From Fake to Real Marriage

The announcement came during breakfast, Grayson's voice cutting through the clink of silverware like a blade.

"Amira and I are engaged."

I looked up from my toast, the butter knife frozen in my hand. Across the table, Amira's diamond ring caught the morning light, sending prisms dancing across the white tablecloth.

"We've set the date for next month," Grayson continued, not meeting my eyes. "At the cathedral."

"Congratulations," I managed, the word tasting like ash.

"Actually," Amira leaned forward, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "we need your help, Zara."

Grayson's eyes finally met mine, something cold and calculating in their depths. "You'll be Amira's maid of honor."

The knife slipped from my fingers, clattering against fine china. "I'm sorry?"

"It's only fitting," he said, as if discussing the weather. "You've been generously supported in this house for three years. This is your duty."

"Duty?" The word came out as barely a whisper.

"Unless you'd prefer I reconsider the terms of our separation?" His eyebrow arched in warning.

Amira's hand found mine, squeezing with surprising strength. "We have so much to plan! The dress, the flowers, the venue decorations..."

---

"Which do you prefer?" Amira held up two identical white dresses. "The mermaid silhouette or the ball gown?"

We stood in the bridal boutique's private room, surrounded by mirrors that reflected my hollow expression from every angle.

"The mermaid," I said automatically.

"No, I think the ball gown." She tossed both aside. "Though I suppose your opinion doesn't matter much. This is my wedding, after all."

The boutique assistant nodded eagerly. "Miss Campbell is right. The ball gown would complement her figure beautifully."

"Of course it would," I murmured.

"Oh, Zara!" Amira's voice sharpened. "Don't look so glum. You had your chance with Grayson. Three years, wasn't it? Such a generous trial period."

I touched my abdomen unconsciously, feeling the scar beneath my blouse. "Trial period?"

"You know what I mean." She selected a veil, holding it against her face. "A temporary position. Like an internship."

The boutique assistant's eyes widened slightly, darting between us.

"Speaking of positions," Amira continued, "Grayson mentioned you'll need to find work soon. I hear the mall is hiring."

---

"The Howard family sends their regards."

I turned from the window to find a well-dressed man standing in the doorway of the hotel suite Grayson had relegated me to.

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Marcus Thompson." He approached with measured steps. "I represent Old Mr. Howard and his family."

I straightened my posture, confusion mingling with wariness. "What business does the Howard family have with me?"

"A proposition." He placed a leather portfolio on the coffee table. "Mr. Raymond Howard requires a wife."

"Requires?"

"For appearances," he clarified. "And for his recovery."

The rumors about Raymond Howard flashed through my mind—the disabled youngest son, rarely seen in public.

"The arrangement would include generous compensation," Marcus continued, opening the portfolio to reveal documents. "A luxurious home in the Howard estate. And most importantly—freedom from your current situation."

I stared at the papers, my heart racing. "Why me?"

"Mr. Howard specifically requested you." Something in his tone suggested there was more to the story. "The arrangement would last one year, with option to extend or dissolve."

One year. Enough time to escape Grayson's shadow, to heal.

"I accept," I said, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice.

---

The cathedral's stained glass cast jewel-toned shadows across the marble floor as I adjusted Amira's train. My maid of honor duties had begun at dawn—helping her dress, calming her nerves, enduring her final barbs.

"You look tired," she whispered as I fastened her pearls. "Grayson mentioned you've been... difficult lately."

I met her gaze in the mirror. "I'm doing my duty."

"Good girl." She patted my hand condescendingly.

The ceremony passed in a blur of organ music and vows. I stood beside Amira, holding her bouquet when needed, smiling mechanically as guests took photos.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the minister announced.

Applause erupted as Grayson kissed his bride. I felt nothing—not pain, not jealousy. Just emptiness.

Afterward, as champagne flowed and congratulations echoed through the reception hall, I approached the microphone.

"Thank you all for coming," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm honored to have been part of this special day."

Grayson's smile faltered slightly.

"But now, I have an announcement of my own." I took a deep breath. "I'm leaving to marry Raymond Howard."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Grayson's face drained of color.

"Zara," he hissed, starting toward me.

I turned away, walking steadily toward the exit. Behind me, chaos erupted—Amira's shrill voice, Grayson's demands, the shocked murmurs of guests.

None of it mattered anymore.

As the cathedral doors closed behind me, I felt something unexpected—not relief, but anticipation. Whatever awaited me at the Howard estate, it had to be better than the prison I'd just escaped.