Chapter Four
Jay's POV
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes that morning was white. White curtains, white sheets, white sunlight dripping through the window like it had no idea how much today wasn't pure. The silence felt heavy. My chest felt heavier.
Today was the day I was going to marry Kiefer Watson.
Not for love. Not for forever. For revenge. For business. For appearances.
The thought made me laugh, except it came out brittle, like glass cracking.
Aries had called from across the ocean the night I told him. He'd gone completely quiet for a solid minute before asking me if I'd lost my mind. Percy, on the other hand, showed up at my apartment just to slam my door and shout at me like an overprotective parent. "You don't play games with your life like this, Jay!" he'd said. But he still hugged me when I cried, and still promised he'd come to the ceremony—if only to make sure Kiefer didn't break me.
Now, their voices echoed in my head as a makeup artist leaned close, brushing powder along my cheeks. I sat in front of a mirror framed with golden bulbs, staring at the reflection of a bride who didn't feel like one. My hair was pinned into soft waves, my gown—pearled silk with a daring neckline—clung to me like a cage of beauty.
"Beautiful," the artist murmured.
I smiled automatically. Beautiful. Tragic. Insane.
When I finally stepped out into the venue, flashes went off instantly. Photographers lined the aisle like vultures waiting for the perfect shot. Of course Kiefer wanted this—publicity. A headline marriage, the world's eyes on us, Fred Aliston forced to choke on every printed photograph.
The ceremony itself blurred. My vows weren't vows; they were lines rehearsed in my head, words that sounded like promises but meant nothing. And yet… when Kiefer's eyes held mine across the altar, for one insane second, it didn't feel empty. His jaw was steady, his gaze ironclad, his hand firm when it closed around mine. Like he believed this farce more than either of us had the right to.
By the time the applause thundered and the kiss brushed like fire and steel against my lips, I felt dizzy. A married woman. Mrs. Kiefer Watson. What a joke. What a madness.
The car ride away from the chaos was a silence heavy enough to drown in. My bouquet sat abandoned on my lap, the perfume of roses cloying in my throat.
Kiefer loosened his tie, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, jaw working as if he was holding back words. Finally, he spoke.
"There are rules."
I turned toward him. "Of course there are."
His gaze flicked to me, sharp as always. "One—we play our roles in public. You'll be the perfect wife. Loyal, supportive, untouchable. Two—you stay out of my business affairs unless I bring you in. Three—" His mouth curved, not quite a smirk. "You don't fall in love with me."
I laughed, bitter. "Trust me, that won't be a problem."
The car rolled into a long, winding drive, and my laugh died in my throat. His mansion wasn't a house—it was a kingdom. White stone stretched into towers, gardens spilled like paintings, fountains caught the last blush of daylight. It was the kind of place where fairy-tale brides lived. Except I wasn't one.
The butler opened my door. Kiefer didn't even glance back as he strode ahead. I followed, heels clicking, gown trailing, heart thundering in a rhythm I didn't want to name.
Inside, the air smelled of polished wood and money. A staircase spiraled like something out of a palace. Portraits stared down at me from gilded frames. This wasn't a home—it was a stage.
"Your room is down the east hall," Kiefer said, finally stopping. "Mine is opposite. We keep things separate. That's how this works."
I nodded, even though my throat felt tight.
As I stepped into the cavernous bedroom that was now mine, I let the door close behind me and pressed my back against it. The gown felt heavy, the crown of pins in my hair unbearable.
I had just married a man for revenge.
And for the first time all day, I let myself admit it: I was terrified.