LILA
The next few days were an absolute blur—a chaotic whirlwind that barely gave me a second to breathe. My sister was fascinated when I told her about the contract but I just had this gut feeling that refused to go away.
One moment, I was in my tiny apartment, still battling with the insanity of agreeing to a contract marriage and still considering if I should call Mr Sinclair and call off the deal.
The next, I was being carried away in an obnoxiously black car, driven through the city like some high-profile celebrity.
My sister had told me to enjoy the moment though but it was too overwhelming for me.
By noon that day, I found myself standing in front of a registrar, pen over an official-looking document, signing away my freedom for the next three months.
Can't he just announce he had a secret bride and that would be it? But no, Mr Sinclair fed off others unease.
And just like that, I was legally Mrs. Lila Sinclair.
Arghhh!
The absurdity of it all didn't fully sink in until two days later when I was shoved into a designer wedding gown that probably cost more than my entire existence.
The wedding itself was a spectacle.
Extravagant chandeliers, silk-draped tables, a guest list filled with people I had only ever seen on magazine covers. Every inch of the venue screamed wealth, power, and perfection—the exact kind of life James Sinclair lived.
I should have been in awe. I should have been breathless at the grandeur of it all. Instead, all I could think about was the countdown.
Three months. Just three months.
Lord, let them fly by quickly. I beg you.
I barely had time to dwell on the relief that I had gotten after the wedding was over before reality decided to throw another punch at me.
My phone buzzed against the table where I had tossed it after the exhausting reception.
James Sinclair.
I exhaled sharply before snatching it up, pressing it to my ear.
"Do we really need an after-party?" My voice came out exasperated before he even had a chance to speak.
"The wedding is already convincing enough, don't you think?" A heavy sigh drifted through the receiver and I could envision him with that smug at the corner of his lips probably rubbing his forehead.
"Do you even know who you're married to, Mrs Sinclair?"
The way he said that name—so sharp, so patronizing—sent a fresh wave of irritation crawling up my spine.
"Fake or not," he continued, "it has to be believable. So don't be late."
"I'm not—" Click.
I stared at my phone in disbelief. Did he just hang up on me?
This man has a lot of guts!
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to scream into the empty dressing room.
Of course, he did.
James Sinclair didn't give people the courtesy of arguing—he simply ordered, expected obedience, and moved on
I turned to the mirror and groaned, The corset of my dress was killing me.
The black silk gown clung to my body like a second skin, cinched so tightly at the waist that every breath felt like a battle. The lace sleeves dug into my arms, and the sharp diamond necklace around my neck only added to my discomfort.
As if the elaborate, suffocating wedding dress I had endured for hours wasn't torture enough.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, counting to three before exhaling.
Three months.
Just three months.
And then I'd walk away from James Sinclair's world forever.
A soft knock echoed from the other side of the dressing room door.
"Ma'am, your ride is ready to take you to the venue of the after-party."
I let out a sigh, staring at my reflection in the mirror one last time.
Was it possible to look too perfect? Because right now, I looked like the picture-perfect billionaire's wife—flawless makeup, shimmering gown, not a single hair out of place.
But beneath the surface?
I was exhausted.
"Alright," I called back. "I'll be right out."
The moment I stepped out, a car was already waiting for me, its tinted windows reflecting the bright city lights. I slid into the back seat, buckling my seat belt as the driver pulled into the road while I tried to keep my mind focused, thanking my stars for the silence in the car.
And before I knew it, we were there.
The after-party venue was even more extravagant than the wedding.
Lord help me, I'll literally die right here.
Gold chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, casting warm light over the ballroom. Guests strodded about in glittering designer dresses like it was a fashion show, champagne glasses in hand, laughter and conversation blending into a low hum of wealth and power.
I could already tell—there wasn't much expected of me tonight.
Just sit beside him and smile at all the right people, look hopelessly smitten, and pretend that I wasn't counting the days until this farce of a marriage ended.
Simple enough.
"Everyone, the lady of the occasion is here!" The M.C announced the second I stepped inside.
I barely held back a wince as
all eyes turned to me.
With a well-practiced smile—one that barely reached my eyes—I walked forward, each step controlled, graceful, like I belonged in this world of extravagance and pretense.
And then there was him, the very one I dreaded.
James Sinclair.
He stood near the center of the room, dressed in a custom black tuxedo that probably cost more than my entire rent for a year. His dark gaze locked onto mine, intense and unwavering, and for a split second, I swore I saw something there—awe? admiration?
I nearly laughed at the thought.
James was a master at this game, and apparently, so was I. Because if I hadn't known better, I would've thought he actually looked at me like he was in love.
Good thing I did know better.
I reached him, my smile never faltering, and slid into the chair beside him.
"Hello Mrs Sinclair." He teased and I felt like getting a voodoo doll and stabbing it all over his face, while relishing the blood that would split all over.
Okay Lila, repress!
The moment I sat down, I grabbed the nearest bottle of whiskey and poured myself a generous glass.
"Your wife is a vibe!" Someone from across the table cheered as I tossed back the drink without hesitation.
James, seated dangerously close beside me, stiffened.
His jaw ticked as he glared at me, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair. Then, slowly, calmly, he leaned toward me, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
"What are you doing?" He questioned. His teeth was gritted as his face seemed like he would grab the cup from me at any moment and fling it away
I turned my head to meet his glare, my lips curving into a mockingly sweet smile.
"Drinking." I set my empty glass down with a soft clink and reached for the bottle again. "I'm not going to survive this facade without a few drinks, so me getting drunk should be the least of your problems." I raised my newly poured drink in his direction and smirked.
"Enjoy your night, husband." His eyes darkened at the name and I winked finally letting out one real, perfect smile practically amused by the expression on his face.
Oh, this was going to be fun.