Mason nodded his head slowly after I delivered my confident statement inside the bedroom. He did not say anything else about my clothing or my natural hair. He simply turned around and walked out of the room to wait for me in the hallway.
I followed him down the long corridor, and my black leather heels clicked steadily against the hardwood floor.
We walked past the expensive oil paintings and the tall glass windows. The morning sunlight warmed the back of my neck, but my hands still felt incredibly cold due to my nervous anxiety.
I had never spoken to a journalist in my entire life, and I knew this public performance was critical to securing the five million dollars.
We reached the grand marble foyer on the first floor. Leon was waiting near the heavy front doors. He held a black digital tablet in his hands, and he looked up when we approached him.
"There are exactly forty-five credentialed journalists waiting in the front driveway right now," Leon reported in his usual flat tone. "The security team has placed a velvet rope across the stone steps to keep them away from the physical entrance, but they are highly agitated. They want direct answers about the corporate timeline."
"We will give them five minutes of our time, and we will not answer any questions regarding the exact details of the legal contract," Mason instructed his assistant.
Mason turned his head to look at me. His dark eyes scanned my face carefully. He noticed that I was pressing my fingernails into my palms.
"You need to relax your hands, Freya," Mason told me quietly while we stood in the foyer. "The cameras will capture your tense body language, and the reporters will use that physical evidence to claim you are a terrified victim of my corporate scheming."
I looked down and realized my knuckles were completely white. I immediately flattened my hands and pushed them into the deep pockets of my white trousers. I took a slow, deep breath to calm my racing pulse. I focused on the sound of the air filling my lungs.
"I am entirely ready to face them, and I will not show any fear," I assured him confidently.
Leon grabbed the brass handles and pulled the heavy front doors open. A massive wall of loud noise instantly hit my ears. Dozens of people were shouting over each other. They were all demanding Mason's attention at the exact same time.
We stepped out onto the wide stone porch. The bright morning sun was completely overshadowed by the aggressive flashing of camera lenses. The white lights blinded me temporarily. I had to blink several times to clear my vision before I could walk down the first step.
The reporters pushed aggressively against the red velvet security rope. They held heavy black cameras and long microphones toward our faces. They completely ignored the four large security guards who were trying to maintain physical order in the driveway.
Mason moved closer to my side. He placed his large hand firmly against my lower back to guide me forward. The sudden physical contact shocked me entirely. We had established strict rules about maintaining personal distance. We had never touched each other before this exact moment.
I felt the intense heat of his palm through the thick fabric of my white blazer. My breath hitched in my throat. I looked up at his face in surprise because I did not expect his touch to feel so warm.
Mason was looking straight ahead at the crowd, but his jaw muscles were tightly clenched. He felt the unexpected physical tension between us just as strongly as I did. He did not remove his hand. His fingers actually tightened slightly against my waist to steady my posture while we stood in front of the cameras.
This forced proximity was a necessary public performance. However, it felt incredibly confusing to my physical senses. He was supposed to be my cold business partner. Yet his warm touch provided a strange sense of physical security against the aggressive crowd.
"Mr. Kingsley!" a loud male reporter shouted from the front row. He shoved a grey microphone over the velvet rope. "The board of directors announced your new executive position this morning. Did you arrange this sudden marriage simply to secure your financial inheritance before the scheduled vote?"
Mason did not hesitate before answering. He maintained his composed, arrogant posture. He spoke directly into the closest microphone with absolute authority.
"My professional position is secured by my ten years of dedication to this company, and my marriage is a private personal matter," Mason stated smoothly. "I decided to formalize my relationship with Freya because we wanted to build a life together. We did not want a massive public spectacle for our wedding ceremony. We signed the legal papers quietly to avoid this exact media circus."
"But nobody knew you were even dating anyone!" another journalist yelled from the left side of the driveway. "You attended a charity gala with your former fiancée just six months ago. When did you actually meet this woman?"
"We met several months ago, and we chose to keep our relationship entirely out of the public eye," Mason lied effortlessly while he looked directly at the journalist. "We wanted to protect our privacy from media harassment. We are revealing our union today simply to end the corporate rumors."
The reporters were clearly not satisfied with his corporate answers. They realized Mason was too experienced to make a verbal mistake. They immediately pivoted their attention to me because they viewed me as the weak link in the story.
A woman with short red hair pushed her way to the front of the rope. She held a digital voice recorder directly toward my face.
"Miss Summers, my sources confirmed that you currently work as a waitress at a cheap diner in the downtown district," the female reporter stated aggressively. "You do not possess a university degree. You have no connections to the corporate world. How did a billionaire fall in love with a woman who serves greasy food for minimum wage?"
The crowd went completely silent. They wanted to hear my response clearly. Mason tensed beside me. I felt his hand press slightly harder against my back. He was waiting to see if I would panic under the intense public pressure.
I did not panic. I spent fifty hours a week dealing with rude customers. I knew exactly how to maintain a pleasant facial expression while handling blatant disrespect.
"I am very proud of my job at the diner, because honest work is never something to be ashamed of," I answered clearly and calmly. "Mason actually visited the restaurant regularly. He was looking for a quiet place away from the stress of his corporate office. We started talking during my shifts. We quickly realized we shared a lot of common values regarding hard work."
I looked up at Mason and offered him a soft, manufactured smile. He looked back at me, and genuine surprise flickered in his dark eyes again.
"He might manage a billion-dollar empire, but he appreciates simple things just as much as I do," I continued my lie perfectly. "We bonded over quiet moments and honest conversations. He did not care about my bank account, and I did not care about his corporate titles. We simply cared about each other."
The reporters scribbled rapidly in their small notebooks. My answer was highly practical. It gave them a very convincing romantic narrative to write about for their evening articles.
I felt a strong surge of relief. I believed I had successfully survived the worst part of the public interrogation.
However, I scanned the large crowd and noticed a familiar face standing near the back of the driveway. Aiden was standing near a black luxury vehicle. He was wearing a dark grey suit. He was watching the press conference with a very malicious smile on his face.
Aiden caught my eye. He slowly lifted his right hand. He pointed his index finger toward a specific male journalist standing in the center of the crowd.
The male journalist immediately raised his hand and shoved his way to the front of the security rope. He looked directly at my face. He ignored Mason completely.
I realized Aiden had paid this man to sabotage the press conference. He wanted to trap me with an impossible question to expose the marriage contract to the public.
The journalist shouted over the crowd. "Miss Summers, if this marriage is truly based on genuine romance and not corporate strategy, can you tell us exactly what Mr. Kingsley gave you as a private wedding gift last night?"
My entire body froze. My heart dropped heavily into my stomach. I had absolutely no idea how to answer that question.
Mason had not given me a single physical gift. We had spent the entire evening sleeping in opposite wings of the massive house. If I named a random piece of jewelry, the press would demand to see it immediately. If I hesitated for too long, they would know the marriage was a complete fraud.
The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds. Every single camera lens was focused entirely on my face. Mason's hand was still resting on my back. I could feel the tense heat radiating from his skin.
I quickly looked at Mason, and then I looked back at the aggressive journalist.
"He gave me something far more valuable than a physical object. He gave me his absolute loyalty," I replied.