CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER SIX: APPEARANCES AND ILLUSIONS

AVA MONROE'S POV

The next few days blurred into a strange, exhausting rhythm.

My life had become a tightly scheduled drama, interviews,

charity events, luncheons, dinners, rehearsals for a marriage no one knew was built on conditions and cold calculations.

Every morning, Diane showed up with a new designer outfit, a

fresh list of appearances, and the same deadpan reminder: "Smile. The world is watching."

Ethan, on the other hand, was a master of compartmentalization. He could sit beside me during interviews, speak of our shared 'passion for art' and 'love for privacy,' and still not look at me once the cameras stopped rolling.

We were a couple to the world.

To each other?, We were two players on opposite sides of a

chessboard, moving pieces under a truce neither of us trusted.

On the fifth night after the wedding, we attended a gala benefiting clean water access in underdeveloped nations.

The Kingsley Foundation was one of the major sponsors.

That meant Ethan had to be there.

And so did I.

The moment we entered the ballroom, flashbulbs popped like

fireworks.

Ethan was in a navy suit, sharp as a blade, his hair slicked back like he had just walked out of a billionaire's fantasy. I wore a gold floor-length gown with a slit so high Diane had asked if I was trying to start a scandal.

Maybe I was.

We smiled. We held hands. We greeted people I barely knew and would probably never remember.

Then, as I was reaching for a glass of champagne, it happened.

He arrived.

"Ethan," the man said, extending a hand. "It's been a while."

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair tousled just enough to look

effortless. And eyes, stormy gray, like they'd seen the worst of the world and refused to flinch.

Ethan's jaw tightened. "Liam."

The tension was immediate. Palpable. A thousand unspoken

words in one name.

"And this must be your wife," Liam said, turning to me. "Ava, right?".

He extended his hand, and I took it, suddenly aware of how warm his skin was compared to Ethan's cold restraint.

"Yes. Nice to meet you."

He held my gaze a second too long. Ethan noticed.

"Liam's an old…, associate," Ethan said coolly.

"Business or pleasure?" I asked, mostly to test Ethan.

Liam chuckled. "A little of both. But mostly, we disagreed on how to win."

"You always were more reckless," Ethan said.

"And you always were more afraid."

The air turned colder.

I sipped my champagne to hide my smirk.

This night just got interesting.

Later, while Ethan was dragged away by board members

discussing stocks and market movements, Liam found me again.

"Do you like being paraded like this?" he asked, leaning against the balcony rail outside the ballroom.

I joined him. "Like a show pony?. It's the contract. I signed up for it."

He studied me. "But you're not like him."

"No. I bleed when I'm cut."

His laugh was soft, almost sad. "Why did you do it?."

I hesitated.

"Because survival sometimes looks like surrender. And I was

tired of fighting shadows."

"You think he's your shadow?."

"No. He's the box I stepped into when I couldn't see the light anymore."

Liam nodded, his gaze lingering on mine. "If you ever want out…, find me."

He handed me a card. Black. Embossed with a silver symbol I

didn't recognize.

Then he walked away.

And for a second, I stood there, heart racing like I'd just been handed a key to a locked door I hadn't even known I was staring at.

Ethan said nothing about Liam on the ride home.

But his jaw was clenched, and his fingers tapped against his thigh like he was rehearsing a confrontation he'd never have.

"Something on your mind?," I asked casually.

He looked out the window. "He's dangerous."

"And yet, I felt safer with him than I do when you're this quiet."

He didn't answer.

The silence between us grew legs. It crawled into the penthouse.

It sat between us at the dining table. It followed me into my room.

That night, I stared at the ceiling again.

But this time, I wasn't thinking about vows.

I was thinking about choices and how few of them felt like mine anymore.

The next morning, I found a new addition to the contract folder Diane kept locked in a cabinet.

A clause about discretion.

It stated that any communication with individuals deemed 'detrimental to the Kingsley brand' would require Ethan's prior approval.

In short: Liam.

I didn't sign it.

Instead, I wrote a single note beneath the clause.

I might be a wife by contract. But I'm still a woman by choice.

I left it on Ethan's desk.

By evening, the clause was gone.

And in its place was a handwritten post-it note.

Touché.