Chapter Eight

By evening, my phone was a war zone.

“Is it true?”

“Oh my God, Maria, you’re engaged to Andrew Walker?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Susan had called seven times before I gave up ignoring her and picked up on the eighth.

“Are you okay?” she asked immediately, no preamble. “You looked like you’d been pushed off a cliff and forced to smile through the fall.”

“That’s… weirdly accurate.”

She blew out a breath. “I just saw the press briefing. You’re everywhere, girl. T*****r’s practically on fire. I’m proud and also low-key terrified for you.”

I sat on the floor of my tiny apartment, still in the red dress, hair falling loose, makeup smudged at the corners of my eyes. My feet ached. My mind raced. But the thing that echoed loudest was the look on Andrew’s face when he made that announcement. Calm. Cold. Calculated.

I was a chess piece, and he was the hand moving the board.

“I didn’t even know he was going to make it public,” I muttered.

“You should’ve guessed. He’s not exactly the king of subtlety. This is business to him.”

I bit my bottom lip. “It’s more than that. He’s hiding something. The way he’s pushing this narrative, the way he needs me to look perfect… It’s not just about image. There’s something bigger.”

Susan was quiet for a beat. “What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?” I said. “I’m already in it. Might as well get to the bottom of it.”

⸻

The next morning, I was summoned.

No “hello.” No “good morning.” Just a text:

Be at my office by 9. Wear navy.

I was getting used to being barked at like an employee rather than a fake fiancée. Still, I showed up on time, in a navy pencil skirt and a blouse Susan forced me to iron twice.

Andrew’s office was all glass and steel—cold, clean, a little too perfect. Just like him.

He stood by the window when I walked in, phone pressed to his ear. He motioned for me to sit, which I didn’t. I hated being ordered around without words.

“Yes,” he said into the phone. “I know the stakes. That’s why I’ve secured her.”

Pause.

“No. The announcement was intentional. We’re ahead of the curve now.”

He ended the call and finally turned.

“You were eavesdropping,” he said, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth.

“You invited me,” I replied. “Unless you expected me to wear noise-canceling headphones with my heels.”

He didn’t laugh. He rarely did.

“That was Mr. Denmark’s advisor,” he said, walking toward his desk. “He’s cautious. Traditional. Values family. Stability. Public image.”

“So naturally, you lied.”

“I curated,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Right. Like curating a fake fiancée.”

He ignored the jab and sat behind his desk. His expression was unreadable again, all business.

“I’m days away from signing the biggest partnership of my career,” he said finally. “A tech merger with Denmark’s firm. It would double my company’s valuation and cement me as CEO for the next ten years.”

I blinked.

“So this whole charade is to impress an old man with a fondness for marriage and manners?”

He nodded, unapologetic. “Mr. Denmark isn’t just a business partner. He’s a legacy builder. He chooses alliances like marriages—measured, strategic. If he senses instability or superficiality in any of his partners, he pulls out.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Everything,” Andrew said. “You’re part of the pitch now. My future. The woman who grounds me. Who balances my ambition with warmth.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“That’s… disturbingly poetic for someone who once offered me five thousand dollars like a donation to charity.”

He stood and walked around the desk. “Look, I didn’t plan this. But the moment Denmark believed we were serious, things shifted. I can’t afford to lose that deal.”

“And you think this fake engagement is going to hold up under real scrutiny?”

He studied me. “That depends on how well you play your part.”

I looked at him—really looked at him. The clean lines of his jaw. The way his tie was always perfect. The way his eyes flickered just a little when he talked about the deal. It was more than business. This was personal. Maybe even desperate.

“You’re afraid,” I said quietly.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re afraid of losing everything. That’s why you’re controlling every detail. That’s why you’re willing to drag a woman you hate into the spotlight just to save face.”

He stepped closer, his voice low. “I don’t hate you, Maria.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You frustrate me,” he said, closer now, almost a whisper. “You say what you think. You challenge everything I plan. You get under my skin. That’s not hate.”

“That’s not love either.”

He said nothing.

For a moment, we stood there, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Then his phone buzzed again.

He broke the moment, checking it. “We’re expected at a charity gala this weekend. Denmark’s inner circle will be there. It’s our first official outing as an engaged couple.”

“I’ll need a dress,” I muttered.

“And a lesson in ballroom etiquette.”

I groaned. “Is that before or after we take down the moon and build a throne from lies?”

He smirked. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

I shook my head, already walking toward the door. “I’m not doing it for you.”

He didn’t stop me. But his voice followed me out.

“I know. That’s what makes it work.”

⸻

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I stared at my phone, scrolling through headlines:

“Andrew Walker Announces Surprise Engagement”

“Who Is Maria Smith?”

“CEO’s Fiancée Has No Social Media Presence — Red Flag or Perfect Match?”

I threw the phone across the bed and sat up.

This was spiraling fast.

And the worst part?

Somewhere deep down, I wasn’t just afraid of being exposed.

I was afraid of wanting it to feel real.

Because Andrew Walker might be ruthless, but he was powerful. And magnetic. And when he looked at me today, I almost believed the lie myself.

Almost.