The next day, Emily arrived at the estate, the envelope in her hand.
- You’re a cold man, Mr. Anderson, — she said, looking him straight in the eye. — But I won’t let my mother suffer because of my pride. I accept. But let’s be clear, I am only doing this for her.
Michael gave a satisfied nod. — This will be good for both of us. Trust me.
She let out a dry, mirthless laugh.
- Trust you? That’s asking for a lot.
With the contract signed, the plan was set in motion. Michael believed everything was under his control. Emily, however, felt a turbulent mix of relief and dread. As she returned to her work in the garden, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just stepped into a world far more complicated and dangerous than she could ever imagine.
Michael watched Emily from his office window. She was the perfect piece for his game. What he didn’t know yet was that by playing with her fate, he was opening a door to changes that not even he, with all his power, could ever predict.
The ballroom of the St. Regis hotel glittered with cascading lights and buzzed with the characteristic hum of Manhattan’s elite. Every detail had been meticulously orchestrated by Michael Anderson. The decadent catering, the flawless floral arrangements, the air thick with the scent of money and power—it was all designed to impress. This evening was more than a charity gala; it was a public declaration. He was back in the game, and this time, he had a fiancée who would make everyone talk.
When Emily entered the hall on Michael’s arm, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Every head turned, and a momentary silence was quickly replaced by a flurry of whispers. She wore a simple, elegant navy-blue dress that highlighted her natural beauty but stood in stark contrast to the extravagant couture worn by the other women. Her hair was styled in a modest updo, and her posture betrayed a nervousness she was fighting hard to conceal.
- Remember, — Michael murmured in her ear as they walked, his voice a low anchor in the sea of eyes. — Just smile. I’ll handle the rest.
She offered a tight, forced smile, feeling the weight of every judgmental stare. It felt like she was being tried by a silent jury that had already reached its verdict: imposter.
Among the guests, Jessica Vance was a beacon of defiance. Her fiery red dress seemed to scream for attention, a warning that she was not to be ignored. When their eyes met across the room, a malicious smirk played on her lips, a clear signal that she was ready for a confrontation.
- Michael, darling! — Jessica cooed, gliding over with a glass of champagne in hand. Her tone was syrupy sweet, but her words were laced with venom. — What a surprise to see you looking so… refreshed.
- Jessica, — Michael replied, his voice cool. — I see you haven’t changed at all.
She laughed, a brittle sound, ignoring his jab. — And this must be your fiancée? — Jessica turned to Emily, her eyes raking over her in a dismissive, head-to-toe appraisal. — What an… interesting choice.
Emily felt a hot blush creep up her neck, but before she could respond, Michael stepped in.
- Emily is everything I could ever want in a wife. Genuine, loyal, and most importantly, real.
The comment was a dagger aimed straight at Jessica’s ego. She forced a smile, but her eyes flashed with indignation.
As the evening wore on, Emily tried to mingle, but the conversations often veered into thinly veiled questions or passive-aggressive remarks.
- So, you were a landscaper? — one woman asked, her voice dripping with condescension. Her smile was all teeth.
- Yes, — Emily replied, lifting her chin slightly. — It’s honest work that I’ve always been proud of.
Her directness caught the woman off guard, who then quickly changed the subject. Emily realized that while she felt out of place, her sincerity was, to her surprise, earning a grudging respect from a few of the guests.
From a corner of the ballroom, Michael watched it all unfold. He had expected Emily to falter, to make a misstep. Instead, he saw a woman who, despite her nerves, held herself with courage and dignity. It was unnerving in a way he couldn’t quite explain. She wasn’t just playing a part; she was starting to own it.
The tension of the evening peaked, however, when Jessica approached Michael again.
- Can I steal you for a moment? — she asked, her voice like poisoned honey.
He followed her out onto a private balcony, away from the prying eyes of the party. The moment they were alone, Jessica’s mask of civility dropped.
- So this is your new game? Stooping to this level just to hurt me?
- This has nothing to do with you, Jessica, — Michael answered, his voice dangerously calm.
- Oh, please! — she scoffed, crossing her arms. — Who do you think you’re fooling? This sham of a marriage… that girl doesn’t belong in our world, and you know it!
Michael’s eyes narrowed. — What’s really bothering you, Jessica? The fact that I’m happy, or the fact that you no longer have any power over me?
Jessica stepped closer, her eyes blazing with anger. — You can pretend all you want, Michael, but deep down, you know I’m still the only one who truly gets you.
- You’re wrong, — he said, his voice final. — And this conversation is over.
When Michael returned to the ballroom, he found Emily by the beverage table, a glass of sparkling water in her hand. She looked relieved to see him, but there was something in her eyes that made him pause.
