Alyssa York POV:

The date flickered in my mind, a ghost from the past that always managed to haunt me. October 26th. It was my birthday. Not that anyone in the Cole family remembered, or cared. Especially not Dayton. It had been three years since he' d forgotten, the same year he' d left me waiting alone at our anniversary dinner to rush to Kristin. The car crash, the scar on my wrist, the emotional wreckage-it all converged on this day. It was a painful echo of a love that had died a slow, agonizing death.

I remembered the year before the accident, my last happy birthday with Dayton. He' d surprised me with a weekend getaway to a secluded cabin, just the two of us. He' d cooked, poorly but with genuine effort, and we' d spent the night talking, truly talking, about our dreams for the future. He' d looked at me that night with an unguarded tenderness that had made my heart swell. He' d even written me a small, silly poem, tucked into a hand-carved wooden box. It was the only tangible proof of a time when I believed he might actually grow to love me. That box was now buried deep in a storage unit, a relic of a shattered fantasy.

And now, he wasn' t just forgetting my birthday; he was actively choosing Kristin. It was a betrayal that felt sharper, even after all this time, because it chipped away at the last vestiges of dignity I clung to.

I felt a surge of cold fury, mixed with an aching sadness, washing over me. It was a vicious cycle of remembering what I once had, realizing what I' d lost, and confronting the bitter truth of what I was left with.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaked open. Dayton walked in, towel around his waist, dripping water onto the polished floor. He moved with a languid grace, his body toned and lean. He glanced around, his eyes searching. "Have you seen my dark blue tie? The one with the subtle silver stripe?"

My breath hitched. That was his favorite tie, the one I had picked out for him years ago, the one he wore for important meetings, and sometimes, for our rare, private dinners. I knew exactly where it was. It was always in the third drawer of his dresser, tucked beneath his crisp white shirts. It was a small, intimate detail, one of the many I still knew about him, even though I wished I didn't.

A pang of bittersweet memory pierced through me. I used to lay out his clothes, iron his shirts, fuss over his ties. It was a silent act of devotion, a way to show my love when words failed. He used to let me, sometimes even with a small, appreciative smile. Now, that familiarity felt like a wound.

"Third drawer," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Under the white shirts."

He paused, then pulled open the drawer, finding it instantly. "Right," he muttered, as if surprised. He turned, his eyes briefly meeting mine. "You're still here? I thought you'd be off to your... temporary sanctuary by now." His tone was dismissive, almost challenging.

"I have a meeting this morning," I explained, my voice tight. "And I wanted to discuss Donavon's proposal again. He truly believes Project Phoenix is viable, and it would greatly benefit the York side of the merger."

Dayton, now fully dressed, his dark suit immaculate, scoffed. "Donavon's 'proposals' are always viable in his own head. The man has a knack for grand ideas and disastrous execution. I told you, Alyssa, I'm not interested in sinking Cole capital into another one of his vanity projects." He adjusted his tie, his gaze hard.

"It's not a vanity project, Dayton," I countered, a flicker of irritation in my voice. "It's a genuine opportunity. And it' s important to my family. To the merger."

He turned fully to face me, his hands going into his pockets. "And what's important to my family, Alyssa, is that I don't waste resources on ventures that have a 90% chance of failing, just to appease your cousin. Our family's reputation is built on sound investments, not charity." He paused, a cruel glint entering his eyes. "Unless, of course, there's something else you can offer."

My jaw clenched. My heart pounded with a mix of fury and devastation. He was suggesting I use my marital status, my body even, to influence his decision. The implication was clear, and it was a direct hit to my already bruised dignity. A stinging heat rose in my cheeks. He truly saw me as nothing more than a tool, a means to an end, a public accessory. My entire being vibrated with a desperate urge to scream, to lash out, but years of practiced restraint held me captive.

"Dayton," I said, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts, "this isn't about... personal favors. It's about a sound business decision that could benefit us both."

