By 8 a.m., Elena was already standing in front of three fashion consultants, a hairstylist, and a woman named Liv who claimed to specialize in "public poise for high-society consorts."
Whatever that meant.
Ava stood nearby, clipboard in hand, ticking off every task as the day unfolded: speech training, walk rehearsals, how to properly accept compliments, laugh at Damien's jokes, and maintain eye contact without seeming too eager.
"You need to stop fidgeting," Liv said for the fourth time. "When you stand beside Mr. Cross, you are grace personified. No shifting, no nervous glances. You are elegance, Miss Carter. Got it?"
"Got it," Elena mumbled, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
Liv didn't look convinced.
After what felt like hours of lessons, hairpins, and tight-fitting dresses, Elena was finally given a break. She wandered onto the penthouse balcony with a glass of water in hand, needing air—real air that didn't smell like expensive perfume and pressure.
The view was breathtaking. Skyscrapers, bustling cars, and a hint of the sea in the distance. Somewhere down there, her old life continued—cafés, bus rides, cracked ceilings.
"You look exhausted," came a voice behind her.
She turned to find Damien standing by the doorway, sleeves rolled up again, phone in one hand, expression unreadable.
"I feel like a marionette," she admitted.
He joined her at the railing, resting his elbows on it casually. "It gets easier. Lying, that is."
She glanced at him. "That supposed to comfort me?"
"No. Just a truth."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the city humming below them.
"Tell me," he said suddenly, turning toward her, "what's your story? I know the facts, but I want to hear it from you."
She hesitated, unsure why he was asking now. But maybe he needed to believe the lie just as much as she did.
"My dad left when I was twelve," she began slowly. "My mom got sick after. Worked three jobs to keep us fed. When she passed, it was just me and Liam. He was fourteen. Bright, kind... always believing things would get better. Then last year he collapsed at school. Diagnosis: chronic kidney failure."
She stared at the skyline.
"Insurance denied coverage. The bills started drowning us. I work every hour I can, but it's not enough. So, when you offered... this? I didn't have a choice."
Damien listened without interrupting. No pity in his expression—just quiet attention.
"Choices are a luxury," he finally said.
She nodded. "Exactly."
They stood quietly again, and this time, the silence felt heavier.
"You're not like I expected," she said softly.
"Oh?"
"I thought you'd be colder. More... heartless."
He smiled faintly. "Give it time."
---
By 6 p.m., the transformation was complete.
Elena stood in front of the full-length mirror in a gown that draped like liquid gold. Her hair had been swept into a low, elegant bun, with a few loose strands framing her face. Around her neck hung a diamond choker on loan from some luxury brand she couldn't even pronounce.
"You look like a goddess," Ava said, actually sounding impressed.
Elena barely recognized herself.
"Mr. Cross is waiting in the car," Ava added.
As she stepped into the sleek black limousine, Damien glanced at her—and for the first time, he looked startled.
Just for a second.
"You clean up very well," he said.
"And you still haven't learned better compliments," she replied.
His smile was small but real.
"Ready to meet the wolves?" he asked as the car pulled into traffic.
"I was raised in a cage," she said. "Wolves don't scare me."
His eyes lingered on her just a moment too long.
"Let's hope you remember that tonight."
Because tonight, Elena wasn't just pretending.
She was stepping into a world that would demand everything—her poise, her pain, and maybe, eventually... her heart.