The morning light poured through the tall glass windows of the penthouse, filling the space with a soft golden glow. Malissa stood near the window for a long moment before turning back into the room.
She still wasn't used to waking up here. The silence felt different. Not the quiet of a small apartment, but the quiet of a place where nothing was urgent.
She was sitting at the dining table, staring at a breakfast she had barely touched, when footsteps echoed through the corridor.
A woman in a tailored cream suit entered the room, followed by two assistants carrying garment bags and boxes.
"Good morning, Miss Malissa," the woman said with a polite smile. "I'm Celine. Mr. Marquez asked me to prepare your wardrobe for upcoming events."
Malissa set down her teacup slowly. "Upcoming events?"
Celine nodded as her assistants began arranging the clothes. One by one elegant outfits appeared.
Silk dresses. Tailored suits. Evening gowns. Heels. Handbags.
"You will be attending several social events with Mr. Marquez," Celine said, checking her tablet. "Dinners, business functions, charity events, and a family dinner in two days."
Two days.
The words settled heavily.
Malissa reached out and touched one of the dresses lightly. The fabric was smooth and soft beneath her fingers.
"These are all for me?" she asked quietly.
Celine smiled. "You represent Mr. Marquez now. Your appearance must match his status."
Malissa nodded slowly, though the words felt heavy.
You represent him now.
She was not just Malissa anymore. She was part of his image.
The rest of the morning passed in fittings. Clothes changed. Adjusted. Replaced.
"This color makes you look softer," Celine said.
"This one makes you look more confident."
"This one is for public events."
"This one is for meeting older business partners."
"This one is for family dinners."
By the end, the closet was filled.
Perfectly arranged.
Not hers.
Malissa thought the wardrobe fitting was the end of her schedule for the day, but she was wrong.
Just as Celine finished, another staff member approached and spoke quietly to her.
"There is one more appointment," Celine said.
Malissa frowned slightly. "Another fitting?"
"Preparation."
She was led down a different corridor into a softly lit room.
It looked like a private spa suite.
Soft music played quietly from hidden speakers. Towels were folded neatly on a marble counter. Bottles of oils and creams were arranged in perfect rows. Two women in professional uniforms stood waiting beside a massage table.
Malissa stopped at the entrance, unsure if she was in the right place. "I think there's been a mistake,"
Celine smiled gently. "There isn't.
She stepped aside.
"Skin treatment. Grooming. You'll need to look your best."
Malissa hesitated. "I'm not used to this,"
Celine's expression softened slightly.
"You'll have to get used to many things, Miss Malissa."
Those words stayed with her as she stepped inside.
Warm steam and gentle hands worked over her skin, slow and precise.
Her hands were cleaned and shaped.
Her nails polished.
Her shoulders loosened under practiced hands.
Piece by piece, the tension left her body.
For the first time in weeks, she felt it.
Relief.
She had been running for too long. Now, she was still.
"Is the pressure okay?"
"Yes," she said quietly.
She watched as her hands were transformed. Clean. Polished. Elegant.
They didn't look like hers anymore.
"This color is suitable for formal events," one of the attendants said.
Malissa nodded.
Everything here had a purpose. Nothing was accidental. Even this was planned.
"He doesn't do this for just anyone." another attendant said.
Malissa glanced at her. "Why do you say that?"
The woman smiled slightly. "He rarely brings anyone here. It's just never happened."
Malissa said nothing.
She already knew this wasn't about her. It was about the role she had to play.
When it was over, she sat quietly, staring at her hands.
They no longer looked like the hands of someone who had worked overtime and skipped meals.
They looked... curated.
Prepared. Controlled.
Celine handed her a glass of water. "There will be another session tomorrow. The dinner is soon."
Malissa nodded.
As she left the room, she paused briefly.
Just a few weeks ago, she had been counting bus fare and hospital bills.
Now, she was here.
She returned to her room in silence.
"Miss Fisher,"
Malissa turned.
A poised woman stood at the doorway. Older. Composed. Sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"I'm Madame Elara. I will be handling your etiquette training."
Malissa straightened immediately.
Madame Elara walked around her slowly, observing her posture, the way she stood, the way she held her hands.
"Posture," she said. "Straighten your back. Shoulders relaxed. Chin up."
Malissa adjusted.
"Again."
The practiced walking.
Slow steps. Balanced movements.
"Grace," Elara said. "You are being watched."
Heels were placed before her.
She stepped into them carefully, wobbling slightly before steadying herself.
"Again."
They repeated it.
Walking. Turning. Sitting. Standing.
Every movement corrected. Every mistake fixed.
Later. In the dining room,
"Never reach across the table."
"Never rush."
"Never show uncertainty."
"Never start eating before your host."
Malissa followed every instruction without complaint.
"You learn quickly," Elara said.
"I had to."
Elara studied her for a moment, then continued.
"In high society, perception matters more than truth."
The words stayed with her.
Later that evening, "You will need a story," Elara said.
"People will ask how you met."
Malissa froze slightly.
"You must also have a relationship story," Elara said.
Malissa froze slightly. She had not thought about that.
"You must also address him properly in public," Elara said. "You cannot call him Mr. Marquez in front of others."
Malissa frowned. "Then what should I call him?"
"Xander."
The voice came from the doorway.
Alexander stepped inside, his presence immediately shifting the room
"In public," he said, looking at her, "you call me Xander.
Malissa nodded.
The name felt unfamiliar.
He turned to Elara. "Progress?"
"She learns quickly."
Alexander extended his arm toward Malissa.
"Take it."
She hesitated, then placed her hand lightly on his sleeve. His arm felt solid beneath her fingers, warm through the fabric.
"Relax," he said quietly. "You look tense."
She loosened her grip.
"Better."
They walked together.
"Stop, now greet someone," Elara instructed.
Alexander turned slightly toward her.
"This is Malissa,"
Malissa forced a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you."
"Look at me when you speak," he said.
She looked up and met his eyes.
For a moment, everything felt still.
"Good," Elara said. "Convincing."
They practiced again.
Walking. Standing. Smiling.
Until it felt less like pretending, and more like learning.
Eventually, Elara gathered her things.
"You will be ready," she said. "You just need confidence."
When she left, the room fell quiet.
"The dinner is in two days," Alexander said.
Malissa looked up.
"You will meet my father, my stepmother, and several important people. You only need to remember one thing."
"What?"
"Stay beside me,"
"If you stay beside me, no one will touch you."
A pause.
"They won't dare."
Something shifted inside her. She didn't understand it.
He turned and left.
That night, Malissa sat alone in her room.
The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the glass.
Everything was perfect.
Everything was silent. Everything was not hers.
She held the family photo in her hands, staring at it for a long time.
Two days, she thought.
In two days, she would walk into a room filled with power and expectations.
She did not know if she was ready.
But she knew she had no choice.
She tightened her grip on the photo slightly.
She would survive his world.
Even if it meant losing the version of herself she used to be.