- Are you okay? — he asked, his tone softer than intended.
- I’m holding my own, — she replied with a small, resilient smile.
He wanted to say something more, perhaps a word of encouragement, but he held back. In that moment, Michael began to realize that Emily was far from fragile, and it intrigued him in a way he wasn’t yet ready to admit. The party continued late into the night, but the seeds of change had been sown. While Emily braced herself for the difficult road ahead, Michael was beginning to understand that his perfect plan was about to get a lot more complicated. And as for Jessica, she had no intention of backing down, fanning the flames of a fire that threatened to consume them all.
Michael Anderson’s Greenwich estate was immense, a modern-day castle of glass and stone, but to Emily Carter, it felt more like a cold, oppressive labyrinth. Every perfectly lit hallway and every piece of impeccably chosen furniture was a stark reminder that this was not her home. This was her gilded cage.
Her first official day as Michael’s wife began with a heavy sense of unease. The awkwardness started at breakfast. The dining table was absurdly long, adorned with exotic fruits and gourmet dishes she couldn’t even identify.
- Good morning, Mrs. Anderson, — a stern-looking housekeeper announced, her formal tone sounding more like a warning. You will be watched. You will be judged.
Emily forced a smile, trying to mask her nerves. — Good morning.
As she sat down, she noticed the staff exchanging subtle glances. They weren’t used to seeing her in this role. To them, she was still the landscaper, someone who belonged outside, among the flowers, not at the head of the table.
Michael entered the room, dressed in a flawless business suit. He looked as confident and in control as Emily felt out of place.
- I hope you slept well, — he said, pouring himself a coffee without looking up from his phone.
- It was… different, — she replied, unsure how to describe the feeling of being surrounded by such luxury yet feeling so utterly alone.
He just nodded, his attention still glued to the screen as he typed out rapid-fire emails. To Michael, this was still a business arrangement, and Emily was an employee expected to perform her duties.
- There’s an event tonight, — he said, still not looking up. — I need you to be ready.
- An event? What kind?
- A dinner with some important investors. I need you to look poised and confident.
Emily raised an eyebrow. — And how exactly do you suggest I do that?
Michael finally looked up from his phone, as if just noticing the bite in her question. He sighed.
- Just be polite and smile.
Emily bit back a sharp retort and finished her coffee in silence.
Throughout the day, Emily tried to find some semblance of a routine in the mansion, but every attempt only reinforced her status as an outsider. The staff was professional, but there was a strained civility to their interactions, as if they were all waiting for her to make a mistake.
In the living room, a maid was dusting vases, whispering to another staff member, unaware that Emily was just around the corner.
- I don’t see how she pulled it off. Marrying him, — one said.
- It’s temporary. There’s no way he’s serious about this, — the other replied with a quiet snort of derision.
Emily felt her face flush with heat, but she walked away without a word. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard such comments since the engagement was announced, but the sting of humiliation was still raw.
When evening came, the dinner party was another trial by fire. Emily wore a dress selected by a stylist Michael had hired—something elegant and expensive that felt completely alien to her. During the event, she smiled and made polite small talk with the guests, but her discomfort was palpable. At one point, she accidentally spilled a little wine on the tablecloth. One of the investors made a snide joke, and Michael didn’t miss the opportunity to correct her.
- Be more careful, — he whispered, his voice cold.
- I’m not a perfect doll, Michael, — she whispered back, her eyes locking with his. He didn’t respond, but the tension between them thickened.
Later, when they returned to the mansion, Emily could no longer contain her frustration.
- I see now. All you want is a trophy to parade around, — she said, confronting him in the vast, silent living room. — But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I’m less than.
Michael looked at her, surprised by her fire. — That’s not it. You knew what you were signing up for with this arrangement.
- Did I? — she countered with a bitter laugh. — All you did was exploit my desperation. You don’t care who I am, as long as I serve your purpose.
- And what’s wrong with that? — he snapped, his voice rising. — You knew the terms. Why is this bothering you now?
- Because I’m not like you, Michael, — Emily said, stepping closer. — I have feelings. And if you can’t see people as anything more than assets to be managed, then you’re the one who’s losing, not them.
Her words hung in the air, charged with raw emotion. Michael was silent, his jaw clenched. For the first time, he didn’t have a comeback.
Emily turned and walked to her room, leaving him alone in the cavernous living room. He sank onto a sofa, his thoughts in turmoil. The truth was, she was right, but he had no idea how to deal with that realization. She was more than just a piece in his game, and the thought that she could challenge him was both infuriating and, to his own surprise, utterly captivating.
That night, they slept in separate wings of the mansion, but the chasm between them felt too vast to ignore. The battle lines had been drawn, and neither of them was prepared to surrender.