The Thorne Anniversary Gala was the most prestigious event in the country. The Grand Ballroom was a sea of shimmering diamonds, silk tuxedos, and the sharp scent of expensive champagne. But tonight, there was only one topic of conversation: the woman who had managed to "trap" the Ice King.
Behind the velvet curtains of the dressing room, Seraphina stared at her reflection. She barely recognized herself.
Alexander had sent over a team of stylists and a dress that cost more than her father's entire fragrance collection. It was a gown of midnight blue silk that seemed to flow like liquid moonlight. The off-the-shoulder cut emphasized her delicate collarbones, and the tight bodice highlighted a waist Alexander's hands had spanned just twenty-four hours ago.
"You look... breathtaking, Madam," the stylist whispered, fastening a necklace of rare black pearls around Seraphina's throat.
The door opened, and the air in the room instantly shifted. Alexander walked in, dressed in a black tuxedo that made him look like a lethal shadow. He stopped dead when he saw her.
His icy blue eyes darkened, tracing the curve of her neck and the rise of her chest. For a moment, the "CEO" was gone, replaced by the man who had claimed her in the dark.
"I told them to make you presentable," Alexander said, his voice dropping to a low, rough vibration. "I didn't tell them to make you a target for every man in that room."
"Is it... too much?" Seraphina asked, her fingers nervously twisting her silk skirt. Her timid nature was fighting against the grandeur of the dress.
Alexander walked toward her, his presence suffocating. He reached out, his gloved hand tilting her chin up. "It's perfect. Just remember, Seraphina—they will look, but if anyone touches you, I'll take their hand. Stay close to me."
As they entered the ballroom, the orchestra seemed to falter for a split second. A hundred heads turned. The "timid mouse" of the Lin family was gone. In her place stood a woman of ethereal beauty, shielded by the most powerful man in the city.
"Look at her," someone whispered. "She looks like a goddess."
"I heard she drugged him to get the marriage," another hissed.
Seraphina's hand tightened on Alexander's arm. He felt the tremor and pulled her closer, his arm wrapping around her waist in a possessive grip that left no room for doubt.
"Smile, little bird," he murmured into her ear. "The wolves only bite if they smell your fear."
But the biggest wolf was already waiting.
Sarah, the socialite who had drugged Alexander at the bar, stepped into their path. She was wearing a dress so red it looked like blood, and her eyes were full of a manic, boiling rage.
"Alexander," Sarah purred, though her gaze was fixed on Seraphina like a dagger. "I see you found a... temporary replacement for the night. I didn't know the Thorne family was into 'charity cases' now."
The crowd went silent, sensing blood in the water.
"Sarah," Alexander said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. "I believe you're mistaken. My wife isn't a replacement. She's the only woman who has ever been invited into my bed. Unlike you, who had to resort to cheap chemicals just to get a seat at my table."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Sarah's face turned a violent shade of purple. "You—! She's a nobody! A timid little girl whose own father doesn't want her!"
Seraphina felt the old familiar sting of shame, but then she felt the heat of Alexander's body against hers. She thought of her grandmother. She thought of the night they shared.
She took a breath and stepped forward, just an inch, out from behind Alexander's shadow.
"My father may not want me, Miss Sarah," Seraphina said, her voice small but surprisingly steady. "But it seems the only man who matters in this room... does."
Alexander's eyes flashed with a rare spark of amusement—and pride. He didn't give Sarah a chance to respond. He signaled to the security guards.
"Miss Sarah's invitation has been revoked. Escort her out. And make sure the media knows she is persona non grata at any Thorne event for the rest of her life."
As Sarah was dragged away screaming, Alexander turned Seraphina toward the dance floor. He pulled her flush against him, his hand splayed across her lower back.
"You're growing claws, Seraphina," he whispered as the music began. "I think I like it."
"I'm just doing what the contract says," she breathed, her heart racing as they began to move. "Being the perfect wife."
"The contract didn't say anything about making me want to leave this party early just to be alone with you," Alexander rasped, his eyes locking onto hers.
Seraphina realized with a jolt of terror and excitement that the "Paper Marriage" was becoming very, very real.