Elara's POV
I'm staring at the mysterious text when someone grabs my arm.
I spin around, heart racing. It's Marcus.
"Mr. Moretti needs you back upstairs," he says. "Now."
"I just left—"
"Press conference in twenty minutes. You need to be there."
Press conference. The words hit me like ice water. "What press conference?"
Marcus doesn't answer. He just guides me back to the elevator, his hand firm on my elbow. I barely have time to shove my phone in my purse before we're moving.
The ride up feels like descending into hell instead of ascending to the top floor.
"Marcus, what's happening?"
"Mr. Moretti is announcing your engagement to the media." His voice is flat, professional. "You need to smile and confirm the story he tells. That's all."
"But I haven't even—we just signed the contract ten minutes ago!"
"Which is why he's doing this now. Before you have time to change your mind."
The elevator doors open. The entire top floor has been transformed. Cameras everywhere. Reporters with notebooks. Bright lights that make my eyes hurt. At least thirty people, all talking at once.
And in the center of it all, Dante. Calm. Confident. Smiling like he's about to announce the happiest news of his life.
He sees me and his smile grows wider. Faker.
"There she is," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "My beautiful fiancée."
He crosses to me in three long steps and takes my hand. The one with his ring. He lifts it to his lips and kisses my knuckles.
Cameras flash like lightning.
"Smile," he whispers against my skin. "Or this all falls apart right now."
I paste on a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "You could have warned me."
"Where's the fun in that?" He turns to the crowd, keeping my hand trapped in his. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I have an announcement that couldn't wait."
A female reporter shouts: "Mr. Moretti, is it true you're engaged?"
"It is." Dante pulls me closer to his side. His arm wraps around my waist like a snake. "Elara Sinclair has agreed to be my wife."
The room explodes with questions.
"When did you meet?"
"How long have you been dating?"
"Isn't she Richard Sinclair's daughter?"
That last one makes me flinch. Dante feels it and squeezes my waist. A warning.
"One at a time, please," he says smoothly. "Yes, Elara is Richard Sinclair's daughter. Which makes our love story even more special."
Love story. I want to throw up.
"We met six months ago," Dante continues, lying so easily it's scary. "At a charity gala. She was the most beautiful woman in the room, and I couldn't take my eyes off her."
More camera flashes. I keep smiling even though my cheeks hurt.
"We kept our relationship private because of the complicated circumstances with her family," Dante says. "But when her father's legal troubles began, I knew I couldn't hide my feelings anymore. Elara needed someone to stand by her. I wanted to be that person."
A male reporter pushes forward. "So you're saying this has nothing to do with the Sinclair family scandal?"
"Love doesn't care about scandals," Dante replies. "I'm marrying Elara because I love her. Not because of her father's mistakes or her family's situation. I'm marrying the woman, not the circumstances."
I feel sick. He's so good at this. So smooth. Everyone in this room probably believes him.
"Miss Sinclair," a woman calls out. "How do you feel about all this? Some people might say the timing is suspicious."
All eyes turn to me. Dante's arm tightens around my waist.
This is my moment. I could tell the truth. Expose the contract. Reveal that this is all revenge dressed up as romance.
But then I think of my father in that holding cell. My mother in her hospital bed.
I smile bigger. "I feel incredibly lucky. Dante has been my rock through the hardest time of my life. When everyone else abandoned me, he stayed. That's how I know this is real."
The lies taste like poison on my tongue.
"When's the wedding?" someone shouts.
"Friday," Dante says. "We're not waiting. When you know, you know."
Friday. Three days. He's really doing this.
"Can we see the ring?"
Dante lifts my hand again, showing off the massive diamond. It catches the light, throwing sparkles across the room. Everyone gasps and coos like it's romantic instead of a shackle.
"It's beautiful," a reporter breathes. "How did you propose, Mr. Moretti?"
Dante looks at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I told her that she was the only thing in my life worth fighting for. That I would spend every day proving I deserved her. And I asked her to take a chance on me."
For a second, his voice sounds almost real. Almost like he means it.
Then I remember the contract. The rules. The way he called me a tool for his revenge.
None of this is real.
"One more question," a reporter says. "Miss Sinclair, what does your father think about this engagement?"
The room goes quiet. Everyone waits for my answer.
My father doesn't know. He's sitting in jail right now, probably wondering where I am. What I'm doing. If I'm okay.
"My father wants me to be happy," I say carefully. "And Dante makes me happy."
Another lie. I'm collecting them like poison.
"I think we've answered enough questions," Dante says. "We'd like to enjoy this moment privately now."
But the reporters aren't done. They surge forward, shouting more questions.
"Will Richard Sinclair attend the wedding?"
"Are you worried people will think you married her out of pity?"
"Miss Sinclair, do you love him?"
That last question freezes me. Do I love him? The man who bought me like property? Who's using me for revenge?
"She doesn't need to answer that," Dante says firmly. "But I'll answer it for both of us."
He turns to me, his hands coming up to cup my face. His touch is warm but his eyes are cold.
"I love you," he says clearly. Loudly. For all the cameras.
Then he kisses me.
His lips press against mine, firm and demanding. I gasp in shock and he uses it, deepening the kiss. One hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me in place.
Cameras flash everywhere. People cheer.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
It's not a real kiss. It's a performance. A claim. A way of telling the world that I belong to him now.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushes my bottom lip. To everyone watching, it probably looks tender. Loving.
But I see the triumph in his eyes. He's won. Trapped me in front of the entire world.
"That's all for today," Marcus announces, appearing from nowhere. "Thank you for coming."
The reporters are ushered out, still shouting questions. Dante keeps his arm around me until the last one leaves.
The second we're alone, he drops his hand like I burned him.
"Well done," he says coldly. "You played your part perfectly."
"That's all I am to you, isn't it? A part to play."
"That's all you need to be." He straightens his tie. "The car will take you to the penthouse. I have actual work to do."
He walks away without another word, leaving me standing there with my lips still tingling from a kiss that meant nothing.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out with shaking hands.
The mysterious number again: You did well at the press conference. But he's lying about more than the engagement. Check his father's death certificate. The suicide? It wasn't suicide. And your father knows the truth. That's why Dante really wants him in prison—to keep him quiet.
My blood turns to ice.
I read it again. And again.
It wasn't suicide.
If that's true, then everything Dante told me is a lie. His whole revenge story. His whole reason for marrying me.
Another text: Meet me at Café Noir. 10 PM tonight. Come alone. Tell no one. Not even your friend Victoria. If Dante finds out, people will die. Starting with your father.
My hands shake so hard I almost drop the phone.
Who is this person? How do they know about Dante's father? About my father?
And what truth is so dangerous that people will die if I dig too deep?
I look at the door where Dante disappeared. The man I just promised to marry. The man who just kissed me in front of thirty cameras.
The man who might be lying about everything.
My phone buzzes one final time: Trust no one. Especially not your husband.