Chapter 4 Lesson One: Smile for the Wolves

When I woke up in Liam Blackwood's penthouse, I realized something terrifying: I was no longer just Zoey Patel, broke screenwriter. I was a story waiting to be devoured.

---

The first thing I heard the next morning was the soft hum of the city beyond the glass walls.

The second was the sound of someone knocking gently before my door creaked open.

"Miss Patel," a polished voice said.

I sat up, squinting against the morning light. Harper, Liam 's assistant, glided in, immaculate as ever in a cream blouse and pencil skirt. Her dark hair was in a perfect twist, her heels barely making a sound against the marble.

"Mr. Blackwood requests you in the living room in thirty minutes," she said, setting a tray of breakfast fresh fruit, croissants, and coffee that smelled like heaven on the nightstand. "Today, we begin media training."

I blinked. "Media training? Like... how to wave?"

Her lips twitched, the closest thing I'd seen to a smile. "Like how to survive. Eat quickly. You'll need your strength."

---

Thirty minutes later, I found myself perched on the leather sofa, feeling like a kid waiting outside the principal's office. Liam sat across from me, sharp as ever in a black suit, sipping coffee like he owned the air in the room.

"Lesson one," he said, his voice steady. "In public, you are my wife. Which means..."

I hesitated. "Which means... I pretend to love you?"

"Exactly," he said without flinching. "You smile for the cameras, hold my hand, and look at me like I'm your world. Even if you're furious with me. Even if you want to scream. The public doesn't care about the truth they care about the story."

A shiver ran down my spine. "And what story are we telling?"

He leaned forward, his gray eyes locking onto mine. "That the coldest man in Hollywood fell for the woman no one saw coming."

The intensity of his gaze sent my thoughts scattering. For a moment, I forgot this was a lie.

"Lesson two," he continued, his tone sharp again. "Never engage with the press directly. They will twist every word. Smile. Pose. Let me speak."

I nodded, gripping the edge of the sofa to ground myself.

"Lesson three," Harper interjected smoothly. "Social media. Delete anything questionable. No rants, no politics, no sarcasm. If you want to post, run it through me first."

"Great," I muttered. "So I officially belong to the public now."

Liam's expression didn't change. "You belong to the story we're selling. If you can't handle that, it's better to walk away now."

I stiffened, remembering the debt, my father's studio, and the ink already dry on the contract. "I can handle it."

"Good." He rose from his seat, his presence filling the room. "Then let's see if you can handle today's event."

"Event?" I squeaked.

"Red carpet charity gala. Cameras. Interviews. Fans." He glanced at his watch. "You have four hours to transform into the perfect Mrs. Blackwood."

---

The next hours were a whirlwind.

A team of stylists descended on me like a pit crew on a race car. My borrowed skirt and blouse were replaced with a shimmering navy evening gown that hugged my body in all the right places. My hair was curled into soft waves, my makeup flawless and camera-ready.

I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

Chloe would've squealed and called me a princess. But all I felt was... trapped. A doll dressed for display.

Liam appeared as the stylists packed up, his sharp gaze sweeping over me. His expression didn't change, but I caught the subtle flicker in his eyes approval, maybe even a touch of heat.

"You'll do," he said, offering his hand.

My stomach flipped as I slid my fingers into his. His hand was warm, firm, grounding in a way I didn't want to admit.

---

The ride to the gala was quiet except for the occasional burst of cameras flashing outside the tinted windows. Liam scrolled through his phone, unbothered, while I tried not to hyperventilate.

"Just stay close," he said finally, glancing at me. "Look at me when the cameras flash. Pretend it's just us."

"Right," I whispered.

When the car stopped and the door opened, a tidal wave of sound hit me.

"liam! Liam! Over here!"

"Who's the new girl?"

"Zoey, smile for us!"

The flashes were blinding. My feet wobbled in the stilettos they'd forced me into, but Liam's hand at the small of my back kept me steady.

We moved down the red carpet in a practiced rhythm he slowed for photos, angled his body to shield me slightly, and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Smile. They can smell fear."

I smiled, even as my heart pounded.

Somewhere along the line, a reporter shouted a question that cut through the chaos:

"Zoey! Are you worried Cassandra Voss will try to win him back?"

I froze. The name hit like a punch to the gut.

Liam's hand tightened slightly, a silent warning. He gave the cameras his signature cold smirk and said, "My wife has nothing to worry about."

My wife.

The words did something to me I couldn't explain. For a fleeting second, the whole world faded, and it really did feel like we were in this together.

---

Inside the gala, the noise dimmed but the tension didn't. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the room was a sea of expensive dresses and sharp tuxedos. I tried to breathe, to blend in, to remember that I wasn't just Zoey Patel anymore.

I was Mrs. Liam Blackwood.

Liam led me through polite handshakes and rehearsed smiles, his grip on me never loosening. I could feel eyes on us everywhere, whispers trailing behind like smoke.

Then, just as I started to relax, I heard her voice.

"Well, well. If it isn't Hollywood's favorite fairytale."

Cassandra Voss stood a few feet away, stunning in a silver gown, a flute of champagne in hand. Her smile was all venom and charm.

"Zoey," she said sweetly, loud enough for the nearby guests to hear. "How does it feel knowing every woman in this room has been in Liam's arms at least once?"

The words sliced clean through the fragile confidence I'd built tonight.

Gasps and murmurs rippled around us. Cameras because of course there were cameras turned in our direction like vultures smelling blood.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat locked.

Liam stepped forward, his presence suddenly lethal. "Cassandra. Don't."

But Cassandra only tilted her head, her eyes glittering with malice. "Oh, I'm just welcoming the poor girl to our world. Don't you think she deserves to know how temporary her fairytale really is?"

---

The entire room seemed to hold its breath as I stood frozen, everyone waiting to see if I'd shatteror fight back.