Chapter 3: Happy Wife, Happy Life
The sun seeped through the curtains way too bright for my tired eyes
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.
Maybe if I don’t open them none of this will be real.
"You’re awake."
A deep calm voice sounded across the room.
My eyes flew open.
And there he was.
Caspian Morrow. CEO of Nastla Entertainment. The most powerful man in the modeling industry. Sitting in an armchair across from the bed, holding a cup of coffee, one ankle crossed over his knee, watching me with those forest green eyes like I was mildly interesting television.
Oh no.
Oh absolutely no.
I sat up so fast the room tilted sideways. I grabbed the sheet against my chest and looked around wildly. Floor to ceiling windows. City sprawled forty floors below us. A hotel room that probably should be featured in a magazine and cost more than what I earn from Liam
"I —" I stopped. Started again. "We —"
"Yes," he said.
Just that. Yes.
I stared at him. "You don’t know what I was going to say."
"You were going to ask if we slept together." He took a calm sip of his coffee. "We did and you should not take alcohol if your tolerance is low."
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Okay then.
I pressed my fingers against my temples and took a very careful breath. "I don’t — I want you to know that I don’t do this. Ever. This is not —this is not something I do."
"I know," he said simply.
"You don’t know that. You don’t know me."
"You cried," he said. "In the middle of everything you cried and then apologized for crying." His eyes didn’t leave mine. "Women who do this regularly don’t apologize for crying."
I felt heat crawl up the back of my neck.
I apologized for crying. Of course I did. Valerie you are an entire embarrassment.
"Okay," I said stiffly. "Fine. So we.. yes. And now it’s morning and I should —" I looked around for my clothes and spotted my dress folded neatly over the back of a chair. Of course it was folded neatly. This man probably folded everything neatly, like he folded me last night. "I should go."
"There’s coffee," he said.
"I don’t need coffee I need to —"
"And I looked you up last night."
I stopped.
Slowly I turned back to look at him. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t changed expression. Just sat there with his coffee like he hadn’t just said something that made my stomach drop straight through the floor.
"You did what?"
"I recognized you when you walked into me last night," he said. "It took me a moment to place you but I got there." He set his cup down. "Valerie Sinclair. Twenty six. Signed to Prestige Model Management under Liam Carter’s representation five years ago. Except you haven’t worked a single job under your own name since you signed." His eyes were steady, precise, like he was reading from a file. "Every booking, every campaign, every editorial. All credited to Amara Chen."
The room felt very quiet suddenly.
"That’s —" I swallowed. "That’s a complicated arrangement."
"Is that what you’re calling it."
It wasn’t a question. The way he said it, flat and even, made me feel about two inches tall.
"It’s not —" I stopped. Tried again. "It’s not as simple as it looks from the outside."
"You’re doing her job," he said. "She’s taking your credit. He’s taking your money. And you’ve been calling that love for five years."
I said nothing.
Because what exactly was I supposed to say to that.
He watched me for a moment then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I made you an offer last night."
"I remember."
"Tell me what you remember."
I crossed my arms. "Six months. I become your wife. You get me out of my current situation and build my career under my own name."
"That’s correct."
"And what do you get out of it."
Something shifted in his expression. Just slightly. "I have my reasons."
"That’s not an answer."
"No," he agreed. "It’s not."
I stared at him. He stared back. Completely unmoved, completely unreadable, like a wall that had decided to become a person and was very good at it.
Infuriating.
"You’re serious about this," I said.
"I don’t say things I don’t mean."
"You don’t even know me."
"I know enough."
"From looking me up on the internet at —" I glanced at the window, at the angle of the sun. "What time did you even —"
"Two in the morning."
"You looked me up at two in the morning."
"I don’t sleep much."
I laughed before I could stop myself. It came out slightly unhinged around the edges which felt about right for the situation. "This is insane," I said. "You know that right. This is completely insane."
"Probably," he said. And then, so quietly I almost missed it. "But you deserve to have your name on your own work Valerie."
The laughter died in my throat.
I looked at him. At the complete absence of pity on his face. He wasn’t offering charity. He wasn’t looking at me like I was broken. He was looking at me like I was something that had been placed in the wrong category and he was simply correcting a filing error.
I didn’t know why that made my chest ache the way it did.
"Okay," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. Just barely. "Okay?"
"Yes Caspian." I held his gaze. "Let’s get married."
He looked at me for one long moment. Then he stood up, straightened his shirt and said "My assistant will have clothes sent up for you. We leave in forty minutes."
Just like that. I was getting married in forty minutes.
...
The Marriage registration was easier and faster than I expected, it is surprising how quick you can get things done when you have money and influence.
I picked up the certificate from the table
Valerie Sinclair and Caspian Morrow.
I stared at it.
"Regrets?" he asked from beside me. His voice was neutral but I had the distinct feeling he was watching me very carefully.
"Give me a minute," I said.
"Take two."
I looked up at him. He was already looking away, buttoning his jacket, completely composed. Like he got married in government offices on random Tuesday mornings all the time.
"Does anything rattle you?" I asked.
He glanced at me. "Not usually."
"Must be nice."
"It has its disadvantages," he said, and started walking toward the door.
I followed him, certificate in hand, trying to figure out if that was the most human thing he had said to me yet.
I decided it probably was.
We were almost at the car when my phone rang.
I looked down at the screen.
Liam calling.
My feet stopped moving on their own.
Caspian stopped beside me. He looked at the screen. Then he looked at me. He didn’t say a word.
I answered.
"Valerie." Liam’s voice was clipped, businesslike, "Amara has a conflict tomorrow morning. Vogue shoot, six am. You know her angles, you know the brief. Be there. Don’t be late."
No hello. No how are you. No please.
five years and not even a please.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I’ll handle it."
The line went dead before I finished the sentence.
I lowered the phone slowly.
When I looked up Caspian was watching me with an expression I couldn’t fully read. Not pity. Not judgment. Something quieter than both.
"Are you going to keep doing that," he said.
"One last time," I said. "I need to go back. I need to understand exactly what I’m walking away from so that when I’m done with them —" I met his eyes. "There is nothing left standing."
"You’re sure," he said.
"I’m your wife now." I straightened my shoulders and held his gaze. "I know what I got into. I will handle it."
He looked at me for a long moment. The city moved around us, taxis and people and noise, and Caspian Morrow stood completely still in the middle of all of it and looked at me like he was making a decision about something.
"Okay," he said finally. "I trust you."
He opened the car door and waited.
I slid in and stared straight ahead as he closed it behind me. A moment later he was in the seat beside me, already on his phone again, already three steps ahead of whatever came next.
I looked down at the marriage certificate still in my lap.
Valerie Sinclair and Caspian Morrow.
From here, I thought, everything changes and my revenge starts now.
