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Perfect Mrs
Last Updated:
2025-04-08 04:42:29
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Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Sister Dearest
DIANAI don’t bother with a second glance.The necklace is off in one tug — the clasp snapping, the sound of metal hitting marble. I drop it onto the hotel floor. “I don’t wear counterfeits.”Amanda, ever the picture of discretion, nods once. “It was just a sample, ma’am. Sent over by Vanderbilt Jewellery for your approval. The creative director is suggesting we go with a—” she checks the notes in her hand— “simpler design for the campaign.”I take the proposal she offers me and skim exactly two lines before tossing it after the necklace.“So by ‘simpler’ he means cheaper,” I say flatly. “Remind him this is Vanderbilt Holdings, not some Etsy startup run by trust fund burnouts. Cancel the meeting. Scrap the concept. Either he comes back with diamonds or he doesn’t come back at all.”“Yes, Ms. Vanderbilt.”Amanda crouches to retrieve the necklace and papers, but I flick a hand. “Leave it. That’s what the cleaning staff are paid for.”By the time we exit my hotel, my patience is already
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player You're Kicking Me Out?
EMILIAI whip around.She’s wrapped in a towel, another twisted around her hair, and her eyes—God, her eyes look nothing like the girl I know.They’re tired. Guarded.“I—” I start, but no words come.She steps further into the room, not bothering to mask the anger on her face. “Seriously, Em? Going through my stuff now?”I lower the pamphlets slowly. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to—”“You did mean to.” Her voice cuts, razor sharp. “You just didn’t mean to get caught.”“Tess, I was just worried—”She scoffs. “Spare me. You were nosy. There's a difference.”I flinch.But I don’t back down. Not this time.“You’ve been locking yourself in here for days. You’re not talking to me. You’re barely eating. You didn’t even touch your breakfast.” I gesture toward her desk. “And now I find this?” I hold up the box, barely able to breathe. “You don’t get to shut me out and act like I’m the problem for caring.”For a beat, she says nothing. Just stares at me with that unreadable face.Then she shakes h
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Controlled Chaos
EMILIATessa’s text is, to no one’s surprise, not an apology or even a human-sounding sentence. Just a long, passive-aggressive grocery list — most of which I strongly suspect she typed while glaring at my last message. I’d bet my left eyebrow she deliberately left out chocolate. And the number of vanilla-scented candles? Concerning. That’s her stress tell. Has been since undergrad.No “please,” no “is this convenient?” Just a bank transfer for half the total and radio silence after that. Classic Tessa.She’s testing me. I know she is. I do three breathing exercises in the space of a block and whisper an incantation for patience I found on Pinterest. Then I duck into the nearest convenience store, grab her list (plus a bar of chocolate for myself, I’m not a saint), and head out again, arms full and temper running thin.By the time I reach her building, I’m freezing, annoyed, and 90% sure I’ll be ghosting her the next time she asks for a favour. I forgot the scarf Liam gave me at the b
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Everything's Business
EMILIAOnce Liam and I hang up — him off to his team meeting to dissect their next opponent, me left behind with a heart doing pirouettes — I realise I no longer have an excuse to slack off.So I roll up my sleeves and dive into work.By the time the clock hits 6 PM, I feel like I’ve aged a year. My arms ache. My feet are furious. My hair smells like three different types of frosting.Honestly, I should really start thinking about hiring staff. It was easy running this place when the Becketts were basically my only regulars. But now? Ever since Liam started dropping by, word’s gotten out — and so have the fans. Hockey jerseys, custom cupcakes, suspicious giggling near the counter. I don’t mind. As long as they buy a treat or two, they can camp out all day for all I care.Someone even suggested I get a TV installed so customers can watch the Titans’ games live while they sip their overpriced lattes. I’ve been mulling it over. I mean, I can’t charge people to sit and stare at a screen..
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Domestic Goddess
EMILIAThe best part about owning a bakery? I get to decide when we open. And today, I’ve decided that “later” is the perfect time — because my boyfriend, who should be getting ready for a team meeting in less than an hour, has hijacked my morning with a video call and zero shame.He’s propped against a pillow, bare-chested, sleep-creased, with morning light pooling over his shoulder like it’s just as obsessed with him as I am. His hair is a wet mess. His smile is lazy. I want to kiss him through the screen.“You should just ask her what the problem is,” Liam says, resting his cheek in his hand, watching me like I’m a sunrise. “Better than worrying your pretty little head over it.”I roll my eyes — mostly to stop myself from melting. “I do ask her. She just never answers directly.”He hums as I dip a strawberry into melted chocolate. “You know, this whole domestic goddess thing you’ve got going on right now is extremely hot.”“Please. You’ve seen me nearly set a toaster on fire.”“Sti
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Lucky Charm
EMILIAI knock on the door to Tessa’s home office for what feels like the hundredth time. Still locked.Of course it is.I shift the tray in my hands — a small bowl of fruit, a plain oatmeal, a few slices of toast. Nothing fancy. Just something soft, light. Something she can’t argue with.She hasn’t eaten since she locked herself in there yesterday. I’m sure of it.“Tess,” I call gently. “I made you breakfast.”Silence.I wait, like maybe this time will be different. It isn’t.I sigh, resting my forehead against the door.When I first came back three weeks ago, I let myself believe her behaviour was temporary. That the Tessa I knew — stubborn, bright, always two steps ahead of herself — would bounce back. She’d followed me to the station, hadn’t she? Kept her promise. That had to count for something.But the longer I stay, the more I watch her unravel — quietly, steadily — the more I realise I might’ve come back to a stranger.I close my eyes and raise my voice just enough to be heard
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