The Billionaire's Two-Faced Escort Wife Chapter 97: Adrian Vs Adrienne

The Impossible Mandate

​Adrian stood motionless as Mrs. Devereux finally released her grip on the conversation, already dialling her personal stylist with a triumphant look in her eye. His heart was no longer racing; it was cold and heavy in his chest.

​Adrienne must be there.

​He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, what Alexander’s silent decision would be. There was no real Adrienne returning from a business trip. There was only the ticulously constructed façade, and he was the only one who fit the role— he was Adrienne.

​He moved on autopilot, retrieving the contact information for Mrs. Devereux’s stylist—a woman nad Felicity—from the contact list and handing the phone over.

​"I’ll take the logistics from here, Ma’am," Adrian said, his voice flat. "I’ll arrange for the gowns to be delivered to the residence for fittings, and I will handle the necessary adjustnts to the guest list and vendor confirmations for the dinner."

​He was absorbing the mandate, taking control of the chaos before Alexander could even begin to explain the lie he was about to perpetuate.

​ The Gown Acquisition

​Within the hour, Adrian was back in the Devereux’s private garage, not as Alexander’s driver, but as his courier. Alexander hadn’t bothered with an explanation, rely giving him a key card and the address for Felicity’s exclusive, high-security showroom.

​The stylist, Felicity, was a flurry of dramatic sighs and asuring tapes, instantly recognizing Adrian from Mrs. Devereux’s brief but pointed description: "The new secretary—perfect for running errands, but keep him away from the silks."

​"So, the Divine Mrs. Devereux needs sothing absolutely show-stopping for the Gala," Felicity declared, running a critical eye over Adrian, not as a secretary, but as a blank canvas. "I assu Adrienne will want sothing utterly unique, daring, yet suprely elegant. And, darling, with her build, we need sothing that emphasizes the length of her legs—"

​Adrian, notebook in hand, forced a professional smile. "Her asurents are on the file I emailed, Felicity. Focus on the Devereux aesthetic: power, grace, and exclusivity. Nothing less than a custom couture piece will do. Mrs. Devereux insists on it."

​Felicity, mollified by the ntion of custom couture and Mrs. Devereux’s specific demands, led him through a climate-controlled vault filled with gowns that cost more than Adrian’s entire debt.

​He was sent to choose the gown he would wear. The irony was a suffocating weight.

​Felicity held up a shimring, midnight-blue silk gown, cut daringly low on the back with a high, elegant neckline. "This. This is the one. It screams confidence, but the colour is deeply protective. Perfect for a political-corporate setting."

​Adrian stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall, picturing himself in the dress. He could see it—the way the silk would cling to his slightly feminine fra, the contrast of the dark colour against his pale skin, the severity of the neck demanding a certain poise.

​"It’s perfect," Adrian agreed, his voice barely a whisper. "Ensure the alterations are done imdiately. I need it by 17:00 today. No exceptions."

The Transformation

​Back at the penthouse, Adrian dismissed Angelica and locked himself in Alexander’s private master dressing suite. The gown hung on a velvet hanger, looking like a dangerous, shimring threat.

​Alexander found him there an hour before the briefing, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the dress.

​"Felicity called," Alexander said, leaning against the doorfra, his voice low. "She said you were ’chillingly professional’ and picked the most expensive, yet most appropriate, gown she had. You didn’t even consult ."

​Adrian turned, his eyes tired. "I didn’t need to, Alexander. I know what Adrienne would choose. I’m her, after all. I know her style, her asurents, and her function."

​He walked over to a mirrored vanity where a case of professional makeup and a few discreet accessories lay waiting. He reached for a foundation palette.

​"You need to be the real Adrienne now, Alexander. I can’t do this without your help. I need the performance of a lifeti, and the only person who can coach the real Adrienne is you."

​Alexander slowly pushed off the doorfra. He walked to Adrian and stopped behind him, watching their reflection. Adrian’s reflection, with his sharp jaw and tired eyes.

​"Why are you doing this, Adrian?" Alexander asked, his voice rough. "You could have broken the mont my mother ntioned the Gala. You could have walked away. Why step straight into the trap?"

​Adrian didn’t look away from the mirror. "You need a wife for the Board and the Governor’s Gala. I’m upholding my contract as your wife. The faster I can guarantee the stable image, the sooner we can get rid of her. We have an agreent, Boss. This is my service."

