A woman introduced herself as a stylist—polished, expensive, impossibly efficient—and before I could protest, she was guiding me toward my bedroom as if I were a client instead of a hostage.
Trying on wedding dresses had been a dream once.
A sweet, naive dream.
Now it was a punishment.
“This one,” she said briskly, after barely a minute in front of the mirror. “Perfect.”
It was simple. Elegant. And it hugged my body like a sentence.
I stared at the reflection and didn’t recognize the woman in white.
She looked hollow.
Like someone had scraped the life out of her and dressed the shell.
“Great,” I murmured, without meaning it.
“Oh,” the stylist added as she opened a small box—diamond bright enough to hurt. “Mr. Ferrara requested this. He said it’s important you look convincing.”
Convincing.
The word turned my stomach.
I slid the ring on reluctantly. It sat heavy and wrong on my finger, like a shackle disguised as sparkle.
When the strangers finally moved out of my bedroom, I stood alone for a moment and listened to the sounds of my home being taken over. Hot tears pressed at my eyes.
I swallowed them.
Crying wouldn’t change anything.
André returned near the end with a thin envelope in his hand.
“These are the wedding details,” he said. “Time, location, guest list. You need to memorize everything. No mistakes.”
I took the envelope, my throat dry.
“And if I can’t fake it well enough?” I asked quietly, hate shaking beneath the question.
He looked at me—serious, sharp—so much like Enrico it made my skin crawl.
“I’m sure you can,” he said. “Think about what’s at stake.”
“And my daughter?” The words came out sharper than I intended. “Did your brother think about that at all? Where does Clara fit into this circus he’s staging?”
André’s eyes flicked away for a fraction of a second.
Discomfort.
It was the first honest thing I’d seen from him.
“Clara will be protected,” he said at last—too smooth, too rehearsed. “She’ll be kept away from the spotlight. We’ve arranged care. Someone we trust will be with her during the ceremony.”
“That’s all?” I asked, voice rising. “You think the only danger is the media?” I took a step closer, anger finally cutting through numbness. “How do I explain to my daughter that I suddenly married a man she barely knows? Did you even consider what that does to her?”
André inhaled slowly, forcing calm.
