Standing in the middle of my small apartment, I took a long look at the decorations I had set up so carefully. The brightly colored balloons floated against the ceiling, and a table draped in a white cloth showcased the food I’d prepared. It was the day of our family reunion, and I was a bundle of excitement and nerves. After everything, we hadn’t gathered like this in ages, and I wanted to make it a day that none of us would forget.

My mind drifted to my father. He had been bedridden for quite a while now, and the thought of him surrounded by family—laughing, eating, and feeling even a little joy—filled my heart with warmth. Our bond had always been strong, but lately, with his health issues, it felt like that connection was slipping. I desperately wanted to make him happy today, even if it was just for a few hours.

I had also planned this get-together to share some big news: my upcoming wedding to Ethan. I wanted my family to be part of this moment in my life, to feel like they were taking this step with me. Just as I set the last dish on the table, I heard the sound of keys at the door. I rushed over and opened it to see my younger sister, Meera, arms full of extra decorations and party favors, looking both excited and nervous.

“Surprise!” she exclaimed. “I thought we could add a bit more flair.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s already perfect, but come on in!”

We got to work, putting up her decorations, and as we chatted, I could feel the calm settle in. I shared with her the anticipation and excitement about the wedding, and she listened, asking questions about Ethan and our future.

A short while later, when we finally finished decorating, there was a knock at the door. It was him. Dad. Leaning on his cane, he smiled the second he saw us, and I felt a wave of gratitude for this moment.

“Surprise, Dad!” Meera and I said in unison. Watching his face light up made all the effort worth it.

He looked around, taking in everything we’d done. “This is wonderful, girls. Truly.” I could see a flicker of joy in his eyes, despite the strain he’d been under recently.

The evening flowed perfectly. Between laughter and reminiscing, stories from our childhood came up, and I felt a deep sense of belonging and peace. Halfway through dinner, Dad looked at me, and there was something new in his eyes.

“Celine,” he said softly, “you’re about to begin a new chapter, and I want you to know I’m here, and I’m so proud of you.”

My voice wavered as I replied, “It means everything to me that you’re here to share this with me.” It was all I could get out as the emotion choked me up.

Meera, sensing the shift, quickly lightened the mood. “Don’t worry, Dad! I’ll make sure Celine still remembers us once she’s off being a newlywed.”

We all laughed, and the heaviness lifted. As the night went on, I felt a deep peace settle in. After dinner, as Dad made a wish over his birthday cake, I made a wish of my own: that he would stay healthy, and that we would all remain close.

Eventually, Meera brought up the wedding again. “Do you think Ethan will cry when he sees you in your dress?” she teased. I blushed, imagining the moment.

But I could sense a question on Dad’s mind, and I wanted to reassure him. “Dad, I know you’ll be alright with Meera, but please, if you ever need me, promise me you’ll reach out.”

He smiled gently. “Celine, you have to live your life. And I have your sister to help me. You’ve given me everything just by being here.”

At that moment, I felt so lucky. Whatever life held in store, I would always have them—my family, my foundation. That night, as I closed the door behind Dad, I knew I was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

When the day finally came for me to meet Ethan’s family, my nerves returned full force. As I adjusted my hair in the mirror, I caught sight of myself—every bit as uncertain as I felt. But when Ethan appeared in the doorway with a warm smile, looking like he belonged in the palace himself, my confidence flickered back to life.

“Ready?” he asked, his gentle voice easing my nerves.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, trying to match his calm.

Hand in hand, we walked through the grand hall of his family’s residence, every step a reminder of the worlds that would collide in this moment. The opulence was overwhelming, yet Ethan’s parents, King Richard and Queen Isabella, radiated kindness from the second we stepped into the dining room. I had expected formalities, but instead, I found warmth.

The queen approached first, her hand outstretched. “Celine, it’s wonderful to finally meet you.” Her voice was gentle, her smile reassuring.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said, feeling the title slip out before I could stop it.