​And maybe, just maybe, a small, desperate voice whispered in his heart, it’s because I need to see what it feels like to be yours in public, even if it’s only for a night.

​Alexander said nothing, but his eyes darkened with a mixture of possessiveness and frustration. He placed his hands on Adrian’s shoulders, his fingers massaging the tense muscles.

​"Let help you," Alexander whispered.

​The next hour was spent in an intense, silent ballet of transformation. Alexander applied the makeup—not to feminize Adrian, but to perfect the illusion of Adrienne: softening the jawline, deepening the eyes with smoky shadow, defining the cheekbones. He was clinical, yet excruciatingly intimate.

​Adrian’s hair, slightly longer now, was slicked back into an elegant, severe bun at the nape of his neck. Alexander added delicate diamond studs and a simple, stunning platinum necklace—Adrienne’s signature restraint.

​Finally, Adrian stepped into the midnight blue gown. Alexander carefully zipped the back, his fingers lingering on Adrian’s spine. The silk clung to Adrian’s slender fra like a second skin. The high neck made his throat look impossibly long, and the dramatic low back emphasized the lean muscles of his shoulders.

​Adrian turned and looked at his reflection. The secretary was gone. The rebellious lover was gone. Only Adrienne remained—powerful, beautiful, and utterly inaccessible.

​Alexander stared, breathing in sharply. "God, Adrian. You’re magnificent."

​Adrian felt a dizzying surge of power and pain. "I’m not Adrian, Alexander. Not right now. I’m your wife. Rember the role."

​The Governor’s Gala

​The Gala was a blinding spectacle of wealth and political power. When Alexander Devereux and his "wife," Adrienne, stepped out of the black sedan and onto the red carpet, a hush fell over the assembled photographers.

​They moved as one unit. Adrian (as Adrienne) had placed his hand lightly on Alexander’s arm, holding himself with the serene, effortless grace of old money. He mirrored Alexander’s easy smile, walking neither too fast nor too slow, eting the flashes of the caras with a subtle tilt of his head.

​People stared. In awe. The perfect suit, the perfect gown, the perfect height differential, the perfect, shared look of intimate confidence. They weren’t just a couple; they were a dynasty.

​Alexander felt Adrian’s practiced lightness on his arm, but he held him closer than necessary, possessiveness simring beneath his smooth public facade. He felt the eyes of every man in the room turn to his wife, and the jealousy was a delicious, intoxicating rush.

​"Smile, Adrienne," Alexander whispered, his lips barely moving. "Show them why you are indispensable."

​Adrian lifted his chin, his smile widening slightly. "As you command, darling."

​They had made it through the entrance when a velvet chokehold embraced Adrian.

​"Adrienne, darling! You look absolutely radiant!" Mrs. Devereux swept in, her face beaming with undisguised pleasure. This was the image she craved.

​She held Adrian (as Adrienne) tightly, pulling him away from Alexander just long enough to study the gown, the pose, the flawless execution. "You are everything, my dear. Everything. Alexander, you look like a King tonight, because you have your Queen by your side!"

​Mrs. Devereux then grabbed Adrian’s arm and steered him directly toward the Governor. "Governor, allow to introduce you to my daughter-in-law, Adrienne Devereux. She truly is the rock of our family."

​The Governor was charming and captivated, shaking Adrian’s hand and showering him with complints, all while Adrian maintained the soft, deferential elegance of the perfect corporate spouse.

​After the introductions, as the music swelled and Alexander finally claid Adrian’s hand for the first dance, Mrs. Devereux pulled her son aside, her face radiating satisfaction.

​"See, Alexander? That is stability. That is power," she whispered, watching them on the dance floor—Adrienne a vision of grace, Alexander looking more content than she had seen him in years.

​She sighed happily, then her eyes fell on the entrance. "Now, where is Adrian? Your secretary. Did you dismiss him for the evening? I need to know the flight ti for the Acquisitions Committee arriving tomorrow. He’s so wonderfully efficient."

​Alexander, his eyes glued to Adrian’s perfect profile across the room, gave his mother a slow, chilling smile.

​"Adrian?" Alexander repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "He’s... around, Mother. He’s very dedicated. But he’s currently occupied with a very critical assignnt."

​The lie is successful, but the cost is high. Adrian is now inextricably linked to the ’wife’ persona.