Liam's POV
The first morning of married life hit me like a truck. Not because I have had a newfound emotional realization about being married but because I wake up to a burning smell from the toast, and my "wife" glaring at the toaster like it had personally insulted her.
"How do you work this thing?" Emma asked without looking at me. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and she wore a silk robe that screamed elegance despite the chaos in the kitchen.
"It's a toaster, not a quantity computer." I said, yawning.
She glared at me as if the look could freeze lava. "Do you want breakfast or not?"
I shrugged, took a piece of the least burnt toast, and leaned against the counter. Standing in a kitchen with marble countertops and appliances that looked like art rather than machines was unreal.
Two weeks ago, I was eating instant ramen in a tiny apartment. Now, I was living in the kind of place that should be on the covers of magazines.
"So, what's on the agenda today?" I asked with an attempt at nonchalance.
"We're meeting my PR team to finalize our 'backstory,'" Emma said, taking a sip of black coffee. "Then you'll need to memorize some key details about my favorite color, hobbies, things like that."
I raised an eyebrow. "You really think people are going to quiz me on your favorite color?"
"They might," she said with a shrug. "Journalists love to dig for cracks in the show. If we're not careful, this entire arrangement could blow up in our faces."
Her words were heavy with meaning I hadn't quite understood until now. It wasn't about playing house; it was about keeping up the perfect illusion for a world that watched them.
---
I had felt like a fish out of water by the time we arrived at her company's headquarters. The building was a towering glass standing stone, its glossy design mirroring Emma's personality: she's impressive, intimidating, and impossibly perfect.
We were escorted into a conference room where a team of perfectly dressed professionals waited, their laptops open and their expressions serious. Emma took charge immediately, outlining the story we'd be selling to the world.
"We were high school sweethearts who reconnected at a tech conference. After months of dating, we realized we couldn't live without each other and decided to tie the knot in a private ceremony."
"High school sweethearts?" I whispered to Emma as the team began drafting social media posts. "That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"
She didn't even bat an eyelash. "That's believable. People love a good 'rekindled love' story."
"Right," I mumbled. "Because nothing says romance like a legally attached business deal."
She ignored my sarcasm and handed me a folder full of particulars about our "relationship." Favorite restaurants, shared interests, even an embarrassing story about some fictional prom night.
"Memorize everything," she instructed. "We can't afford any mistakes."
I let out a sigh and started flipping through the pages. The whole thing seemed like studying for an exam that I hadn't signed up for.
---
The first test of our "relationship" came sooner than expected. That evening, Emma received an invitation to a charity gala hosted by one of her biggest investors. It was the kind of event where everyone wore designer outfits and talked about tax havens over champagne.
"You'll need to wear this." Emma said, handing me a tuxedo still wrapped in plastic.
"Don't I get a say in what I wear?"
"No."
An hour later, I was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting my tie and feeling completely out of place. Emma, on the other hand, looked like she'd just stepped out of a movie. Her floor-length emerald gown cling to her figure perfectly, and her hair was styled in a way that made her look both elegant and untouchable.
"You clean up well." she said, eyeing me up and down.
"Thanks, I think." I said, still trying to get my tie straight.
She let out a sigh and moved closer, her fingers expertly adjusting the knot. Her hands were surprisingly gentle, and for a short moment, I caught a glimpse of something softer beneath her usual cold exterior.
"Try not to embarrass me tonight." she said, stepping back. The moment was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
---
The gala was as overwhelming as I'd imagined. The room was filled with people who looked like they belonged in Forbes magazine, their conversations laced with slang I didn't understand.
Emma was a natural, gliding through the crowd with ease, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries like she'd been doing it her whole life. I, on the other hand, felt like a deer in headlights.
"Smile," she whispered as she looped her arm through mine. "You're supposed to look happy to be here."
I forced a smile, trying not to look too out of place.
Everything was going fine until a reporter cornered us near the champagne table.
"Dr. Carter," the woman started, a sharp, calculating smile spreading across her face. "Your sudden marriage caught everyone off guard. How did you two meet?"
I stopped, my mind racing for the rehearsed story. Emma jumped in, her voice smooth and confident.
"We met in high school," she said, giving me a warm smile that almost looked genuine. "Liam was always so kind and supportive, even back then. When we reconnected years later, it felt like fate."
The reporter turned to me, her pen poised. "And what do you admire most about your wife?"
I blinked, caught off guard. Emma's gaze burned into me, silently willing me not to mess this up.
"Uh… her determination," I said finally. "She's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and she never gives up, no matter how tough things get."
To my surprise, Emma's face softened for a moment only.
The reporter wrote something in her notebook and continued on, leaving us to ourselves.
"Not bad." Emma said softly.
"Thanks," I replied. "I really did, by the way."
She didn't say anything, but the faintest hint of a smile pulled at her lips.
---
That night, as we returned to the penthouse, I couldn't shake the feeling that this arrangement was becoming more complicated than either of us had anticipated.
Emma Carter may have been a genius, but even she couldn't predict what would happen when two completely different people were thrown together in a crucial game of make-believe.
Honestly? Neither could I.