Sienna had only ever seen her name in print once before.
On her university diploma.
Now it was on every gossip page, every entertainment headline, and even trending on social media under a hashtag that made her stomach turn.
#KnightBride
She stared at the tablet Alexander left on the kitchen island. It had the media brief for the day. Her schedule was mapped out to the minute.
9:00 AM – Breakfast with Mrs. Knight at Crown Café (20 mins)
10:00 AM – Charity board photo call
Noon – Interview with Society Weekly
2:00 PM – Fitting continuation (backup dresses)
4:00 PM – Meeting with PR head (prep for gala speech)
No one had asked if she wanted to attend anything.
No one had asked if she was ready.
---
The driver picked her up at 8:30 sharp.
Not Alexander. Just a tall man in a dark suit who didn't speak more than necessary.
The car was a sleek black Mercedes. The kind of vehicle that got double takes at every red light.
She arrived at the café to find a small crowd already gathered.
Phones were up. Paparazzi on standby. Even the hostess at the front gave a polite but overly bright smile.
"Mrs. Knight," the woman said. "Right this way."
Sienna smiled, soft but stiff. She hated being called that.
She took her seat by the window—probably chosen for visibility—and folded her hands on the table.
She was ten minutes early.
And she had no idea who "Mrs. Knight" was supposed to be meeting.
That question was answered when a tall, older woman walked in, heels clicking, coat swinging over her arm.
"Darling," the woman said, already smiling. "You're early. How professional."
Sienna stood, unsure whether to hug her or shake her hand.
The woman solved it by offering a cheek for a polite air-air kiss Elizabeth Knight," she said, sitting gracefully. "Alexander's mother."
---
Sienna had imagined this moment in many ways.
A warning. A scolding. Maybe even a public humiliation.
But Elizabeth Knight was calm. Polished. Friendly, even.
That was what made her more intimidating.
"I imagine all this must feel quite... sudden," she said, sipping black tea.
Sienna nodded. "That's one way to put it."
"I'm sure my son gave you a very clear agreement. He always does things by the book."
"He did."
Elizabeth's eyes studied her, not unkindly. "But life isn't lived on paper, is it?"
Sienna hesitated. "No. It's not."
The older woman gave a knowing smile. "You're adjusting quickly. That's good. This family doesn't have time for slow learners."
Sienna resisted the urge to shift in her seat. "I'm trying my best."
"Try isn't good enough. In this world, perception is reality. People won't care who you are. They'll only care about what you represent."
"And what do I represent?"
Elizabeth stirred her tea. "Power. Access. The next phase of the Knight legacy."
Sienna didn't respond.
Not because she didn't want to.
But because she didn't yet know if that was something she wanted to represent.
---
The photo call was worse.
It was in a white hall—elegant, minimalistic—with gold accents and chandeliers that probably cost more than her old apartment.
She stood beside other women from prominent families. All in pastels. All smiling.
All perfectly trained.
"Chin down a little," the photographer instructed. "Smile with your eyes. Don't lean too much toward the left."
Sienna obeyed, even though her cheeks ached from the forced expression.
Click.
Flash.
Pose.
Over and over.
By the time it ended, she was exhausted—and it wasn't even lunch yet.
---
The interview took place in a luxury lounge downtown.
Just her and a journalist from Society Weekly.
"You've had quite the whirlwind few weeks," the woman began, crossing her legs.
Sienna nodded politely. "Yes. It's been a change."
"Your marriage shocked a lot of people. Some say it's a business alliance. Care to comment?"
Sienna smiled calmly. "Every marriage is some kind of alliance. Ours is no different."
"Do you love your husband?"
She didn't flinch.
"I respect him."
"That's not what I asked."
Sienna leaned forward. "What I feel or don't feel isn't what keeps this partnership strong. Mutual goals do."
The journalist raised a brow. "That's very... diplomatic."
"It's the truth."
"And what are those goals?"
Sienna folded her hands. "Growth. Stability. Legacy. Isn't that what everyone's after?"
The woman chuckled. "You've learned fast."
Sienna smiled. But it didn't reach her eyes.
---
By the time she got home, it was nearly sunset.
She kicked off her heels and collapsed onto the sofa, still wearing the dress from the photoshoot.
She didn't even hear Alexander come in.
"You held yourself well," he said from behind her.
She turned slightly. "You watched?"
"Of course."
"And?"
"You didn't embarrass me."
Sienna rolled her eyes. "That your standard for praise?"
"It's a compliment in my world."
She turned fully to face him. "Your mother thinks I'm a tool. The media thinks I'm a trophy. Do you have anyone in your life who sees people as people?"
He walked to the bar and poured a drink. "Not anymore."
She sat up. "Why not?"
"Because tools don't betray you. People do."
The room was quiet for a long moment.
Then she asked, softly, "Did someone betray you?"
Alexander didn't answer.
Not right away.
Then, finally, "More than once."
He left it at that.
And she didn't push.
---
That night, her phone buzzed with a blocked number.
She debated ignoring it.
Then answered.
"Sienna?"
The voice was shaky. Soft.
She froze. "Isla?"
Her younger sister.
Her estranged younger sister.
The last time they spoke, Sienna had been leaving for her fake honeymoon. And Isla had sent her a message that only read: "Don't come back."
But now she sounded... different.
"Why are you calling?"
"I—I saw the interview. I just... I wanted to know if you're okay."
Sienna exhaled slowly. "I don't know."
"Do you need anything?"
"I need to know you haven't disappeared on me."
There was a pause. Then, "I miss you."
Sienna closed her eyes.
"I miss you too."
---
When she hung up, she stayed by the window.
Lights twinkled below.
A city of millions.
All watching her.
All thinking they knew her.
But they didn't.
They didn't know what she'd sacrificed.
They didn't know that behind the perfect outfits and scripted smiles… there was a woman just trying to survive.
And maybe that was her real job now.
To play the part.
And not let it consume her.