her face blank. She didn't say a word as she set a black box on the edge of the bed and turned to leave.
"Wait," I called out, voice hoarse. "What's this?"
She paused at the door. "Mr. Lancaster instructed me to prepare you for tonight. You're to be ready by seven."
"Ready for what?"
Her eyes flicked over me once, as if I were already disappointing. "You're expected at a dinner. Formal attire. Do not be late."
And then she left.
I stared at the box. Slowly, I lifted the lid.
Inside was a dress—deep navy, silk, backless, with a slit that rose too high and straps too thin. It was expensive. Beautiful. But it wasn't a gift.
It was a costume.
A mask to hide the truth: that I was not his wife. Just his display piece.
By six-thirty, I stood in front of the mirror, stomach twisting as I smoothed the fabric over my body. I barely recognized myself again—painted lips, pinned hair, heels that made my legs ache. I looked older than seventeen. Colder. Emptier.
A knock came at exactly seven.
Damien didn't wait for an answer. He stepped into the room like it still belonged to him, eyes dragging over me without emotion.
"You're late," he said, even though I wasn't.
"I was ready."
He didn't respond. He just turned and walked out, expecting me to follow.
The drive to the restaurant was silent. He didn't speak. I didn't ask questions. I stared out the window, heart hammering.
When we arrived, the cameras were already there.
Flashes burst like lightning. Voices shouted our names. I blinked against the lights as Damien stepped out first, tall and commanding, then extended a hand for me like a man pretending to care.
I took it.
His fingers curled around mine—not gentle, not possessive. Just firm enough to remind me that I had no choice.
We walked in together, every eye in the room turning toward us.
It was a private dinner, but nothing was truly private in Damien Lancaster's world. Powerful men and elegant women sat at the long table, sipping wine and discussing empires like gods trading countries. I had no idea what I was supposed to do here.
Then I saw her.
Cassia.
Sitting across the table in a crimson dress, her smile poised, her hand already draped across the back of Damien's empty seat.
"Diana," she purred as we approached. "You made it. We were just talking about you."
My throat tightened. I sat beside Damien, stiff and silent, while Cassia continued speaking—jokes I didn't understand, names I didn't recognize, cruel little comments veiled behind polite laughter.
"I must say," she said, lifting her glass. "You do clean up nicely. I wouldn't have guessed it was your first time in a real restaurant."
The table chuckled.
I flushed.
Damien didn't defend me.
He just sipped his wine and glanced down at his phone, bored.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. I barely ate. I barely spoke. I kept my hands in my lap, too afraid to make a mistake.
And yet, Damien leaned toward me near the end, his voice cold against my ear.
"You should smile more. You're making me look bad."
I turned to him slowly, my lips trembling. "You brought me here to humiliate me."
His eyes didn't waver. "I brought you here to show you your place."
I didn't reply.
Because anything I said would only make it worse.
When dessert was served, Cassia reached across the table and touched his wrist. "Come dance with me, darling."
Damien stood without hesitation.
He left me there. Alone. Staring at the empty space beside me as he held her close on the dance floor.
They looked perfect together.
Powerful. Beautiful.
Like I was the outsider in a world too expensive for my name.
But I didn't cry.
Not this time.
I just sat there, fingers clenched under the table, a quiet storm building inside my chest.
Because I realized something important.
They thought I was powerless.
But they hadn't seen what I could become yet.