Chapter 5 PRICE TAG ON MY SOUL
POV SYLVIE
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about being "engaged" to a billionaire in the last twenty-four hours, it’s that they don’t just buy things. They buy people. And right now, I felt like a very shiny, very irritated piece of merchandise sitting in the back of Nathaniel’s SUV.
We were parked in front of Vance & Sterling, an atelier so exclusive you practically needed a blood test and a background check just to look at the windows.
"I’m not going in there, Nathaniel," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I was still wearing my faded university hoodie and jeans that had a tiny bleach stain on the knee. I looked like a stray cat that had accidentally wandered into a country club.
Nathaniel didn't even look up from his phone. "You have a press conference with the University Board in four hours, Sylvie. You can’t exactly show up looking like you’ve spent the morning digging through a thrift store bin. People need to believe you’re a future Cavill. And Cavills don't wear… whatever that is."
"This is my favorite hoodie. It’s comfortable, it’s clean, and unlike your soul, it’s actually warm."
He finally looked at me, his grey eyes sweeping over me with a clinical coldness that made my skin prickle. "Get out of the car, Belrose. Don't make me drag you. It would be terrible for the 'loving couple' narrative we’re trying to sell."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to open the door, run back to my dorm, and forget this whole mess. But then I remembered the twelve dollars. The image of the tire shop back home. I stepped out of the car, my heels hitting the pavement with a sharp, angry click.
The inside of the shop was silent, smelling of expensive silk and judgment. A woman in a suit that cost more than my life approached us, her eyes instantly landing on my bleach-stained jeans.
"Mr. Cavill," she purred, ignoring me completely. "We’ve been expecting you."
"She needs something for the press conference," Nathaniel said, waving a hand toward me as if I were a mannequin. "Something that says 'brilliant law student' but also 'too rich to care what you think'. And get rid of the hoodie. Burn it if you have to."
"Hey!" I snapped, but the woman was already ushering me toward a dressing room the size of my entire apartment.
For the next hour, I was draped in fabrics I couldn't name and colors that made my eyes look brighter than they had any right to be. Every time I stepped out, Nathaniel would just shake his head.
"Too much lace." "Too short." "Makes her look like a secretary."
I was about to lose it. My patience was a thin thread, and he was dancing on it with his Italian leather loafers. Finally, the woman brought out a dress that was a deep, midnight emerald. It was simple, sleeveless, with a high neck and a fit that felt like a second skin.
When I stepped out this time, the silence was different.
Nathaniel stopped scrolling. His phone almost slipped from his fingers. He looked at me, and for the first time since we’d started this game, the arrogance was gone. He looked… stunned.
"That one," he said, his voice a bit lower, a bit rougher.
"I hate it," I lied, even though the silk felt like a dream against my skin. "It’s too green. I look like a very expensive blade of grass."
Nathaniel stood up and walked toward me. He didn't stop until he was inches away. I could see the tiny flecks of silver in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking too hard. He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric at my waist.
"You look like a Cavill," he whispered.
"Is that a compliment or a threat?"
"In your case, it’s a warning." He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Don't let the dress fool you, Sylvie. You’re still the girl with the twelve-dollar bank account. Don't start thinking this is real."
I felt the sting of his words before I felt the anger. I stepped back, my heart doing a painful thud. "Trust me, Nathaniel. I haven't forgotten for a second that this is a nightmare. I’m just waiting for the alarm to go off so I can stop looking at your face."
"Good," he said, the mask of ice sliding back into place. "Keep that fire for the reporters. They’ll love the 'feisty fiancée' angle."
We left the shop with three bags I wasn't allowed to carry and a tension that made the air in the car feel like a vacuum. But as we pulled up to the university's Great Hall, I saw the crowd. There were cameras everywhere. Microphones. Students whispering and pointing.
"Wait," I said, my hand trembling on the door handle. "I’m not ready for this."
Nathaniel reached over, his hand covering mine. It was the first time he’d touched me without a camera watching, and it wasn't a claim. It was… steady.
"Look at me, Sylvie," he commanded.
I looked.
"You’re the smartest person in this entire school. You’ve outranked me in every exam for three years. Those people out there? They aren't your peers. They’re the audience. You’re going to walk in there, you’re going to tell them that those photos were a pathetic attempt to smear a Cavill, and you’re going to make them believe it. Because if you don't, we both lose. Do you understand?"
I swallowed hard, the fear slowly being replaced by that familiar, jagged spark of spite. He was right. I was a Belrose. We didn't break; we just got sharper.
"I understand," I said, my voice cold.
"Good. Now, put on the ring."
I pulled the velvet box from my bag. The diamond was so big it looked fake, like something from a costume shop. I slid it onto my finger, the weight of it a constant reminder of the cage I’d stepped into.
Nathaniel stepped out of the car, walked around to my side, and opened the door. The moment he did, the flashes started. Pop. Pop. Pop. It was blinding.
He reached for my hand, interlacing our fingers. His grip was firm, and for a split second, I leaned into him. He felt like a rock in the middle of a storm.
"Smile, Belrose," he whispered under the roar of the crowd. "It’s showtime."
As we walked up the stairs, someone from the student newspaper yelled out, "Sylvie! Is it true you’re only with him for the money to save your scholarship?"
I stopped. I felt Nathaniel tense beside me, his fingers tightening on mine. I knew he expected me to stay quiet, to let him handle the PR. But that wasn't me.
I turned toward the reporter, a sharp, cold smile cutting across my face.
"I’m with him because I’m the only person in this room who can handle him," I said, my voice carrying over the crowd. "And as for the money? Nathaniel is the one lucky to be with me. I’m the one with the 4.0 GPA. He’s just the guy who finally realized he couldn't beat me, so he decided to join me."
The silence that followed was glorious. Nathaniel let out a short, surprised huff of laughter—a real one this time—and pulled me closer as the doors to the hall swung open.
Inside, the board was waiting. My future was on the line. And for the first time, I didn't feel like a victim. I felt like a weapon.
"Not bad, fiancée," Nathaniel murmured as we took our seats at the long oak table. "But try not to sound too much like you’re the boss. I have an ego to maintain."
"Your ego can handle it, Cavill," I whispered back, looking at the Dean who had tried to expel me. "Now, let’s go ruin some lives."