He smirked, a cold, sardonic twist of his lips. "Is it? Or is it about protecting your family's image, ensuring your cousin gets a leg up, while I fund it? I see the bigger picture, Alyssa. And right now, Donavon's project isn't it." He paused, then tilted his head, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Unless... you want to sweeten the deal. I could be persuaded to look into it, for the sake of 'marital harmony' of course. But it would require a certain... level of cooperation from you. Not just publicly, but in private."

The suggestion hung in the air, thick and suffocating. He was openly implying a transaction. My body stiffened, a silent scream trapped in my throat. The pain was so sharp, so sudden, it almost took my breath away. He was using our supposed reconciliation, the very thing I had agreed to for the sake of our families, as leverage against me. It was a fresh betrayal, colder and more calculated than any before.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the words tasting like ash.

He smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just a few more evenings of... shared space. Here. At the mansion. As the devoted couple. To truly sell the illusion. If you can manage that, I'll consider Donavon's project. A small price to pay for your family's advancement, wouldn't you say?"

I stared at him, my mind reeling. To share a bed with him? To pretend intimacy when my heart was screaming in protest? It was a cruel demand. But Donavon, my family... I was trapped. "Fine," I bit out, the word tasting like defeat. "I'll do it."

He nodded, a flicker of something triumphant in his eyes. "Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting." He turned, heading for the door.

I took a step, a sudden dizziness washing over me. My legs felt weak, my head light. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the dresser, a sharp pain shooting through my already bruised wrist. My body, usually so controlled, felt fragile, on the verge of collapsing.

He turned back, his gaze narrowing on my pale face, my slightly disheveled hair, the raw vulnerability etched on my features. My silk blouse, slightly askew, revealed the faint scar on my collarbone from that night three years ago. For a fleeting moment, a shadow passed over his eyes, a flicker of something akin to concern, or perhaps just surprise at my uncharacteristic display of weakness.

He moved quickly, his hand reaching out, not to catch me fully, but to steady my arm. His touch, though brief, sent a jolt through me, a ghost of the intimacy we once shared. "Are you alright, Alyssa?" His voice was low, almost detached, but the question was there.

I pulled my arm away, regaining my balance. "I'm fine," I said, my voice a little rougher than I intended. "Just a little dizzy."

He watched me, his eyes unreadable. "You're living here now, aren't you?" It was a statement, not a question.

"For the next three months, yes," I confirmed, my gaze steady. "As per our agreement."

He studied me for another moment, then a ghost of a smile touched his lips, a sardonic twist. "I remember you used to prefer the guest room on the west wing. Always said the morning sun was too bright in the master." He paused, his eyes glinting. "Perhaps we should maintain the illusion fully, then? For Grandfather, for the cameras, for the sake of our families. Wouldn't want anyone to suspect our... arrangement."

My stomach dropped. He was suggesting we sleep in the same bed. My heart hammered against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate for escape. "Dayton, that's not necessary," I protested, my voice weak.

"Oh, but it is," he countered smoothly, his eyes cold. "What better way to show a 'united front' than to be seen entering and leaving the same bedroom? And besides, it's just for three months. A temporary inconvenience for a significant gain, wouldn't you agree?" He strode past me, heading for the door. "Unless you're afraid, Alyssa?" His words were a taunt, a cruel challenge.

I swallowed, my pride, my dignity, warring with my desperate need to secure my freedom and protect my family. "I'm not afraid," I lied, the words tasting like ash.

"Good," he said, turning the doorknob. "Then I expect to see you in the master bedroom tonight. Don't disappoint me." He walked out, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me in the chilling silence.

I stood there, trembling, the weight of his demand pressing down on me. To share a bed with the man who had systematically broken my heart, the man who still held another woman's hand with such tenderness, was a torment I hadn't anticipated. It was a cruel game, one he played with effortless precision.

