The applause had barely faded before the nausea set in.
Back in the privacy of the Aldridge family conference suite, far away from the lights and curated smiles, I slipped the ring from my finger and set it on the coffee table with a soft but deliberate clink. The velvet box sat beside it, untouched.
Blake stood near the minibar, pouring himself a drink. Something dark. Neat. Controlled—just like him.
"That was a performance," I said, keeping my tone even.
He took a sip before replying. "Exactly what it needed to be."
I paced to the far window, my heels clicking softly against the floor. Velmoré's skyline glittered in the afternoon haze, but all I could see was how trapped I felt. Every floor of the tower we stood in was built on legacy—and mine was being absorbed into his.
"You could've warned me," I said, turning to face him. "The ring, the speech, the perfect delivery. That whole charade."
He shrugged, setting the glass down. "I didn't think you'd appreciate it either way."
I narrowed my eyes. "So you decided to stage a proposal for the cameras, knowing I couldn't say no in front of them?"
He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "Don't get any ideas, Cater," he said quietly. "That proposal? It was theater. The ring, the speech, the hand—every bit of it was for them. Not for you."
A slow, sharp smile touched my lips. "Good. Because if you think I'd fall for you just because you know how to deliver a well-rehearsed line, you're more arrogant than I thought."
He didn't flinch. But his jaw tightened.
"You want the cameras. The legacy. The illusion," I continued. "Let them have their fairytale. But I know exactly what this is. A merger. A business move. An empire deal. Not a marriage."
He looked at me for a long moment. Not angry. Not amused. Just—quiet.
"You don't trust me," he said finally.
"Trust you? Blake, I don't even like you."
That did something. Maybe disappointment, maybe calculation. He buried it fast.
"Then we're on the same page."
He picked up the velvet box again, opened it slowly, then closed it with a soft snap.
"We'll keep up appearances until the wedding," he said. "Public events, family dinners, board functions. You'll have full say over your branding, your name, your autonomy inside Cater. I won't interfere unless I'm forced to."
I folded my arms. "And in private?"
"We stay out of each other's way."
"Perfect."
He gave me a last nod and turned for the door. Just before he left, he paused.
"You didn't flinch today," he said. "You're good at this. Just like me."
Then he walked out.
The door clicked shut.
I let the silence swell around me like armor.
---
Back in my apartment, I tossed the ring box onto the kitchen counter and grabbed a bottle of wine. The liquid swirled, deep and rich, like the storm rising in my chest.
I hated him.
I hated that he thought I might get "ideas." That he thought I needed the warning. That he assumed I was naive enough to blur lines between performance and reality.
As if I hadn't been raised in boardrooms, trained to dissect every word, every glance.
But what I hated more was how convincing he had been.
In that moment, when he slid the ring onto my finger, his voice steady and eyes locked on mine—I almost believed it. Just for a heartbeat. And that made me furious with myself.
I walked to the mirror in the hallway and stared at my reflection. My lips were still painted in soft rose, my posture a mirror of strength, but there was something behind my eyes—restless, unsettled.
"You are not falling for him," I whispered to my reflection.
This wasn't love. It wasn't fate. It was politics. Legacy. A corporate maneuver dressed up in designer clothes.
Let Evelyn Aldridge dream of grandchildren and fairytale weddings.
Let the press write their headlines.
I knew the truth.
I was not a princess. I was a CEO.
And I would not be tamed.
I poured a second glass, took a long drink, and let the burn settle in my chest. My phone buzzed on the counter—messages from board members, congratulatory notes from investors, heart emojis from acquaintances who thought the proposal was 'the most romantic thing ever.'
I ignored them all.
This engagement wasn't romance. It was a contract. And Blake Aldridge was not my prince. He was my rival—sharp, composed, and irritatingly charismatic. But underneath all of that? Still a man playing a part, just like me.
He might think he has me cornered, but he doesn't know who he's dealing with.
I would smile when I had to. Wear the dress. Show the ring. Say the right things.
But I would not love him.
I refused.
Because love was vulnerability.
And vulnerability was weakness.
I thought of my mother then—her quiet strength, her fierce belief in me. She built the foundation I stood on. And I wouldn't let anyone take that away. Not the board, not my father, and certainly not Blake Aldridge.
By the time I went to bed that night, I had replayed the entire day at least a dozen times. The applause. The ring. His voice. My vow.
The next phase had begun. The countdown to a wedding neither of us wanted.
But I'd make it through this.
And I'd come out stronger.
Even if I had to stand next to a man I loathed to do it.