She chuckled softly. “Call me Isabella. We’re family now.”

With each course that passed, the conversation felt more and more natural. The king asked about my passions, my family, and my future. It was surreal to see Ethan watch me with such pride. As dessert was served, Queen Isabella asked how Ethan and I had met, and when I shared the story of our “chance encounter,” she smiled knowingly.

“It seems you two were meant to find each other,” she said.

By the end of the evening, I realized something new: I was not just entering into a marriage with Ethan; I was gaining a family that already felt like my own. As we prepared to leave, Queen Isabella held my hand and said warmly, “Celine, we’re so glad you’re here. You bring so much light into our family.”

King Richard added, “We look forward to welcoming you into the fold. You are truly a gift.”

Walking back to our car, I felt light, full of love and gratitude. But as I turned to Ethan, ready to express how much his family’s acceptance meant to me, his tone shifted, and his voice grew serious.

“I knew they’d love you,” he said. “But don’t forget, this is just our arrangement. I’ll give you everything, but remember, it’s still our secret.”

I froze for a moment, trying to absorb his words. The warmth of the evening lingered, but the chill in his voice brought me back to a hard truth. I nodded, quietly acknowledging our complex reality. As we drove away, I felt the weight of both worlds—the family who’d embraced me and the man beside me who, even now, held a part of himself just out of reach.

As I arrived home, I barely had a moment to catch my breath before Ethan's manager called. He explained that tomorrow we’d be meeting at a hotel, where an official announcement about my marriage to Ethan would be made. The event would be public, with countless media people there to witness it.

The manager went on to tell me that an assistant would be arriving soon to prepare me for the big day—teaching me how to dress, how to carry myself, and even how to respond to reporters’ questions. He said she’d bring a file full of answers for potential questions, expecting me to memorize it overnight.

I felt strange hearing all of this. I hadn’t realized that becoming part of a wealthy family required so much pretense and rehearsing. I was already exhausted and craving sleep, but when the assistant arrived, I had to stay up practicing everything, ensuring that tomorrow I’d look and sound exactly like the wife of a royal family member.

As I stood there, the weight of the world seemed to press down on my shoulders. Each instruction from the assistant felt like a double-edged sword; I was grateful for her guidance, yet every critique stung like a bee. I wanted to succeed, but the fear of failing was paralyzing. The pressure was mounting, and I could feel the walls closing in as I tried to absorb everything she was teaching me.

Every time I stumbled, I could see the assistant’s patience wearing thin. Her sighs became louder, her eyebrows furrowing deeper. The more I fumbled, the more I felt the shame creeping in. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was unworthy of this role. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.

Then came the call from the manager. His voice, steady and authoritative, rang through the room like a bell. When he said I had seven hours left, my heart raced. Seven hours felt like an eternity and a blink of an eye all at once. I listened closely as he emphasized the importance of my presence, the need for respect and awe. His words hit me like a jolt of electricity. Suddenly, I realized this was more than just an event; it was a transformation.

A rush of determination surged through me, pushing aside the self-doubt that had clouded my mind. I could almost see the image of the woman I needed to become: confident, composed, radiant. The more I practiced, the more I could feel that identity settling in. It was as if I was shedding my old self like a snake shedding its skin, making room for someone new.

Each step I took felt more secure. With every smile, I could sense the tension in my body loosening. I began to understand that it wasn’t about perfection but rather about authenticity. I didn’t need to become someone I wasn’t; I needed to embrace who I was, enhanced by the experience I was about to embark on.

As I practiced, I found moments of clarity. I envisioned the faces in the crowd, the reporters eager to capture every moment. I imagined their curiosity, their desire to know Ethan’s new bride. And in that moment, I wanted to give them something to remember—something that would resonate in their hearts.

