Page 3 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

The reception was a show of wealth, a celebration crafted with precision and devoid of warmth. I stood at its center, a reluctant actress under glittering chandeliers, Alexander's grip on my hand holding me to a reality that was actually fiction. Smiles, champagne, congratulations—they blurred around us like scenery flying by out the window of a runaway train.

We moved through the crowd, and I tried to wear my new identity with some semblance of grace, though it rubbed at my raw nerves. Everyone looked at us with eyes full of curiosity, envy, and disbelief. Did they all know? I couldn’t shake the feeling that they all saw right through the act I’d put on.

The dance floor before us was beautifully decorated with expensive little trees in opulent pots wrapped in fairy lights. The space was magical, though my heart hurt because it was all fake.

Alexander pulled me close, his touch electric and unsettling – I felt need to escape or maybe wanting more? My whole body seemed to vibrate with the aftershocks of the ceremony and his kiss.

"You're shaking," he whispered, his voice cool and edged with something like amusement. "Relax, it's just an act."

I looked up, searching his face for clues. "You're very convincing," I said, unable to keep the tremble from my voice.

We began to dance, moving in a slow circle that felt both intimate and painfully public. The music swelled, drowning out the noise of the crowd, leaving just the two of us and the tension growing between.

As I settled into the rhythm, I scanned the room, taking in the spectacle of wealth and excess. My gaze caught on Jen, my sister, laughing with James, her charm in full, manipulative force. Even from this distance, I could see the glittering bracelet she wore, one I'd bought for myself but never had the heart to take back from her.

I stiffened in Alexander's arms, waiting for his reaction. He followed my gaze, his eyes narrowing briefly before his expression iced over again. The pressure of his hand on my waist increased, a silent reminder that nothing escaped his notice.

"That's your sister?" he asked, a thread of something dangerous in his tone.

I nodded, biting my lip. "She likes to get what she wants."

His lips twisted into a mirthless smile. "I know someone like that too."

I tensed, surprised by the venom in his words. Who’d hurt him? I tried to tell myself I didn’t care.

Before I could respond, a man in a wrinkled tux stumbled towards us, a drunken smile plastered across his face. "Congratulations, Alex!" he slurred, clapping a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "Didn't think you'd ever move on from Allison. Well done, mate."

The world paused, the music and chatter fading into an oppressive silence. I felt Alexander's grip on me tighten, a moment of raw emotion breaking through his polished facade. Anger flared in his eyes, burning so fiercely I thought it might consume us both.

"You're hurting me," I whispered, my voice small and unsure.

He blinked, the mask snapping back into place with practiced precision. "Apologies," he said curtly, releasing me as if I were something fragile and unwanted while I tried to process what had just been said. Surely it was just the drunken ramblings of some man, right? Alexander Reed didn’t love. Everything in his life is a carefully measured and calculated move, including the people.

The drunk guest wobbled away, oblivious to the damage he'd caused, leaving a trail of awkward whispers in his wake. I watched him go, his words echoing in my mind.

Alexander's mood shifted, an undertow of rage and frustration pulling at the surface calm. I didn't know how to navigate the new landscape of his emotions, didn't know if I wanted to try. Instead, I decided to take the approach I would in any other situation, any other time. “You look handsome,” I say, adjusting the flame lilies of his pocket boutonniere.

“Don’t,” he said, moving my hand, and I blinked.

“I can’t call my husband handsome?” I asked, blinking. This was going to be harder than I thought.

“Don’t touch the flower. They’re poisonous.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I swallowed so hard it hurt. “Poisonous?”

He nodded. “Every part of it. Can’t have you dying on our wedding night.”

Something in the way he said the words melted my heart a tiny bit. Until he continued.

“Suspicion of murdering my wife is not the kind of publicity I need.”

There it was. Everything was about him. How would I survive the sheer calculating, coldness of this man?

We continued to dance, a mechanical caricature of romance, and I wondered how long it would be before we both fell apart.

"You have a lot of questions," he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "I thought the contract was clear."

I met his gaze, my own defiance sparking in the face of his cold certainty. "I didn’t ask any questions," I said, each word daring him to deny the truth.

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