That night, the bed felt vast, cold, and impossibly empty, even with Dayton beside me. He lay on his side, his back to me, the only sound his steady breathing. I lay stiff and still, staring at the ceiling, every nerve ending screaming in protest. It was a suffocating proximity, a physical manifestation of the emotional distance between us.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Alyssa," his voice cut through the silence, making me jump. He hadn't moved, his back still to me. "Thinking about your next architectural masterpiece? Or perhaps your valiant efforts to secure your cousin's failing venture?" His tone was laced with a familiar, cutting sarcasm.

My heart ached. He always knew how to twist the knife. "Just thinking about how exhausting this all is," I replied truthfully, my voice flat. "The charade. The expectations. It's draining."

"Oh, you think this is draining?" he scoffed, a dry, bitter laugh. "Try living with the constant pressure of a multi-billion dollar empire, managing a public image that's always under scrutiny, while also trying to protect those you care about." He didn't elaborate, but I knew he was talking about Kristin. Always Kristin.

My eyes burned, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of tears. I closed them, willing myself to sleep, to escape the suffocating presence beside me. I pretended to be asleep, my breathing slow and even. It felt like hours before I finally drifted off, a fragile sleep haunted by fragmented memories and unspoken pain.

In the deepest hours of the night, I felt a shift beside me, a subtle movement that pulled me from my uneasy slumber. A gentle warmth spread over my shoulder, then a soft brush against my hair. I instinctively flinched, my eyes snapping open just in time to see Dayton' s hand retreat, his body shifting back to his side of the bed. He was awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He hadn't touched me, not truly. But the ghost of his presence lingered.

I lay there, heart pounding, unsure if I had imagined the brief, almost imperceptible touch. Was it curiosity? Or something else? I held my breath, waiting, but he remained still, a silent, unreadable presence beside me.

I woke with a start, the room bathed in the pale light of dawn. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool beside me. He was gone. A familiar emptiness, a reminder of our disconnected lives, settled in my chest.

I reached for my phone, a habit born of loneliness. A quick scroll through social media. Kristin Goodwin had posted just an hour ago: a selfie, her face pale but serene, a faint smile playing on her lips. The caption: "Early morning calm. So grateful for quiet strength in tumultuous times."

My stomach clenched. He was with her. Again. The "quiet strength" was him. And I was left in the empty bed, the dutiful wife, waiting for my three months of freedom to tick by. The cold realization settled deep in my bones. This wasn't just a charade for the public. It was a charade for me. And I was tired of pretending.

Alyssa York POV:

"Quiet strength," I muttered to the empty room, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "More like quiet manipulation." Kristin's social media post was a perfectly crafted dagger, confirming my suspicions and twisting the knife of humiliation deeper. Dayton was her strength, always. And I was merely the convenient public face, the architect of a crumbling marriage.

But in this cold, hard reality, a fierce resolve solidified within me. I was done being a victim. I would channel every ounce of my energy into what truly mattered: my career. My new architecture firm, still in its nascent stages, was my escape, my future. It was the one thing Dayton couldn't take from me.

I threw myself into work with a vengeance. Days blurred into a whirlwind of blueprints, client meetings, and design proposals. My passion, long dormant under the weight of my suffocating marriage, reignited with an incandescent flame. I secured a major contract for a sustainable urban development project, a testament to my skill and vision. It was exhilarating, a taste of the independence I craved.

Two weeks later, flushed with the success of my latest negotiation, I found myself walking through the lobby of a high-end hotel, a spring in my step. I had just closed the deal of my career, and the world felt, for a moment, full of possibility.

Then, I saw her. Kristin. She was perched on a velvet armchair in a secluded corner of the lobby, looking as ethereal and fragile as ever. And next to her, deep in conversation, was Dayton. His head was inclined towards her, a rare, gentle smile playing on his lips. His arm rested casually on the back of her chair, a gesture of quiet intimacy that made my heart clench.

He' s always there for her, a voice whispered in my head, a painful echo of Breanna' s earlier words. Always.

