A week. It had only been a week, and yet it felt like a lifetime. A week since you’d exchanged vows you didn’t mean, a week since you’d been forced into this marriage.

Rafe Cameron. Your husband.

The very thought made your stomach churn. You hated Rafe. You hated the way his presence filled the room, the way he carried himself with that smug, arrogant air like the world revolved around him.

You were supposed to be a perfect match. The ultimate power couple. But the truth? You couldn’t have been more different if you tried. He was everything you didn’t like about the kook world. Privileged, entitled, obnoxiously over-confident, and the fact he looked down at your friends , the pogues. You might be a Kook, but you hated the way rest of them pretended like just being rich made them better than others.

The marriage was never about love. It was about power, control. Two families forcing their children into a union that would benefit them both. There was no romance, no tenderness. There were no whispered sweet words or stolen moments. Just a contract, a ring, and an empty promise.

The wedding day had been a blur—a show for everyone but you. You had stood there, a smiling bride in a perfect dress, but inside, you were screaming. It was suffocating. Everything felt wrong. You wanted to tear off the dress, throw away the ring, and run far, far away.

But here you were. Married.

And now, you were at some overpriced fundraiser, your first public appearance as a couple. The glint of crystal chandeliers hung in the air, casting reflections on all the perfectly polished faces around you. People were whispering, staring, waiting for the newlyweds to show their togetherness.

Rafe’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Play the part, Mrs. Cameron." he whispered, voice low. "Pretend like you don’t hate me, yeah?"