Three days before the wedding, Alex Conner took me to a private museum.
Not dinner.
Not coffee.
Not anything resembling an actual date.
A museum—closed to the public, guarded by men who looked like they'd never appreciated art in their lives.
"This is your idea of bonding?" I asked, heels echoing against marble floors as we stepped inside.
"You're the one who said you didn't want small talk," he replied easily. "This avoids it."
I glanced at him sideways. Tailored suit. Relaxed posture. That infuriating air of someone who never doubted he belonged anywhere he stood.
"Ummm no, I said I didn't want forced conversation," I corrected. "This still counts."
He smirked. "You're here anyway."
Unfortunately.
The museum was stunning—ancient sculptures, rare paintings, artifacts locked behind glass like secrets meant to be admired but never touched. It was quiet in a way that felt deliberate, controlled.
I loved art and I've learnt that he did too but this was not me this was very….HIM.
We walked side by side, not close enough to be intimate, not far enough to pretend we weren't together. A perfect visual for what this was: a performance in rehearsal.
"You don't look impressed," he said after a moment.
"I am, this feels a little bit too much." I replied. "But heck I'm not surprised. Men like you enjoy this."
His eyebrow lifted. "Men like me?"
"Powerful men," I clarified sweetly. "Art like this. Women. Influence."
He laughed—low, amused. "And women like you assume the worst."
"I assume patterns," I said. "They're usually accurate. Especially when someone like you is involved."
We stopped in front of a massive oil painting—an old ruler seated on a throne, expression stern, a woman standing behind him with her hands folded, eyes lowered.
I stared at it longer than I meant to.
"That," Alex said casually, "is what people expect us to look like."
I turned to him. "Is that what you expect us to look like?"
He didn't answer immediately. He never did anything immediately—it was all measured, deliberate.
"I expect discretion," he said finally. "Poise. Loyalty to the image. You'll have freedom, Hera—but there are boundaries."
There it was. The fine print.
"So," I said slowly, "I smile when required, stay quiet when necessary, look pretty beside you while you do whatever you want."
"That's not what I said."
"It's exactly what you implied."
He crossed his arms. "You won't need to work as hard. You won't need to fight so much. You'll have protection."
I laughed—sharp, humorless. "Of course,you sound just like my father."
That caught his attention.
"My mother," I continued, "has protection too. She also hasn't had a real opinion in twenty-five years."
He frowned. "I'm not asking you to disappear."
"No," I snapped, stepping closer. "Damnit you're asking me to shrink. To fit beside you without taking up space."
"That's not—"
"I will never be her," I cut in. My voice didn't shake, even though something tight coiled in my chest. "I will never sit quietly while my husband decides what I'm allowed to be."
Images flashed through my mind—my mother nodding silently, hands folded, eyes lowered. Always agreeable. Always invisible.
I refused to live like that. I am nothing like that.
Alex studied me, really studied me, like I'd just shattered a convenient assumption.
"You're aggressive," he said slowly.
"And you're arrogant," I shot back. "Looks like we're evenly matched."
A beat passed.
Then he smiled—not charming this time. Honest. Dangerous.
"This marriage will be hell," he said.
"Agreed."
"Good," he added. "Because I don't want a wife who clings."
"And I don't want a husband who cages."
We stood there, surrounded by relics of power and history, both of us breathing a little harder than before.
"So," he said at last, stepping back, "It seems this marriage will be more difficult than intended." He stares at me as he continues. "Seems like we actually dislike each other now."
I nodded. "Passionately."
"And this is business."
"Strictly."
He extended his hand—not romantic, not warm. A contract in human form.
"We stay out of each other's way," he said. "Public unity. Private distance."
I took his hand, grip firm. "No interference. No expectations."
His eyes gleamed. "Deal."
As we walked out of the museum, I felt lighter than I had in days.
This wouldn't be love.
It wouldn't be comfort.
But it wouldn't be a cage either.
And for now—that was enough.
———-
By the time I got back to my penthouse, my heels were in my hand and my patience was hanging by a thread.
The elevator doors slid open to soft lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the familiar scent of vanilla and citrus—home. The kind of home I paid for myself. The kind no one could summon me out of with a single text.
"Finally," a voice called from the couch. "I was starting to think he kidnapped you."
I smiled despite myself. "Seriously girl why is it your first thought is to think I got kidnapped."
Mira grinned, legs tucked beneath her as she lounged like she owned the place. She had a glass of wine in one hand and my spare robe draped over her shoulders. Of course.
"You're late," she said. "Which means it was either terrible… or interesting."
"Both," I replied, tossing my bag aside and collapsing next to her. "Definitely both."
She leaned forward instantly. "Tell. Me. Everything."
I groaned. "Private museum. Closed off. Guarded like a war zone."
Her eyes widened. "Okay but that's hot."
"Oh please, It's intimidating," I corrected. "And deeply on brand."
"So?" she pressed. "What's he like?"
I hesitated, replaying the afternoon—the way he spoke, the way he listened, the way he assumed.
"He's a bastard, annoying," I said first. "Confident to a fault. Likes control way too much."
"And?" she prompted knowingly.
"And… sharp," I admitted. "Not stupid. Dangerous in the way men who've never been told no usually are."
"Sounds challenging."
"No, it sounds like hell." I say.
Mira hummed. "You like dangerous men but apparently you hate him?"
"Yes, I do."
"Do you hate him?"
I shot her a look. "Don't start."
She laughed. "I'm just saying—museum dates don't scream 'I don't care.'"
"It wasn't a date," I insisted. "It was a negotiation in disguise. He basically implied he expects a trophy wife."
Her smile vanished. "Oh, well that's dumb."
"Oh," I echoed. "Exactly."
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I told him I'd never be like my mother. Ever."
Mira's voice softened. "What did he say?"
"He didn't deny it," I admitted. "But he didn't push either. We agreed we hate each other and will stay out of each other's way."
She blinked. "That's… healthy? I think?"
I laughed quietly. "It's survival, that's enough for now."
She refilled our glasses. "Okay let's put that to the side. Let's talk about the freaking wedding before I spiral."
I groaned again. "Do we really have to?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "Because you're getting married in three days, and whether this is business or not, you're still walking down an aisle."
She pulled out her phone, already scrolling. "Dress?"
"I picked one," I said. "Simple. Elegant. Nothing dramatic."
She scoffed. "You're a liar. It's dramatic."
"Fine," I smiled. "It's actually insanely dramatic, custom made designer dress."
"A ball gown with insane detains and instead of a veil, I went with a cape, also insanely detailed and it covers half my face perfectly too."
"This might be arranged, but I'll sure as hell make the most out of it, it's still my big day."
"Good," she said, her expression mirroring insane excitement . "You'd hate if it wasn't to your taste."
We talked flowers, seating charts, guest lists filled with names that meant power rather than affection. We joked about mafia guests judging centerpieces and my parents micromanaging everything.
"And Alex?" she asked casually. "What's he wearing?"
"Black," I said dryly. "Probably expensive. Probably smug."
She laughed. "You're doomed."
I looked around my penthouse—the art I chose, the life I built, the freedom I fought for.
"Maybe," I said softly. "But I won't disappear. I won't be trapped. Not like my mother."
Mira reached for my hand. "Then don't be."
Outside, the city glittered endlessly—alive, defiant, unowned.
For the first time since this arrangement began, I believed I might survive it.
Even if the man I was marrying would be one of my greatest obstacle.