Chapter 2: Three in a Marriage

Victoria's POV

My breath hitches. My eyes are glued to the spectacle unfolding right in front of me. The sheer disrespect of it all makes my blood boil, my heart thumping loudly in my ears like a war drum. It’s not jealousy—I'd rather walk on hot coals than kiss the arrogant monster—but the brazen humiliation he’s subjecting me to is suffocating.

They are utterly shameless.

When they finally break apart, Isabella giggles, a high, breathy sound. She reaches up, her thumb lightly tracing his bottom lip to smear away the red tint. "Look what you did, you completely wrecked my gloss."

"I'll just have to buy you a new shade," Alexander murmurs back, his voice thick with an adoration he never showed me. He keeps his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

Sweat pricks my hairline. I forcibly look down at the table, clutching the strap of my purse.

"Victoria. The woman who's getting my last name on paper," Alexander announces, turning toward me without loosening his grip on her.

I force my gaze up, maintaining a completely blank expression.

Isabella crosses her arms, her manicured nails digging into her own skin. Her eyes, sharp and scrutinizing, rake over me. "So, this is the charity case. I hope my boyfriend made all the rules perfectly clear to you."

"Crystal clear," I reply, my voice clipped.

"Did he mention me?" She raises an arrogant eyebrow.

"No. Though I assume you're part of the fine print."

Isabella's eyes narrow into slits. "I'm the main event, sweetie. He belongs to me. You’re just wearing the dress I should have been fitted for."

Alexander presses a kiss to her temple. "Babe, don't work yourself up. We agreed on this."

"I just hate seeing a knockoff in my place," she whines, pouting her red lips.

"She gets the cameras. You get me. End of story," he reassures her, shooting me a cold, warning look.

A bitter, humorless smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I have seen more than enough. I scrape my chair back and stand up, my posture rigid. "If the floor show is over, I have better places to be."

"Sit down. You don't leave until I dismiss you," Alexander barks, his eyes darkening instantly.

"I agreed to be your fake wife, Alexander. Not your captive," I counter, refusing to back down.

"We aren't finished," he says, his tone dangerously low. "You and my girlfriend need to establish your new 'friendship'."

"Friendship?" I deadpan.

Isabella rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Don't make me laugh. As if I'd ever be caught dead with you voluntarily. But unfortunately, when my man takes you on these little PR vacations, I’m coming along as your devoted best friend."

I stare at them, the absurdity of the situation almost comical. "How deeply moving."

"Just don't get used to the luxury. It's not really yours," Isabella scoffs, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Play nice, ladies. The board is waiting for me," Alexander announces. He spins Isabella around and captures her lips in another deep kiss. This time, as their lips remain locked, his eyes flutter open. He looks straight at me, ensuring I am watching, before closing them again.

He’s doing it purely to assert dominance. Disgust twists my stomach into tight knots.

Alexander breaks the kiss, gives her one last squeeze, and walks out the door without sparing me a single backward glance.

The moment the door clicks shut, my urge to scream into a pillow is nearly unbearable. I have to pretend to be best friends with his mistress? And why on earth didn't Mr. Sterling just choose Isabella to marry his son if they're so in love? She clearly fits the high-society mold perfectly.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out with trembling fingers. It's a text from my father. 'I hope it's going beautifully, my sweet girl. I can't wait to hear all about Alexander.'

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow the bitter truth. My father is depending on this. I will endure this hell for him.

Isabella drops into Alexander's empty chair, crossing her long legs. "Before you get any ideas about changing the drapes, let's get one thing straight. You don't look at him, you don't touch him, and you certainly don't speak to him unless a camera is flashing."

"Alexander and I have already discussed the superficial details," I reply, remaining standing.

"Well, I'm defining the boundaries. You better watch how you conduct yourself."

I lean forward, placing my hands firmly on the table, invading her space. "I know exactly what my role is. But let me give you some advice—you don't sign my checks, Isabella. You don't command me."

Her jaw slacks, then tightens. "Try testing me and see how fast you get crushed."

For the next excruciating hour, we hash out a fabricated backstory of how we supposedly met in college. Our personalities clash at every turn, but we eventually settle on a lie believable enough for the press.

As I turn to finally leave, Isabella’s bitter voice stops me at the door. "Just a reminder. You'll always be warming a bench. You're just a prop."

I glance over my shoulder, my expression entirely unbothered. "Of course. And you will always be the dirty little secret."

"How dare you! You're a pathetic nobody!" she shrieks.

I step out, the heavy door clicking shut behind me, muffling her frantic yelling. As I walk down the plush corridor, my phone chimes. It's Mrs. Sterling, my future mother-in-law, bubbling with excitement about wedding dress shopping. At least I have his family on my side.

~

The grand cathedral smells of fresh lilies and burning wax. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Instead, my smile feels like a heavy mask cemented to my face beneath my sheer veil.

As my father walks me down the aisle, tears stream down his wrinkled cheeks. He is overjoyed, his financial ruin completely averted by this spectacular union. That alone gives me the strength to keep my footing in these diamond-encrusted heels.

Alexander stands at the altar in a breathtaking black and white tuxedo. He plays his part flawlessly, flashing a radiant, dimpled smile for the hundreds of cameras capturing our every move.

In the front row, Isabella acts her heart out, gasping in fake awe as I pass by, dabbing imaginary tears from her eyes. Only the Sterling family sitting opposite her looks genuinely thrilled to welcome me.

We exchange vows filled with hollow promises. And then, the moment of truth. Alexander lifts my veil. His eyes convey absolutely nothing. As our lips meet, the crowd erupts in thunderous applause. I keep my lips firmly pressed together, completely unresponsive to his touch.

Later, as we pose for photographs outside the church, Isabella inserts herself into the frame. She throws her arms around me in a supposed congratulatory embrace, pulling me close to whisper venom in my ear.

"Enjoy the flashy dress, bitch. Because tonight, you're sleeping in a very cold, very empty bed."

I keep my bright, radiant smile perfectly intact for the flashing cameras, but inside, a dark resolve settles in my bones. I am officially Mrs. Alexander Sterling now. I won't let her step on me ever again.