Ophelia's POV,
That night felt like a trap dressed as diplomacy.
Calista and I arrived first. I was still rehearsing neutral expressions in my head when the door opened and Dante walked in with his mother.
Scarlett Vaughn did not bother with pleasantries.
She crossed the room in three sharp strides and grabbed my hair, yanking my head back hard enough to make my eyes water.
"Whore," she hissed, her perfume chokingly sweet. "Using my son to climb the ranks? How dare you? You are just simply a gold digger."
Instinct took over before dignity could catch up. I fisted her hair and pulled right back, teeth clenched.
"You saw the fucking video," I snapped. "Your son started it. I didn't walk into that club claiming marriage. I didn't announce anything to anyone."
The room erupted. Dante was on us in a second, tearing us apart, his grip bruising as he shoved me back. His eyes were cold now, lethal. "You will never touch my mother again."
Calista stepped forward calmly, voice sharp as glass. "Then maybe you should start by cleaning up your mother's mess before threatening my client."
For a moment I thought blood would spill right there. Then the door opened again.
Bianca walked in with a leather folder under her arm, expression unreadable, presence instantly sobering the room. My power had arrived. The ugly kind that didn't shout.
We sat. Not together. Opposite ends of the table, like the enemies we were.
Bianca introduced herself but I was busy seething at the Vaughns to even notice.
I folded my hands to stop them from shaking. "Let's be clear," I said when she finished. "Dante Vaughn and I are not lovers. We are competitors who have been shoved onto the same stage."
Bianca nodded and slid documents onto the table. "The plan is straightforward. You appear married and remain married for a limited period. Publicly. Cleanly. Then you divorce once the scandal loses oxygen."
"For a while," Dante repeated, studying me like I was a hostile asset.
"Except," Bianca continued, "there is a complication."
She tapped the folder. "Your companies."
I felt it land in my chest and noticed Dante's jaw clench. Of course.
"Analysts are already speculating," she went on. "They think your rivalry is personal. Emotional. Reckless. Investors don't like emotions. They like predictability. Both boards will demand stability."
"So what," Dante said coolly. "We smile harder?"
I shook my head. "No. We sign an exclusivity agreement. One year. Marriage contract plus a non-hostility clause."
Silence. I knew they wouldn't take it immediately but what choice do we have?
"No hostile takeovers," Bianca listed, in their silence. "No undercutting bids. No sabotage. No shadow acquisitions through subsidiaries."
I laughed once, sharp. "We're asking you to disarm."
"We'rr asking you to survive," Bianca corrected. "Investors will see unity. Regulators will see restraint. The public will see romance instead of corporate warfare."
Dante leaned back, eyes never leaving me.
"You forced my hand," he said slowly. "You knew my company was bigger. You knew this would make me treat you as an equal."
I met his gaze and shrugged. I didn't deny it because it was true.
The room felt tight after that, like it was holding its breath as we both signed. I brought out my hand with a smile on my face. We both knew how evil it looked.
"Let the best man survive, Vaughn."
He shook.
~ ~
Later that night, I told Adrian and Lydia everything.
Adrian listened quietly, then smiled in that dangerous way he only did when he smelled opportunity.
"Use it," he said. "If you're going to be trapped, turn the trap into a throne."
Lydia, on the other hand, looked like she might faint.
"Use it?! Why the fuck should we do that?!" she cried. "Let's just kill all the Vaughn's."
"Must every solution for you be death?" I asked, getting up and she hissed.
"My Ophelia… getting married," she whispered. "Fake or not. The world must be ending."
~ ~
The next day, Dante Vaughn took my hand.
His palm was warm. Steady. Cameras exploded around us as if we were something worth worshipping. The studio lights were warm, almost flattering. The host was smiling too hard.
"So," she began, folding her cue cards, "the question everyone wants answered. Were you engaged before the scandal, or did this all happen overnight?"
Dante's hand tightened around mine. Not possessive. Intentional. He looked at me first, like the answer lived in my face.
"We've been engaged for a while," he said calmly. "Longer than people think."
I let out a soft laugh, the kind that sounded embarrassed and fond at the same time. "We just weren't allowed to talk about it."
The host's eyes lit up. "Not allowed?"
"There was a multi-billion dollar deal on the table," I explained gently. "One we were competing for from opposite ends. Any hint of personal involvement would've disqualified both companies."
Dante nodded. "Conflict of interest clauses. Brutal ones."
"So you stayed quiet," the host said. "Even while working in the same industry."
I tilted my head toward him. "Which was… exhausting."
His thumb brushed my knuckle, slow, intimate. My heart skipped a beat and I told myself it's the nerves. "You're being generous."
The host grinned. "Then explain this."
She gestured to the screen behind her, frozen on the infamous clip. "Why did you call her your wife in a strip club?"
I sighed, like I've answered this question a thousand times at home. "Because he's impatient."
The audience laughed.
"He's always been," I continued, smiling at him. "When Dante decides something is his future, he skips steps. Engagement. Planning. Logic."
Dante didn't deny it. "I was already thinking of her as my wife," he said simply. "Saying fiancée didn't feel right."
I glanced at him, mock reproachful. "You terrified me."
"Aw, but you stayed," he replied softly and I twitched. He was overdoing it.
The host pressed a hand to her chest. "This is dangerously romantic."
"It's worse in private," Dante winked.
I laughed awkwardly, leaning into him and squeezing his muscles forearms… hard. "He proposed three times. I only said yes once."
"That's because the first two weren't dramatic enough," he countered.
The host shook her head. "People say this looks too perfect. Too rehearsed."
Dante's gaze sharpened, just a fraction. "If we were rehearsing, we'd be less honest."
I let go of his hand. "Love doesn't arrive politely. Sometimes it crashes into your life at the worst possible time and refuses to leave."
"And keeping her secret," Dante added, voice low and sincere, "was the hardest deal I've ever had to negotiate."
The room was quiet. Not even the cameras felt loud.
"So what now?" the host asked softly.
I smiled, radiant, and grabbed his hand. "Now we stop hiding. The kidnappers just did us a favour"
Dante kissed the inside of my palm, unashamed, unbothered by the lenses inches away. My eyes almost widened. That was beyond just acting.
"And," he said, "I finally get to call her mine without whispering."
Somewhere online, people will gag. Others will swoon.
But sitting there, wrapped in his arm, sounding sickeningly in love, I almost forgot it started as a lie until the host started talking to the audience.
"This is torture," he murmured and I squeezed his hand.
"Well, well, well…isn't it the consequences of your own actions," I replied, with a sweet smile at him. He returned it.
In front of the world, we were a happy couple. A miracle of timing. A love story born from chaos.
Behind the smiles, we were two rulers counting each other's weapons, already planning how to survive a marriage that felt far more dangerous than any war we'd ever fought.
Finally, my life was getting interesting