Chloe's Point of View
I stared at my reflection in the floor-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at me. The stylist Jonathan had hired worked her magic, transforming my usually simple, nerdy appearance into something. Glamorous. My hair, normally tied back in a practical bun, now cascaded in soft waves around my shoulders. The makeup softened my features, giving me a sophistication I never thought I'd possess. And the dress-a sleek, black gown that hugged my figure-made me feel like a stranger in my own skin.
This wasn't me. But tonight, it had to be.
Jonathan wanted perfection for the charity gala, and I was supposed to play my part. It was a commercial night, nothing more. We would show up together, smile for the cameras, exchange polite conversation with the city's élite, and then leave. Just like at every event we had attended since the marriage-a performance perfectly played out.
I looked at my phone then headed downstairs. A text from Emily's nurse was there, yet another update on her condition. She was still stable, but with every passing day in such a condition felt like a race against time. The thought caused my chest to tighten, but I managed to shove it down. There wasn't any time for any weakness tonight. I had to keep it together.
I went down the stairs of the penthouse, and there he was, waiting by the door—Jonathan with his expression unreadable, as ever. He was perfect in his black tuxedo, but his cold gaze barely flickered to me as I reached the bottom step.
"You're ready?" he asked, his tone flat as ever.
I nodded, unable to shake the tension that had built between us over the past month. We were playing the roles, but nothing about it felt natural-this constant coldness, him treating me as another asset to manage, was wearing me down.
We arrived at the gala in silence. The flash of cameras greeted us the moment we stepped out of the car, Jonathan's hand resting lightly on my back for appearance' sake. I forced a smile, knowing the world was watching, waiting for a crack in any link. And I could not give them that. Not tonight.
Inside, the room hummed with conversation and the tinkling of champagne glasses. High-profile guests mingled, gowns and suits, every conversation oozing money and influence. Jonathan moved easily through the room, his hand still lightly guiding mine as we made our rounds, greeting board members, shaking hands with business partners.
It was all business to him. It always was.
But even in purloined glamour, the alienation was impossible to shake. No matter how many ways they dolled me up, I wasn't one of them. I was just playing the part of Jonathan Wells' perfect wife. And every minute of it felt like a lie.
I was lost in my thoughts, until a tap on my shoulder got my attention. Turning to face the speaker, I found David Harper standing there, softening into me with his eyes. David-an old acquaintance from before all of this, someone who actually saw me as more than a transaction.
"Chloe," he said, a smile touching his lips. "You look. Incredible."
I blushed at the compliment, a little uncomfortable, but smiled back. "David, I didn't expect to see you here."
He nodded toward Jonathan, who was caught up in talking with a potential investor, then turned his attention back to me. "Do you have a minute? Let's talk outside."
I hesitated, looking over toward Jonathan. He didn't seem to notice. "Okay," I whispered, following David out of the crowded ballroom and into the garden.
The cool evening air felt refreshing against my skin, and I could finally breathe for the first time that night. David steered me to a quiet corner of the garden, apart from the prying eyes of the event.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched across his face. "I've heard. Things."
I turned my face away, hoping to shield the flash of the fragile weakness that somehow made me feel flawed. "I'm fine, David. Really."
But he didn't buy it. "Chloe, you don't have to do this. You don't have to stay with him."
"I made a choice," I whispered. "It's complicated."
David reached for my hand, warm and comforting, but before I could say anything more, I heard the heavy footsteps behind me.
Jonathan.
I turned just in time to see him storming toward us, fury etched in every line of his face. His eyes flicked from me to David, and in one swift motion, he lunged at him.
"Jonathan, no!" I cried, but it was too late.
Jonathan's fist struck David in the jaw, sending him backward, and I gasped, stepped between them; but Jonathan took my arm in a rough grip and pulled me from David as if he was some sort of menace. The strength in his hand sent pain through me, but I bit down hard on my lip and refused to let the tears spill.
"You don't ever touch her," Jonathan growled at him, his voice low and dangerous.
David wiped the blood off his lip, glaring back at Jonathan. "She's not your property, Jonathan."
Jonathan's grasp on my arm tightened and I winced, but said nothing. What could I say? I just wanted the night to be over.
"Let's go," Jonathan muttered, pulling me in the direction of the exit.
I stumbled along behind him, my heart racing as we made our way back to the car in utter silence-the tension was so thick it suffocated. My arm pounded in his grip, and I could feel the bruise well up under my dress sleeve. I wanted to scream, cry, but couldn't let him see me break.
We finally pulled into the driveway, and I found my voice. "You didn't have to do that," I said, my voice low, staring straight ahead. "David was just—"
Jonathan cut me off, his tone cool and razor-sharp. "David had no right to take you outside like that. You're my wife."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, the weight of his words crashing down on me. "Your wife," I repeated, my voice shaking. "Is that what I am to you? Or am I just a piece of property you can parade around when it suits you?"
He glared at me, his jaw clenched. "You knew what this was, Chloe. You agreed to it."
"I signed a contract," I said, my voice shaking. "Not this."
There was silence for a moment. The chill in his eyes didn't change, but something else flashed there-anger, frustration, possibly regret. But it disappeared as fast as it had come.
"You don't understand," he growled, grabbing the door of the car and hauling it open. "Go inside. We're done talking."
I didn't move. I couldn't. My arm still throbbed from where he had clutched me, and the unshed tears behind my eyes threatened to spill. But I wouldn't give them to him. I won't give him that.
When he realized I wasn't following him, he let out a sigh, and his voice was softer now. "Chloe, go inside."
I finally turned to him, my eyes ablaze. "Don't ever touch me like that again," I whispered, not very far from breaking point. "Ever."
Jonathan's face was set once more in stone, but he didn't utter another word. He merely turned and strode away inside, leaving me alone with my silently screaming agony in the car.
I remained in the dark for a very long period of time, fighting my tears, wondering how much longer I could stand this.