The gala glittered like every other Locke Industries event: champagne towers, string quartets, chandeliers dripping with light. To anyone looking in, it was flawless- just as Michael Locke liked it. To me, it was just suffocating.
My reflection in the mirrored wall was composed, the kind of poise I had practiced for years: chin up, shoulders relaxed, lips tilted in an ever present smile. The perfect Mrs. Locke. But behind that mask, my stomach twisted tighter with every passing second.
Michael's arm cinched tight around my waist, his polished smile flashing for the cameras. To them, it looked romantic. To me, it felt like a leash.
"Smile wider, Camilla," he murmured without moving his lips. "The cameras love us tonight."
I tilted my head and whispered back, with my wide smile still plastered to my face, "If I smile any wider, Mickey, my face will crack."
His grip on my waist tightened even more. "Careful," he warned.
"Ok honey. But just one thing though..." I leaned closer, my lips brushing his ear. "Squeeze my waist any harder, and I'll break your fucking finger."
I gave his a soft peck on his cheek and added. "And I'd really hate for America's favorite CEO to show up to the next gala in a cast."
Flashes went off, the press screaming over the ropes.
"Micam! Over here! Give us a kiss for the cameras!"
"How's America's favorite couple doing tonight?"
Michael dipped his head, brushed a chaste kiss against my lips, and the crowd roared. Our tabloid name- Micam- wasn't just a brand, it was a religion.
And God forbid anyone see the cracks in their gods.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Mrs. Locke!" a voice chirped as we entered the ballroom proper. "How's the fashion line going? Any new arrivals?"
I turned, face lighting up like it was second nature. "We just launched our fall collection online," I said smoothly. "Sold out in three hours. You'll have to wait for the restock."
Then the question that'd been on everyone's minds all evening finally came. "Tell us something about the tape that, Mrs. Locke."
I was fully prepared with an already rehearsed answer, but before I could open my mouth, Micheal cut in.
"Lies" he said facing the reporter who's asked. "The footage was obviously cooked. Any sixteen year old with a smartphone and a wifi connection couldn't fabricated that vile video."
I tried not to leave my mouth hanging open as I watched my husband who hadn't so much as looked at me in over a week, defend me.
"And frankly," he continued. "My team is currently running an investigation so the vile perpetrator of that filth will be apprehended and brought to justice."
Then he leaned down and gave me a deep kiss. And the cameras went crazy with clicks.
Just then, a smooth voice, cut through the chatter.
"Well, well. If it isn't the golden couple of the decade."
I stiffened instantly. Michael's grip tightened against me, his knuckles pressing into my side as if warning me to stay silent.
Vincent Calder.
He stepped out from the crowd like a shadow made flesh, tall and sharp featured, his tuxedo tailored to perfection. His eyes glinted with a predatory amusement as they roamed over us.
"Calder," Michael said, his voice measured, though his jaw flexed. "I didn't realize scavengers had invitations tonight."
Vincent's smirk widened. "Oh, come now. You and I both know this town would wither without me. Besides ..." His gaze slid to me. "...I couldn't resist the chance to congratulate the Lockes on another empire sized quarter. You always did know how to… capitalize."
The room seemed to hush around us. Everyone knew about the rivalry between Vincent and my husband and like the vampires they were, they stilled at the first smell of blood.
I forced a polite smile. "Mr. Calder. A pleasure to see you."
Michael's fingers dug into my hip, a warning, but I held my expression.
Vincent inclined his head. "Mrs. Locke. Radiant as always. Though I must admit, I didn't expected to see you out in these circles, especially not after…" He let his sentence trail off, the insult implied.
Michael stepped forward, blocking me halfway from Vincent's view. "Careful, Calder. Say one more word without a hundred percent proof and my lawyers will have a slander lawsuit on your desk before morning."
The tension between them could be felt from miles away. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see swarms of people listening even though they tried to pretend they weren't.
Vincent only chuckled, unbothered by Michael's aggression. "Calm your horses, Micheal. I'm not here for a fight. In fact, I'm glad to see you both figured out a way to come out... on top"
A few snickers rose from around us at the innuendo. Micheal's grip tightened on my waist.
What the hell did I get myself into?
Vincent tipped his glass at me before fading back into the crowd, but not before whispering as he passed, low enough only I could hear:
"How long can you keep up the act, Camilla?"
Rage, revulsion and hatred whipped through me all at once.
Michael turned to me, his smile still plastered on for the cameras. "Don't you dare breathe a word to that snake. Not a single one."
"I won't," I said quietly.
He tilted his head, studying me with suspicion before letting out a humorless laugh. "Good. Because if I ever found out you were anything less than loyal again, you'd regret it."
The words sliced into me, cruel and cutting, though they weren't new. They were his mantra. My punishment was always waiting, whether in silence or fury.
I opened my mouth to reply but stopped when a woman in a silver gown approached, gushing over Michael's latest business deal. He shifted seamlessly back into his charming persona, leaving me standing as little more than a prop.
My chest tightened. The room blurred for a second, the glittering lights stabbing into my vision. I placed a hand on the nearest table, gripping the edge to steady myself.
Please not now.
"Camilla?" someone asked behind me.
I turned to see Claire, one of my oldest friends, her brow furrowed in concern.
"You look pale," she whispered.
"I'm fine," I lied, forcing another smile.
"You're obviously not."
I shook my head. "Don't, Claire. Please."
Before she could press further, Michael appeared at my side again, his arm snaking around me like a leash. "Everything all right here?"
Claire's eyes burned into mine, but she forced a smile. "Of course. Just catching up."
Michael didn't believe her. I could feel it in the weight of his grip.
I tried to breathe evenly, tried to push through the spinning in my head, but the edges of the room were starting to darken. Still, I faked a smile, rose my chin high, and strutted like the queen I was.
The speeches began. Michael took the stage to thunderous applause, his voice booming with confidence as he spoke of success and vision, of future empires and legacy. The crowd adored him.
My hands trembled as I clutched my glass, every breath harder than the last.
I tried to focus on Michael's voice, to anchor myself, but suddenly my chest seized, a sharp pain stabbing through me. The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering against the marble floor.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as everyone's head turned towards me.
"Milla?" Michael's voice cut in above the rest. To my surprise, he sounded genuinely concerned.
I swayed, the chandeliers above me blurring into streaks of gold. My knees buckled, and the world tilted violently.
The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me whole was Michael's perfect face looming above me as he yelled for an ambulance.
And then everything went black.