Chapter 6ty 3

Chapter 6ty 3


I didn’t sleep well that night.

Even though Hector had agreed to the wedding and everything was moving forward, there was a tightness in my chest I couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just about the fake wedding or my father's health anymore. It was the weight of pretending, the way silence now wrapped itself around Dominic and me like a second skin. We barely spoke unless necessary, and every word felt rehearsed, calculated.

The morning after the dinner, I woke early. The sky was still dim with dawn and the air was cool. I sat on the edge of the bed in my room, staring at the wardrobe in front of me as if it held all the answers. I wasn’t a girl who dreamed of weddings. And if I ever did, this wasn’t it. But I couldn’t dwell on that now.

I had too much to do.

By 9 a.m., the penthouse was filled with activity. The wedding planner, a sharp-eyed woman named Melody, arrived in a flurry of perfume and fabric samples. Dominic wasn’t around, of course. He had left earlier for a board meeting. Probably grateful to escape.

“So,” Melody said, setting her purse down and pulling out a silver clipboard, “we have five days until the wedding. That gives us two days to finalize design and vendors, two days for dress fittings and rehearsals, and one day to breathe.”

I blinked. “That’s…tight.”

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” she smirked, then clapped her hands. “Let’s get started.”

I was pulled into a whirlwind of decisions. Cake tastings, floral arrangements, seat layouts, themes. Everything had to be elegant, tasteful, and most importantly—convincing. Because the guests weren’t just guests. They were Hector’s allies, business associates, powerful alphas from all over. People who knew Dominic. People who knew Victoria Mayhem.

And none of them could suspect this was anything but a love match.

Around noon, Dominic returned. I heard the elevator doors chime and footsteps approach. I was seated in the living room, flipping through a thick album of wedding gowns with Melody when he walked in. His tie was loosened, his jacket slung over one arm. He looked…tired. But still composed in that frustrating way of his.

“You’re back,” I said, more to acknowledge his presence than anything else.

He gave a curt nod. “Meeting ran late.”

Melody stood, all grace and smiles. “Dominic, darling. Just in time! We’re choosing color themes.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, then at the open books in front of us. “What did you go with?”

I hesitated, then said, “Ivory and emerald.”

He nodded again. “That works.”

That was it. No compliments. No playful banter. Just business.

By mid-afternoon, I had a headache. The scent of flowers, the constant decision-making, the tension—it all built up in my head like pressure in a pipe. I excused myself and stepped out onto the balcony, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

I stared out at the city, the traffic far below, the skyline stretching endlessly. Somewhere out there, my real life waited for me. A quiet one, without contracts, or pretend fiancés, or judgmental alpha fathers. Somewhere, I didn’t have to constantly watch my words.

A soft knock behind me.

I turned to see Dominic standing at the doorway.

“I won’t stay long,” he said. “Just wanted to ask—are you okay with the guest list?”

I blinked, thrown off. “You’re asking me?”

He shrugged. “You’re the bride.”

A pause. Then, quietly, I said, “The fake bride.”

His jaw tightened. “Doesn’t change that it’s your day too.”

I looked away, unsure of what to say. When I glanced back, he was gone.

Later that evening, we were scheduled for a quick photo shoot. Pre-wedding shots, for the press. Images to be posted to reinforce the idea that Dominic and I were head over heels in love. I was dressed in a soft white dress, nothing too elaborate, and he was in a crisp button-down with the sleeves rolled up.

We stood side by side in front of the penthouse windows. The photographer gave instructions.

“Smile a little, Eva.”

I tried.

“Look at him like you adore him.”

That was harder.

Dominic leaned slightly closer, as if sensing my discomfort. “Just pretend I’m your favorite movie star,” he whispered.

I let out a quiet laugh—my first real one in days—and it made the photo click perfect.

The shoot ended quickly. Dominic left the room as soon as the photographer packed up. I stayed behind, staring at one of the shots displayed on the screen. We looked good together. Too good. It made the lie feel sharper.

The next day was dress fitting day. Melody arranged for two designers to bring options to the penthouse. Layers of satin and lace were laid out, and I stood in front of the mirror in silence while they adjusted the bodice and clipped the waist.

As I looked at myself, something shifted in my chest. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for this dress. It was a costume. A tool. But it was also the most beautiful thing I’d ever worn.

“Do you like it?” Melody asked, peering over her glasses.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do.”

She smiled. “Good. Because you’ll be in it for hours on end.”

When I stepped out of the room, Dominic was walking past, talking on the phone. He stopped mid-sentence when he saw me, eyes flicking up and down quickly. I saw the briefest flicker of something—surprise? Approval?—before his face went blank again.

He turned back to his call. “I’ll call you back,” he said, and hung up.

“You’re ready early,” he said to me, walking toward the kitchen.

“They’re efficient,” I replied.

We didn’t talk further. He poured himself a drink, sipped it, then walked off again.

I was beginning to understand the real challenge in all this wasn’t the wedding planning. It