Kristin caught my eye, and her serene expression faltered for a microsecond before morphing into a carefully constructed mask of surprise and a hint of innocent distress. She touched Dayton's arm lightly, subtly drawing his attention to me.

Dayton looked up, his smile vanishing, replaced by a cool, unreadable gaze. He stood up, his posture instantly becoming more formal, more distant.

"Alyssa, darling! What a surprise!" Kristin chirped, her voice a little too loud, a little too bright. "Dayton was just telling me about his new project. It sounds absolutely fascinating. He' s so brilliant, isn't he?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with admiration, a performance for my benefit.

"Kristin was just feeling a little overwhelmed with her upcoming film auditions," Dayton interjected, his voice flat, cutting off Kristin' s veiled praise. "I was simply offering some advice."

"Oh, yes," Kristin added, her hand fluttering to her chest. "It's all so stressful. But Dayton is always so supportive. He really is my rock." She turned back to me, her smile sickly sweet. "Would you care to join us for a quick bite? I'm sure Dayton would love to tell you all about his new ventures."

My stomach churned. The thought of sitting across from them, witnessing their forced intimacy, was unbearable. I remembered a time when Dayton would share every detail of his projects with me, his eyes alight with excitement. Those conversations had been the bedrock of our early, hopeful years. Now, I was being invited to listen in, an interloper in a conversation that excluded me.

"No, thank you, Kristin," I said, my voice crisp, a thin shield against the sudden ache in my chest. "I just finished a very successful negotiation myself. I'm actually quite famished, and I have plans." It was a lie. My stomach was twisting into knots, and the only "plan" I had was to escape.

Dayton's eyes flickered, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. "Negotiations, Alyssa? Impressive. Perhaps you should tell us about it." His tone was laced with a subtle challenge, a question of my sincerity.

"Perhaps another time," I replied, forcing a polite smile. The thought of sharing my professional triumphs with him, under Kristin's watchful eye, felt like laying my soul bare for judgment. And I was tired of being judged, of being found wanting.

Kristin, sensing the tension, intervened. "Oh, the food here is divine, Alyssa. You really must try it. Dayton always orders the truffle pasta. It' s his favorite." She smiled at Dayton, a proprietary glint in her eyes.

My heart sank a little further. The truffle pasta. I had discovered that small, obscure Italian restaurant on our honeymoon, a place that served the most exquisite truffle pasta. It had become our secret, our dish. He had told me then that it was his favorite. Now, it was Kristin' s. It felt like another piece of our shared history, carelessly handed over.

Arjun, who seemed to have a sixth sense for impending emotional disasters, materialized beside us, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. "Alyssa! Dayton! What a coincidence! Are you two having dinner?" He glanced at Kristin, his smile polite but cool.

"Just a little chat, Arjun," Dayton said, his voice clipped. "Kristin was just about to leave."

"Oh, but I just invited Alyssa to join us," Kristin countered sweetly, her hand reaching for Dayton's arm again. "She's just closed a big deal."

Dayton shot her a look, an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. "Alyssa has other engagements, Kristin. She's a busy woman." His words were a dismissal, sharp and final.

My face burned. He was protecting Kristin, saving her from the awkwardness of my presence. I was the inconvenient wife, the obstacle. "Indeed," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I have a lot on my plate." I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to claw my way out of this gilded cage, to shed the skin of Mrs. Cole and never look back.

I excused myself, my appetite completely gone. I walked past the tables, the murmured conversations, feeling like an invisible ghost. I found a quiet corner near the exit, my phone vibrating in my hand. It was a text from Breanna: "EMERGENCY. Hospital. Urgent."

My blood ran cold. Breanna. My best friend. My rock. I didn't hesitate. I dashed out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and sped towards the hospital, my heart pounding with a new, terrifying fear.

The hospital corridor smelled of antiseptic and despair. I found Breanna in a private room, looking pale but defiant, her bandaged arm propped up. Her lawyer friend, Mark, was sitting beside her.

