Page 142 of My Ruthless Husband

Well, I can’t pretend to care tonight. Dad demanded my compliance. And here I am, dressed to the nines. My curls beautifully tucked into a sleek updo. Makeup exceptionally done to mask the dark circles under my eyes and my deathly pale complexion.

I look exactly how a billionaire heiress is expected to on her birthday and engagement night. But on the inside? I feel sick to my stomach. A throbbing pain pulses in my temples, making me dizzy. I’d rather spend the entire night passed out on the cold marble floor of my art studio than take part in this charade. Yet, I have no choice but to comply. His words come back from this morning:

“You will do as I say. Present yourself as my obedient daughter tonight and show everyone how genuinely happy you are to be engaged to Edward. And if you so much as falter in your role, I promise there would be consequences.”

“I’ve pulled strings to cut off his funding for a new project.” When I gasp, he says, “What? You dared to sculpt that lowlife’s face under my roof, he had to pay the price.”

His big palm settles on my shoulder. He gives me a gentle squeeze. “I am doing this for your own good, sweet pea. You’ll thank me later, I promise you.”

I lift my head and meet his eyes in the mirror. “Can I keep my hair down, Dad?” My voice is soft, his face immediately transforms, his eyes softening.

“You look great, River. Why do you want it down?” He smiles as he asks.

I turn and look up at him. “Because Damian likes it.”

His eyes blaze with fury and he looks like he wants to hit me. But instead turns abruptly and leaves.

I smile tiredly at Fiorenza. “Let’s get this over with please.”

After I’m finally ready, they let me out of the room, only to guide me downstairs like a puppet on strings.

Edward’s smug, mocking smile greets me the moment he sees me approaching, and it’s all I can do not to recoil.

For the longest time, I believed Edward might be a decent man, even when he first proposed this marriage for the sake of our business. I told myself his practical nature was just a product of his upbringing. But now, I see him for what he truly is.

“You look beautiful.” Edward’s gaze sweeps over me with a sense of entitlement, and I suppress the urge to shudder in disgust. His fractured arm still rests in a sling over his tux, though the bruises on his face have faded completely.

His hollow compliment does nothing for me. I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze with cold resolve. “Can we drop the charade? I’ve already agreed to this circus. You don’t need to waste time with compliments I neither want nor believe.”

Edward doesn’t care about me—not in any real sense, anyway. How could he, when the whole point of this marriage is to preserve our families’ precious empire? So why even bother pretending?

“Why not?” he counters with a shrug. “You’re really beautiful, River. Well bred. You suit me in every way that matters.”

In other words, I am just convenient for him. I’m to be his trophy wife. After all, I’m Christopher Gibson’s daughter. Sure, Edward’s father might be Dad’s partner, but my father holds the controlling share, making him the one with the real power.Marrying me is a strategic win for Edward and his family. Beneficial for him in every possible way.

Skylar and her friends gush over my gown, their admiration sickly sweet. I force a smile, wondering if Skylar even knows how I’m being forced to marry her brother.

Next come Melissa and her mother, Nadine, offering hollow congratulations. Their smiles are as real as the joy on my face.

Across the room, I spot Dad deep in conversation with Richard and William, his business partners. Even though he’s speaking to them, his eyes never leave me. His unspoken message is crystal clear:Don’t screw this up. Be grateful you’re allowed to mingle with the guests, or you’d be back upstairs, locked away.

I make the rounds with Edward glued to my side, enduring the knowing smiles from the guests as if they all already know about the impending announcement. It’s suffocating, each polite nod and forced smile.

By the time an hour passes, my cheeks are aching from pretending. I excuse myself under the pretense of needing the bathroom, scanning the room for Dad. He’s distracted, locked in conversation. Perfect. At least he won’t send anyone after me.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I sag against it, letting out a shaky breath.

I sink onto the nearest settee, my legs giving out beneath me. I just can’t do this anymore. I am sick and tired of this. Every part of me is screaming to stop, to run, to break free, but there’s nowhere to go without alerting the bodyguards.

The sharp knock on the door startles me, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I shoot up from the settee. Clearing my throat, I call out, “It’s occupied—” I stop when the door swings open without warning.

I freeze when Damian steps inside and shuts the door, locking it. Then he turns and leans his back against the door. I continueto remain motionless, shocked beyond belief as he pushes his hands in his pockets and fixes his gaze on me.

Just like his sculpture had. Those eyes. Those night eyes. Oh, how much I craved to see them.

Dressed in a black suit, he looks big and hard and intimidating and absolutely breathtaking.

Is he real? Is he really here?

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