The marriage ceremony had ended, but for Rina, the performance had only just begun.
She stood inside the Frost estate's private lounge, the heavy silence closing in on her like invisible walls. Her wedding dress felt tighter now, her breathing shallow.
Across from her, Damien Frost sat on a dark leather armchair, legs crossed, suit jacket unbuttoned, exuding power even in stillness. He didn't look at her—not yet. He poured himself a drink with slow, measured precision.
"You did well tonight," he said at last, voice low and smooth. "No one suspected."
Rina flinched slightly at his words. They weren't praise—they were observation. Cold. Clinical.
"I tried," she said carefully.
He took a sip of his drink, finally meeting her eyes. His gaze was sharp, calculating. Like he was dissecting her.
"Let's be clear," he began, his tone cooling further. "This marriage is a business arrangement. Three months. During that time, you will fulfill your role as my wife—publicly. Behind closed doors, we live separate lives."
"Understood," Rina replied quickly, her voice steady, though her fingers trembled behind her back.
Damien continued, "There are three rules. Break them, and the contract ends immediately."
Rina's heart skipped. "Okay."
"One," he said, holding up a finger. "No interference in my personal affairs. What I do, who I see—it's not your concern."
She nodded.
"Two. No real emotional attachment. This isn't a love story. You don't get to fall for me."
Rina bit her lip. "That won't be a problem."
"Three," he said, leaning forward just slightly, his eyes narrowing, "Never lie to me."
Her breath caught.
A cruel irony.This entire marriage was built on a lie.And she was the biggest one of all.
He stood then, placing his glass down with a soft click. "You'll move into the guest room. Your schedule will be handled by my assistant. We have charity events next week. You'll be fitted for new gowns tomorrow."
"I can handle that," she said, trying to sound professional. Distant. Like her sister might.
But she wasn't her sister.
Damien tilted his head, studying her once more. "You're quieter than I remember."
Rina froze.What did he mean?
"You used to be more... playful," he said slowly. "More demanding. Always had something clever to say."
She forced a light laugh. "People change."
He stared at her a beat too long. "Some do. Others just hide better."
Rina's stomach twisted.
Did he know?
That night, she unpacked her things in the guest bedroom—alone. The room was pristine and cold, like every other part of the mansion. Nothing in it felt like home.
She sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly.
Three months.That's what she agreed to.Three months of pretending. Three months of walking on a wire.
Her phone buzzed.
A message.
No name. No sender.Just a photo.
It was of her—Rina—standing beside Damien during the ceremony, hand in hand, smiling under the crystal chandelier.
Below the image, one line of text burned across the screen:
"You're not her. I know what you did."