"Alyssa! What are you doing here?" Breanna exclaimed, a faint smile on her lips. "I told Mark to call you only if it was serious."

"A text saying 'Emergency. Hospital. Urgent' qualifies as serious, Breanna," I retorted, trying to keep my voice steady. "What happened? Another 'accident'?"

She sighed. "Someone tried to 'discourage' me from testifying in the Thorne case. A little car 'malfunction' on the highway. Nothing I couldn't handle." Her bravado was admirable, but her pallor worried me.

"Are you alright? Really?" I asked, my hand searching for hers.

"I'll live," she said, squeezing my hand with her good one. "Though it seems my recovery will take a little longer. Which reminds me... how far along are we with your escape plan?"

I hesitated, the memory of Dayton's demand in the hotel room, the shared bed, the unspoken transaction, flashing through my mind. "It's... complicated. He's agreed to the separation, but with conditions. I have to maintain the façade, publicly, until the merger is complete and the foundation dinner is over. And I have to convince him to back Donavon' s project."

Breanna' s eyes narrowed. "He's still playing games. Don't let him drag this out, Alyssa. The longer you stay, the harder it will be to leave. Trust me, I've seen enough messy divorces to know. He'll keep finding reasons to keep you tethered."

"I know," I admitted, a weary sigh escaping me. "But I have to protect my family's interests. And Donavon is counting on me."

"Donavon can count on himself for once," Breanna muttered, clearly unconvinced. "You have to put yourself first."

I stayed with Breanna for a few more hours, talking, listening, finding solace in her unwavering friendship. When I finally returned to my temporary apartment, it was late. The silence was a welcome relief after the emotional turmoil of the day.

I changed into my most comfortable pajamas, carefully avoiding the master bedroom. I made up the sofa bed, opting for the solitude and peace of the living room. Dayton wasn't home, a fact that brought a strange mix of relief and emptiness. He was probably with Kristin again, being her "quiet strength."

The apartment felt safe, a cocoon against the harsh realities of my public life. I was free here, if only for a few hours. I drifted off to sleep, feeling a fragile sense of peace.

My phone buzzed, pulling me from a deep sleep. It was a text, not from Dayton, but from his grandfather, Jerald Cole. "Alyssa, I trust you're preparing for the family meeting tomorrow morning. It's crucial. I expect both you and Dayton to be present. And early." The message was clear: no excuses.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. Another performance. Another day of playing the dutiful wife. I pulled myself out of bed, heading for the shower. As I was getting ready, Dayton walked in, his expression unreadable. He had clearly just come from somewhere else, his suit still immaculate.

He glanced at me, his eyes sweeping over my simple, elegant dress. "You're going with that?" he asked, his voice laced with a subtle criticism.

My heart clenched. "Is there a problem?"

"It's a family meeting, Alyssa. Grandfather expects you to look the part. More... refined. More traditional. You're representing the York family, after all, and you're still Mrs. Cole." He paused, his gaze lingering on my face. "Perhaps something less... severe?"

I frowned, confused. My dress was perfectly appropriate, understated, and professional. "What are you talking about? It's perfectly fine."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... wear something softer. Less like you're going to a corporate boardroom and more like you're part of a family. Grandfather appreciates tradition." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. He looked at me again, his expression unreadable. "It's just... I don't want Grandfather to think you're already trying to distance yourself. Not yet." A possessive glint, almost like jealousy, flashed in his eyes before he turned and walked out.

His words left me stunned. Less severe? Was he implying I looked harsh, unapproachable? Or was it something else, a subtle warning against reclaiming my identity too soon? The thought that he might secretly care about my appearance, about what his grandfather thought of us, stirred a flicker of confusion in my already bewildered heart. This man was a labyrinth, and I was perpetually lost in his maze.

Alyssa York POV:

"Less severe?" Dayton's words echoed in the quiet room, a confusing mix of criticism and something I almost dared to hope was concern. But then he added, "Grandfather prefers a more... demure image for Cole women. Especially when presenting a united front." His tone was dismissive, stripping away any hint of genuine care. It was all about appearances, about control.

