Jessica
The car door closes with a soft, expensive thud that seals me inside. The interior smells of rich leather and something clean, like cold air. It’s a black sedan, sleek and silent, the kind of car that glides through the city unnoticed, a shadow among the yellow cabs and noisy buses.
Xavier slides into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t say a word. He just starts the car, the engine a low, powerful hum I feel more than hear. The courthouse disappears behind us as we merge into traffic.
The silence in the car is a living thing. It’s thick and suffocating. I sit ramrod straight, the beading on my dress pressing into my back. My ruined bouquet of white roses rests on my lap, a pathetic, wilting reminder of the morning. I should throw it away, but I can’t seem to let it go.
“My assistant, Leo, is drafting the postnuptial agreement,” Xavier says, his voice cutting through the quiet. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead. “It will be ready for you to review tonight.”
“A postnup,” I repeat, the word tasting like ash. “Right. Of course.”
“It will formalize the terms we discussed. For your protection as well as mine.”
“My protection?” I ask, a bitter laugh almost escaping my lips.
“This is a business transaction, Jessica. Every detail must be clearly defined to prevent future complications.” He makes a smooth turn onto a wider avenue. “Leo will also procure a new wardrobe for you tomorrow. We’ll need to dispose of… that.”
He gestures vaguely at my dress without looking at it. The dress. My dream dress. Now it’s just ‘that.’ An inconvenience to be disposed of. The humiliation, which had receded into a dull ache, flares hot and sharp again.
“Fine,” I say, my voice tight.
We don’t speak again for the rest of the drive. I watch the city lights blur past the tinted windows. It feels like watching a movie of someone else’s life.
The car descends into a private underground garage, the gate sliding shut behind us. He parks in a reserved spot next to a silver sports car that looks like it belongs on a racetrack. He gets out, and I fumble with my own door, my hands clumsy. The voluminous skirt of my dress makes exiting the low car an awkward, graceless struggle.
By the time I’m standing, he’s already waiting by an elevator, his posture impatient.
“This way,” he says.
I follow him into the elevator. He presses the button marked ‘PH’ with a gloved finger. I hadn’t even noticed he was wearing leather driving gloves.
The ride up is silent and dizzyingly fast. My ears pop. When the doors slide open, they reveal not a hallway, but the apartment itself. Or rather, a cavern of glass and steel.
My first thought is that no one actually lives here. It’s a showroom. The floors are polished black marble. The furniture is all sharp angles and chrome, in shades of gray and white. One entire wall is a sheet of glass, offering a breathtaking, glittering panorama of the city skyline. There are no pictures on the walls. No books on the shelves. No clutter. Not a single sign of a human life being lived.
It’s beautiful, expensive, and as cold as a tomb.
“You can have a seat,” Xavier says, shrugging off his suit jacket and placing it neatly over the back of a stark white sofa. He rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing a ridiculously expensive-looking watch. “I’ll get us some water.”
I don’t move. I stand in the middle of the vast living room, a ghost in a dirty wedding dress, clutching dead flowers.
He returns with two glasses of water, placing them on a low glass table. He remains standing, looking at me like I’m a problem he’s about to solve.
“Let’s establish the ground rules,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s better we are both perfectly clear on the nature of this arrangement from the start.”
“Okay,” I whisper, my throat dry.
“First, the public front. To my grandfather, and to the world, we are a happily married couple. We met, had a whirlwind romance, and eloped. It’s a simple narrative. Stick to it.”
“And your grandfather’s name is…?” I ask, realizing I know absolutely nothing.
“Philip. You’ll meet him tomorrow. He is sharp. Don’t underestimate him.”
I nod, tucking the name away.
“Second, the duration. This marriage will last for one year, or until my grandfather’s passing, whichever comes first. His health is… precarious. Upon the dissolution of the marriage, you will be compensated for your time and discretion.”
“Compensated,” I echo numbly.
“Yes.” He names a number. A staggering, life-altering number. Five million dollars. The words hang in the air, obscene and unreal.
I stare at him. Is that what I am? A five-million-dollar solution to his problem?
“I don’t want your money, Xavier.” The words come out stronger than I expect.
He looks genuinely surprised, his composure cracking for the first time. “Everyone wants my money.”
“Well, I don’t. I wanted a place to hide. A way to not be the girl who was left at the altar. That’s all.”
“Nevertheless, the money is part of the contract. It ensures your silence and cooperation. It is non-negotiable.” He says it like he’s closing a business deal, because for him, that’s exactly what this is.
“Fine,” I concede, the fight draining out of me. What’s the point in arguing? “I have a rule, too.”
He raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“This is a marriage in name only. You said so yourself. I want that in the contract.”
“Of course. Separate rooms. Professional distance. That was always the intention.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I need to be clearer. I need to build a wall so high he can never cross it. “I mean no physical intimacy. At all. Ever. A clause. I want a clause.”
I brace myself for a fight, for a sneer, for some kind of negotiation. Instead, he gives a short, dismissive nod.
“That won’t be a problem,” he says, his voice cool and detached. “I have no interest in that.”
His easy agreement is a slap in the face. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It’s another confirmation of my utter lack of desirability, first from Mark, and now from this cold, handsome stranger who is my husband. I am a convenience. A placeholder.
“Good,” I manage to say, my voice choked. “Then we’re in agreement.”
“Your room is the second door on the left down that hall,” he says, gesturing toward a long, dark corridor. “It has an en-suite. I trust you’ll find it adequate. Leo will contact you in the morning regarding your new wardrobe and personal effects.”
“Personal effects?”
“You’ll need to create a believable presence here. We’ll have your things moved from your old apartment.”
My apartment. The one Mark and I shared. The thought of all our things, our whole life packed into boxes, makes me feel sick.
“I have to work,” he says, turning away from me. “I have an office through there. Don’t disturb me unless it is an emergency.”
And with that, he walks away, disappearing into another part of the cavernous apartment. The quiet settles back in, heavier than before.
I am alone. A wife. A stranger. A prisoner in a gilded cage with a view of the entire world.
I slowly walk over to the wall of glass. The city lights are a river of diamonds below. It’s a view people would kill for. I feel nothing.
I see my reflection in the dark glass. A pathetic figure in a crumpled white dress, her face stained with tears, her eyes wide and lost. I don’t recognize her at all.
