For what this was—a legal transaction clothed under the thin veil of matrimony—the courtroom was chilly, impersonal, and very appropriate. No flowers, no visitors, no whispered promises of eternity. Just a clean chamber, a stern judge, and the clear weight of finality.
I stood stiffly behind Noah, our hands linked loosely as required by convention, yet there was nothing loving about the contact. Like shaking hands on a business transaction, his hold was strong yet detached.
Do you, Noah Blackwood, consider Isla Harper to be your legally married wife? «
His answer was distant, quick and consistent. Indeed.
I made myself look the judge in the eye, without flinching beneath the weight of what was ahead.
And do you, Isla Harper, choose Noah Blackwood? "
Every phrase tightened a noose around my chest, and the words seemed to go on forever. My lips opened, the response flitting on the brink of quiet. Said another way. You have advanced this far.
"I do..."
The judge nodded in professional apathetic manner. "You are now husband and wife by the power vested in me.".
The words hit with the same cohesiveness of a death sentence. Noah's lawyer, Jonathan Greaves, walked up with a chilly, congratulating attitude before I could really understand what had just transpired.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood. He sent a last legal formality—a document for our signatures."
As I signed, the ink dried as quickly as my destiny was sealed, numbing my fingertips. Noah's signature came next, strong and aggressive, as if he were signing yet another big deal.
Noah remarked sharply, slipping the signed documents into his briefcase: "We're done here." Not a last gaze, not a shared moment—just another transaction finished.
Hoping for anything, I remained frozen for a pulse. A sliver of awareness, a flutter of humanity—but nothing.
He turned towards me before I could focus on the pain in my chest: "We have twenty minutes until the vehicle shows here. Arrange your hair.
His voice was low, impersonal, efficiently cutting me down.
" Excuse me? "My voice strayed between incredulity and outrage.
He waved vaguely at my face. You look... dishevelled.
Anger blazed, hot and instantaneous. Maybe since I signed my life away.
His face stayed still. "We decided on appearances. You have to get accustomed to it.
I thought about going out for a single second, but where would I go? Back to a failing company, letters of eviction, and unpaid bills? Not at all
I corrected my stance and defiantly met his cold look. "If we're going to sell this marriage, you might want to work on your civility."
His lips twitched slightly. "Notes."
The courtroom stairs were a gauntlet of interested bystanders, whispering reporters, and flashing cameras. News of our nuptials had already leaked—clearly controlled by Noah's PR crew.
He extended his arm, a measured, required motion. I paused for a pulse then rested my palm on his sleeve; the cloth of his custom-tailored suit felt good under my fingers.
"Smile," he said softly and underlined under his breath. As you intend it.
Though every part of me shouted to escape, I plastered on the practiced grin I had aside for challenging customers. The cameras clicked wildly, catching every deliberate motion.
Forward, a fearless reporter pushed forward "Mr. Blackwood!! Two of you have been seeing for how long? ("")
"Not long," Noah said with certain tone. " When you know, you know."
The audience muttered in agreement, consuming the falsehood with great eagerness. I fought against the want to roll my eyes. He is quite skilled at this.
"Is this a business arrangement?" another reporter shouted. "
Noah's fingers tightened gently around mine, a quiet warning before I could respond.
"We are quite much in love," he said, his voice soft but detached. Although our relationship is confidential, we couldn't wait any more.
His performance was perfect—every word he learned exact. I pushed my rigid grin broader, silently pledging to match his passion. He was mistaken if he believed I would be a quiet participant in this warped game.
The tension surged between us like a live wire as we were inside the confines of the black town vehicle. I wrenched my hand away, detesting the consistency of his hold under close inspection.
"Very greatly in love?" A little theatrical, don't you find? I shot.
He changed his cufflinks, not bothered at all. A fairy tale is loved by the press. You should keep in mind that.
I snorted and crossed my arms. And when they discover this fairy tale is a hoax?''
"They won't." His eyes narrowed steel-gray and mercilessly. Not if we both do our jobs.
I detested his easy assumption of authority, as if he could govern reality itself. Actually, however, the truth was indisputable. I had opted for this. I had agreed to the contract. I had tied him in marriage.
A few hours later, we went back to Noah's penthouse—my new house—though it seemed more like a museum of riches and remoteness.
Noah said, pushing open the door to a sleek, minimalist bedroom with chilly steel accents, "This is your room." You will find everything you need here.
His voice was pleasant but detached, transactional, much like every contact we had.
"Separate spaces. Of course, I said silently.
His face stayed still. We are partners rather than lovers.
Stung more than I imagined are the words. Not because I wanted anything different but rather because hearing them spoken out made this arrangement realistic.
"I suggest you settle in quickly," he said. "Our calendar is stuffed."
Stiffly nodding to control the tightness in my throat, Turning, he vanished down the corridor, leaving the huge, lifeless apartment alone.
I shakily breathed, dragging the swelling emotional tidal back down. You go with this. You are qualified to manage it.
But I couldn't get rid of the persistent question running in my head as I gazed out at the beautiful city skyline through the huge windows:
Into what have I been involved?
light footfall from the corridor reverberated behind me, stopping just out of view. watching. Pining for waiting The air stopped as if the penthouse itself were breathing.
Was this the point of no return or the starting point?