With each attempt, I felt the nervous energy transforming into excitement. The mirror reflected not just my exterior, but the spirit I was cultivating within. I wasn’t just preparing to meet the world; I was preparing to shine in it. As the night wore on and the hours dwindled, a sense of calm washed over me. I realized that I might not have all the answers, but I had the strength to find my place in this new reality. I was ready to step into the light and show everyone who Celine truly was, not just as Ethan’s wife, but as a woman ready to embrace her destiny.

The Illusion Begins

As I stood in the grand ballroom of the luxury hotel, I felt like a doll in a meticulously designed display case—beautiful but hollow. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm, golden glow over the guests, all dressed to impress. Tonight was not just a celebration of Ethan and me; it was a show, a performance of love and partnership that we were expected to portray flawlessly.

My dress, a gift from Ethan, was a stunning creation, shimmering with every movement I made. I could feel the eyes of the crowd on me, their cameras clicking away, capturing every moment. I smiled, my expression carefully curated to radiate joy, but inside, I felt nothing but emptiness.

Ethan approached me, flashing a charming smile that he had perfected for such occasions. “Wow, you look amazing tonight,” he whispered in my ear, loud enough for the nearest photographer to catch the moment.

I responded with practiced ease, “Well, I had to look good. After all, you gifted me this beautiful dress with so much love.” My voice was sweet and affectionate, but it felt like a rehearsed line in a play where I had lost my role.

Ethan chuckled, leaning closer, his voice smooth. “You’re stunning. You’re turning heads all over the room,” he complimented, his words rolling off his tongue like an actor delivering a perfect line.

I forced a smile, knowing it was just another part of the act we were both performing. “And you’re not looking bad yourself,” I added, my gaze flicking over his perfectly tailored suit, recognizing the facade we were creating together.

“Let’s wrap up these photos first,” Ethan said, turning to face the crowd of reporters. “We can’t keep the media waiting. They’re eager for some answers.”

As we moved toward the press area, I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. Together, we were the perfect couple in the eyes of the world—deeply in love, ready to conquer life’s challenges hand in hand. But beneath the surface, our marriage was a contract built on convenience, a means to an end, not a union based on love.

The media surrounded us, their cameras flashing like fireflies in the night. A young reporter with a bright smile was the first to ask, “You two seem so in love! Can you tell us about the first time you met?”

I took a breath, recalling the fabricated story I had told so many times. “Well, it was at a church. I was there praying, and when I looked up, I saw him staring at me.” My voice held the perfect tone of nostalgia, but I felt a pang of guilt at the lie.

Ethan picked up the thread seamlessly. “What could I do? She was so beautiful, I couldn’t take my eyes off her,” he added, his charm undeniable, weaving a narrative that felt both enchanting and utterly false.

I played along, letting my cheeks flush a light pink as I batted my eyelashes at him. “Oh, stop it,” I said playfully, while inside, I was battling a storm of emotions. The crowd adored our banter, but it felt like a cruel joke.

When another reporter asked, “Who was the first to propose? How long were you two together before you realized you were meant for each other?” I glanced at Ethan, feeling the weight of the moment.

His response was quick and rehearsed. “I proposed, of course. I couldn’t wait any longer. We had been together for two years, and I knew she was the one,” he said, his sincerity almost convincing.

But inside, I felt a wave of anger rise. I was an imposter in my own life, telling stories that didn’t belong to me. I was filled with frustration at how easily he spun his web of deceit, while I struggled to maintain even a semblance of authenticity.

“Can we get a picture of the two of you sharing a kiss?” one reporter asked, causing excitement to ripple through the crowd.

Before I could agree, Ethan intervened smoothly. “Actually, we prefer to keep those moments private,” he said with a wink, deflecting the attention. “Celine is a little shy, and I wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

Shy? Me? The anger bubbled beneath my smile. Ethan didn’t want to kiss in front of the cameras, and yet he was framing me as the one holding back. The more I listened to him, the clearer it became—he was not just a liar; he was a master manipulator, weaving a perfect narrative for the world to see.

