Chapter 5: The First Lie – "We're Married."

Anya never thought a lie could sound so loud.

It echoed in the pressroom, rang through her ears, and tightened like a noose around her ribs the moment Zayden’s voice—calm, sharp, and clear—cut through the buzzing crowd of reporters.

“We’re married.”

Cameras flashed. Gasps fluttered like startled birds. Anya blinked against the chaos, the white-hot lights blinding her as a sea of microphones pushed forward.

She was standing next to him—Zayden Yllanes, billionaire CEO of Blackthorne Holdings, a man so notoriously cold that even his board called him “The Ice King” behind closed doors. And now… now he stood inches from her, his hand protectively placed at the small of her back, shielding her from the crowd like they were lovers. Real ones.

Anya swallowed hard.

They were nothing like that.

They had signed papers just days ago. Legal, clinical, lifeless pages. One year. No real intimacy. Appear together in public. Share a home. Keep up the illusion. Stay out of each other’s lives as much as possible. Follow the rules.

It had been simple.

Zayden tilted his head to the side, a practiced smile on his lips—sharp, polished, camera-ready. “We’ve kept things private, but it’s true. My wife and I were married in a quiet ceremony last month. Family only.”

Wife.

The word landed on her like a weight. It didn’t sound wrong—just unfamiliar. Like trying on someone else’s shoes.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “What’s her name?”

Zayden turned to her, his gaze unreadable. “Why don’t you tell them, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart?

Anya blinked, then forced a smile, muscles aching from the strain. “Anya Sar… Yllanes.”

She almost choked saying it. It felt like theft, that last name. Something borrowed and not hers to keep.

Another question. “How did you meet?”

Zayden chuckled, that low, velvety laugh that made half the crowd melt and the other half reach for their recording apps. “That’s a story for another day.”

It was such a perfect deflection that the press moved on. Questions rained down faster—about the timing, the ring (which had been slipped onto her finger just ten minutes ago in the car), their honeymoon, their plans.

Zayden fielded them all like a pro, speaking just enough to satisfy without giving anything away. Anya just nodded when needed, clung to her fake smile, and fought not to sweat through her pastel blouse.

She felt like she was being swallowed whole.

But the worst part was—

His hand.

Zayden’s hand. Firm and warm on her back. It never moved. Never wavered. Like he was holding her up… or holding her in place.

When the press conference ended and they stepped away from the podium, she finally exhaled, lungs aching. They walked down the hall in silence, the air thick with what they'd just done.

She stopped. “Zayden…”

He turned to face her, expression neutral.

Anya’s voice came out quieter than she expected. “That was more than we agreed. Sweetheart? The whole ‘we’ve been married for a month’ thing?”

He stared for a beat. “The public loves a love story. You want this lie to work, or not?”

She didn’t respond.

His gaze softened, just barely. “Get used to it. This lie? It’s no longer just on paper.”

Then he walked off, polished shoes clicking against marble, leaving Anya alone in the hallway—wedding ring glinting under fluorescent lights.

And suddenly, the lie didn’t feel small anymore.

It felt enormous. Like the kind of lie that could change her whole life… or break her heart.

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