I bit back a sharp retort. Demure. That was their word for obedient, for silent, for compliant. It was everything I wasn't, everything I was trying to escape. But I had promised. Three months. I peeled off the perfectly suitable dress, my fingers trembling slightly with a mix of frustration and resignation. I chose a soft rose-colored silk dress, its lines flowing and gentle, a stark contrast to the sharp edges of my current emotions. It felt like another costume, one to appease the patriarchs.

I thought of my own family, my grandparents, who had welcomed me with open arms and offered their unwavering support for my independence. Their love felt like a warm embrace compared to the cold, strategic calculations of the Cole family. The difference was a chasm.

When I met Dayton in the foyer, he gave a curt nod of approval, his eyes lingering on the softened silhouette of the dress. We stepped out, his hand on my back, guiding me towards the waiting car. He was all suave efficiency, navigating the public space with practiced ease. Just before he opened the car door, he leaned down, his voice a low rumble. "Remember our agreement, Alyssa. No slip-ups. No breaking character."

"I remember," I replied, my voice flat, holding his gaze. My resolve was iron-clad. I would play my part, brilliantly, for these three months. Then, I would vanish.

He nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, and then, in a swift, practiced move, he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. It was a public display, a show for any lurking paparazzi or watchful family members. My body stiffened, resisting the intimacy, but I forced a small, polite smile, leaning into him, a perfect picture of the devoted wife. Every nerve ending screamed in protest, but I kept my face impassive. It was just a role, I reminded myself. Just a role.

The Cole family mansion loomed, a monument to old money and unyielding power. Jerald Hess, Dayton's grandfather, stood at the top of the grand staircase, his formidable presence filling the hall. A deep frown creased his brow as he observed our arrival, his gaze lingering on Dayton's easy familiarity with Kristin Goodwin in the tabloids. He might be old, but he missed nothing.

"Dayton," Jerald's voice boomed, sharp and disapproving. "You're late. Again. And your recent... antics... have not gone unnoticed."

Before Dayton could retort, Albin Ward, Dayton's older cousin, stepped forward. Albin, with his impeccably tailored suit and polished charm, was always the peacemaker, the perfect corporate executive. He looked at me, a genuine warmth in his eyes, then at Dayton, a subtle challenge in his gaze. "Good morning, Grandfather. Dayton, Alyssa, so glad you could make it." His smile was polite, but I caught a flicker of something in his eyes when he looked at me, a ghost of an old kindness. He had saved me after my accident, years ago, when Dayton was nowhere to be found. He' d driven me to the hospital, stayed with me, quietly ensuring I was alright.

Albin's gaze lingered on Dayton's public display of affection, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You two certainly make a striking couple, as always. The tabloids will have nothing to say about this, eh?"

I offered Albin a small, grateful smile. His easy charm always felt like a balm after Dayton's cutting remarks. "Albin," I greeted, my voice softer than I intended. "It' s good to see you."

"You look well, Alyssa," he said, his eyes scanning my face, a genuine concern in his voice. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

Dayton' s arm, still around my waist, tightened imperceptibly. He cut in smoothly, a forced smile on his face. "Alyssa is always impeccably put-together, Albin. Perhaps you should focus on finding a partner of your own, rather than admiring mine." The words were delivered with a casual cruelty that made my blood run cold. He was jealous. Not of me, but of Albin's attention.

Albin merely chuckled, unflustered. "Perhaps one day. But for now, my focus is the family business. Speaking of which, Grandfather, I've had a breakthrough on the overseas expansion. I think it's time we discuss the next steps." He deftly shifted the conversation, drawing Jerald Cole's attention away from Dayton's personal drama.

Jerald Cole nodded, his gaze still sharp. "Indeed, Albin. Always thinking ahead. Unlike some." His eyes darted to Dayton, a clear reprimand. "You could learn a thing or two from your cousin, Dayton. He understands the importance of family legacy. Not just chasing... distractions."

