Married to a Billionaire Stranger
Chapter 12: The Art of Being Seen
The invitation came sealed in silver foil, tucked into an envelope embossed with gold initials: W.H. — the Whitmore-Holt Gala, an annual event hosted by one of the wealthiest art dynasties on the East Coast.
Ava delivered it with a raised brow.
"You'll want to look expensive," she said, "but not try-hard. Old money chic. Be graceful. Be untouchable. And whatever you do — don't outshine the host's wife."
Ella smirked. "And what if I accidentally do?"
"Then Xavier will have to smooth it over by writing a very large check to the Whitmore Foundation."
---
She chose a black velvet gown.
Simple. Elegant. With a plunging back and a halter neckline that revealed just enough to remind them she wasn't forgettable.
Her hair was pinned up. Diamond earrings. A smoky eye she hadn't worn since college.
Xavier's eyes didn't just pause when he saw her — they stayed.
"You look... sharp," he said.
"Sharp?"
He stepped closer. Adjusted the clasp on her necklace with quiet fingers.
"Like anyone who touches you might bleed."
Her heart beat faster — not at the words, but at how gently he spoke them.
Like he wasn't sure he should be saying anything at all.
---
The gala was held at the Whitmore Museum in Midtown, where walls glittered with curated art and curated people.
Xavier moved through the crowd like a monarch — one nod, one handshake, and the room tilted toward him.
Ella stayed close at first, unsure where to land in a sea of perfectly-coiffed women and perfectly-timed smiles.
Until someone approached her.
"Ella, right?"
She turned. The man was tall, late thirties, with thick glasses and a voice that held curiosity more than confidence.
"I'm Theo," he said. "Director of Creative Programs. I've been following your public appearances since the King wedding."
She blinked. "You have?"
"Of course. You're... different."
She tilted her head. "Is that a compliment?"
He laughed. "It's a fascination. Most people walk into this world and become quieter. You seem like someone who remembers her voice."
That stopped her.
She wasn't used to being seen like that.
"I used to work in community arts," she offered. "Before all this."
Theo's smile widened. "Then I'm not surprised. You still carry purpose like it belongs to you."
---
Across the room, Xavier was mid-conversation when he saw them.
He didn't even hear what the CEO from Seattle was saying. His eyes had fixed on Ella — head tilted, cheeks flushed with laughter.
And Theo.
Too close.
Too comfortable.
The smile on Xavier's face didn't slip.
But the tension in his jaw made Ava, watching from a distance, mutter under her breath:
"Oh... here we go."
---
Theo offered her a glass of sparkling water and leaned in to say something near her ear.
Ella laughed.
And then — warmth at her back.
"Am I interrupting?"
Xavier's voice was smooth. Controlled.
But Ella knew that edge.
Theo turned, eyes widening slightly. "Mr. King—"
"I don't believe we've met," Xavier said, extending a hand just a shade too firmly. "I'm her husband."
Ella flushed.
Not because of the claim — but because of the way it landed.
Possessive. Unapologetic.
Theo cleared his throat. "Of course. Apologies if I—"
"No need," Xavier said, already steering Ella away with a hand at the small of her back. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
---
They didn't speak until they reached a quieter hallway lined with sculptures.
Ella stopped walking.
"You know," she said, "you could've just joined the conversation."
"I wasn't in the mood for watching a man flirt with my wife."
Her brows lifted. "So you were watching."
He faced her now.
"I've never seen you look at someone that way."
"That way?"
"Like you forgot what your last name was."
The accusation stung.
And thrilled.
And confused her.
"Why does it matter how I look at anyone?" she asked, softer now. "This marriage isn't real, remember?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't blink.
Just said, low and dark:
"It matters."
And there it was.
The first real crack in his armor.
Jealousy.
---
They returned to the main room after a long pause — the tension still sitting between them like a third guest.
Xavier kept a hand on her waist for the rest of the night.
It wasn't forceful.
But it wasn't casual either.
As if to remind her, and the room, that she was his — whatever that meant in a marriage of convenience.
---
That night, back at the penthouse, Ella stood in front of the mirror and peeled off the velvet dress slowly.
She stared at her reflection.
At the bare skin where his hand had rested.
At the flush in her cheeks that hadn't faded.
At the woman she was becoming — not because of him, but with him.
She heard him in the hallway. Stopped breathing.
Then a soft knock.
"Ella?"
She opened the door.
He was in his shirt sleeves. Tie loosened. Eyes unreadable.
"I shouldn't have said what I did," he said. "About your name. That wasn't fair."
She nodded once.
"I shouldn't have laughed so easily with someone who wasn't you," she whispered.
Silence stretched.
Then Xavier's voice, low and raw:
"If you ever laugh like that with me... I don't think I'd survive it."
---
She didn't invite him in.
He didn't ask.
But something passed between them in the quiet — not a promise, not yet. But a possibility.
Of something fragile.
And real.
Growing exactly where they never meant it to.