Chapter 2: The Break in the Facade

When the media conference finally ended, the crowd dispersed, satisfied with the show we had put on. As the cameras stopped flashing, a sense of relief washed over me, even if it was fleeting. The performance was over, but the real work of maintaining our facade would continue.

Ethan checked his watch and casually said, “We should head out. I’m sure you’re starving.”

I nodded, my stomach grumbling in agreement. But before we could leave, he turned to our driver. “Drop us off on the way. I have some work to take care of,” he said matter-of-factly.

Confusion flickered across the driver’s face. “But sir, how will you get home later?”

Ethan waved off the concern. “I’ve already arranged for my other car to pick me up. Don’t worry about it.”

I raised an eyebrow, irritation flaring. Work? Now? We were supposed to have dinner together. “What about dinner? Weren’t we going to spend the evening together?”

He pulled out his wallet and handed me a sleek, black credit card. “Here, take this. Get whatever you want. I’ll be back late, so don’t wait up.”

Staring at the card in my hand, I felt a surge of frustration. Of course. Throw money at the problem and hope it goes away. I forced a smile. “Sure, I’ll manage.”

Ethan nodded briefly before turning back to the driver. “Let’s go.”

The ride home was heavy with silence, and I found myself drowning in my thoughts. I had known what I was getting into when I agreed to this marriage, but now that I was living it, the reality felt suffocating. The glitz and glamour were all a facade; beneath it lay a hollow existence, and I was trapped.

Finally, Ethan broke the silence. “Look, don’t take it personally, Celine,” he said, still focused ahead. “We both know why we’re in this. I respect you, but I have my own life to manage.”

Surprised that he was acknowledging our situation, I replied coolly, “I’m not asking for anything beyond what we agreed. But it wouldn’t kill you to pretend you care when the cameras aren’t around.”

He sighed. “This isn’t about caring. It’s about keeping up appearances. As long as we do that, you’ll have everything you ever wanted—luxury, security, status.”

“And what about what I need?” I asked softly, my voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled out his phone, clearly signaling the end of the conversation. The driver glanced at us through the rearview mirror, but we were both lost in our thoughts, wrapped in the roles we had chosen to play.

When the car slowed down, Ethan motioned for the driver to stop. “Drop me here,” he said curtly, stepping out without another word. I watched him walk away, his back straight, exuding confidence as if he were untouchable. As the door clicked shut, I felt a mixture of anger and familiar emptiness. He could leave so easily.

The driver, sensing the tension, glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Ma’am, would you like me to take you straight home, or should I find a restaurant for you?”

I looked at the credit card Ethan had given me. It gleamed like a promise of everything our marriage represented—a trade, an agreement, but not a relationship. “Take me to the best restaurant in town,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. If I had to be alone tonight, I might as well enjoy it.

Chapter 3: The Dinner of Solitude

As I stepped into the five-star restaurant, I felt a wave of opulence wash over me. The marble floors gleamed, and chandeliers lit the room with a warm glow. The maître d' recognized me immediately. “Mrs. Blackwood, welcome,” he greeted smoothly. “We have a private table ready for you.”

As I followed him through the restaurant, I could feel the eyes of other diners on me, their gazes filled with envy or admiration. They thought I had the perfect life, married to Ethan Blackwood, one of the most powerful men in the country. If only they knew the truth.

At my secluded table, I couldn’t help but reflect on how my life had changed so quickly. Not long ago, I was an ordinary woman, struggling to make ends meet, dreaming of a better future. And now, living in luxury, I felt more alone than ever.

The waiter offered me the wine list, but I barely glanced at it. “Just bring me the best bottle of red you have,” I said, not caring about the details.

The wine arrived, and as I took a sip, I felt a brief flicker of satisfaction. But it was fleeting, and as I stared at the empty seat across from me, the loneliness settled in again.

I thought about Ethan and our earlier conversation. “I respect you, but I have my own life to manage.” Those words echoed in my mind, reminding me of the cold reality of our marriage.