Dayton's jaw tightened, but he maintained his public smile, his arm still around me, a subtle warning. "I assure you, Grandfather, my focus remains on Cole Industries. Everything I do is for the family." He emphasized the last word, his gaze challenging Albin.

"Enough," Jerald boomed, interrupting the silent battle between the cousins. "Let's eat. It's time for breakfast." He gestured towards the dining room, a silent command.

At the breakfast table, Jerald Cole seated me beside him, placing a hand over mine. "Alyssa, my dear, you must be exhausted with all this nonsense. Please, eat well. You look a little thin." It was a rare display of affection from the patriarch, a quiet validation that stung because of its rarity.

He then turned his gaze to Dayton. "And you, Dayton. This recent debacle with Miss Goodwin is unacceptable. It puts the merger at risk. It damages our name. Do you understand the gravity of that?"

Dayton, who had been silently cutting his food, looked up, his expression unreadable. "I understand, Grandfather. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. Kristin was unwell, and I merely offered assistance to a long-time friend."

"A friend," Jerald scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "A friend who consistently finds herself in compromising situations with you. The public isn't foolish, Dayton. They see what they want to see, and right now, they see a man disrespecting his wife and endangering his family's interests."

The accusation hung heavy in the air. My heart ached, a familiar dull throb. It was always my burden to bear, this perception of being disrespected, disregarded. Even when the family patriarch called him out, it was my pain that was highlighted, not his wrong.

Albin, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should focus on the positive, Grandfather. The merger is progressing well, thanks to Alyssa's diligence. And Dayton has been instrumental in the tech advancements."

Jerald nodded, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at me. "Indeed. Alyssa, you are a credit to this family. Unlike some, you understand duty." His words, meant as praise, felt like a public shaming for Dayton, further solidifying my role as the "good wife" and his as the wayward husband.

Dayton, his face a mask of irritation, finally spoke, his voice clipped. "My duty is to the company, Grandfather. And I have always fulfilled that. This situation with Kristin is... unfortunate, but it changes nothing about my commitment." He looked at me then, a challenging glint in his eyes, a silent dare. "Alyssa and I are completely united in this. Our marriage is strong."

The lie hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My heart pounded with a mix of fury and despair. I forced a small, brittle smile, meeting his gaze. My face felt stiff, the muscles aching from the effort of maintaining the charade.

"Can we just get on with breakfast?" Dayton snapped, his patience clearly at an end.

I picked at my food, the exquisite pastries and fresh fruit tasting like sawdust in my mouth. My head throbbed. The weight of this performance was crushing. I felt Albin's gaze on me, gentle and concerned.

He leaned slightly closer, his voice a low whisper. "Are you really alright, Alyssa? You've barely touched your food."

I shook my head imperceptibly. "Just not very hungry," I whispered back, my throat tight.

He subtly pushed a glass of water towards me. "Hydrate. It helps." His kindness was a quiet comfort in the storm of my emotions.

I felt Dayton's gaze on us, sharp and possessive. A flicker of something dark crossed his face, a raw jealousy that surprised me. He hated anyone getting close to me, even when he pushed me away himself. It was a strange, twisted form of ownership.

After breakfast, as we were preparing to leave, Jerald Cole called us back. "Dayton, Alyssa. I expect you to stay here tonight. The family needs to see you both together, in this house. A visible display of your continued commitment. Especially after the recent... events."

My heart sank. Stay here? In the house where every shadow held a memory of a love that had died? I wanted to protest, to refuse, to flee. But I saw the determined glint in Jerald's eye, the unyielding power of his demand.

Dayton, to my utter surprise, agreed without a second thought. "Of course, Grandfather. Whatever you wish." He even offered a small, almost genuine smile.

I stared at him, bewildered. Why would he agree so readily? What was he planning? The unexpected consent filled me with a fresh surge of dread. The three months of pretending just became infinitely harder.