Chapter 3

Three weeks have passed already, and I keep telling myself I’m healing. Heartbreak is never easy, but I’ve learned how to mask it, at least on the outside. Forgetting that asshole wasn’t something that happened overnight, especially when I see him and his so-called sister every single day at work.

It’s either she’s acting sick or tired just to get his attention, or she’s doing something ridiculous just to get mine.

I tell myself I don’t care anymore. That Louis is just another face in the office, and Lisa is just another noise I’ve learned to tune out. But sometimes… sometimes, when I catch them whispering in the corner, I still feel that knife twisting in my chest.

Tonight was supposed to be peaceful. It was the weekend, and I've finally allowed myself to relax. I was curled up on the sofa, snacks and drinks scattered around me, half watching a rom-com and half scrolling through my phone, when the front door flew open.

I jumped so hard my drink almost spilled. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me, bitch.”

Ivy didn’t even apologize. One look at her face and I knew something was wrong. She looked tense, jaw tight, eyes wide as she marched over, grabbed my drink, and emptied it in one go.

“My father just arranged a man for me to marry,” she blurted out.

I stared at her, mouth falling open. “What!?”

“I told you he texted me this morning, right? So I went over there, thinking maybe he missed me or wanted to talk.” She let out a frustrated laugh. “Guess what he said? ‘You’re getting married. I already picked the groom.’ Just like that. No hello, no how-are-you. Just boom. Apparently, he’s my dad’s business partner and ‘very suitable.’”

I blinked, still trying to process it. “Are you serious right now?”

She started pacing, fingers buried in her hair. “I can’t get married, Rosie. You know how much I love Aiden. We just made it official last week.”

I put my drink down and sat forward. “Okay, calm down. We’ll figure this out. There’s got to be a way to talk to your dad, convince him to drop it.”

Ivy shook her head. “He said I have to meet the man tomorrow. Some official get-to-know-each-other dinner. But I already promised Aiden I’d go out with him tomorrow. I don’t know what to do, Rosie.”

I sighed. Ivy had never been the “relationship type.” She used to flirt for fun, and date just to kill time. But since she met Aiden at that club a month ago, she’d turned into a completely different person, she has become softer, calmer, and actually happy. My girl was finally in love, and now her dad wanted to ruin it with an arranged marriage.

“What if you just meet the guy and tell him you already have someone else?” I suggested. “Maybe he’ll back out on his own.”

She stopped pacing and looked at me with that mischievous glint I hated. “Or…”

I groaned. “Don’t say anything stupid.”

“Please,” she said, eyes wide and desperate. “Can you go there in my place?”

I blinked. “What!?”

“Just hear me out.” She sat beside me and grabbed my hand. “You pretend you’re me. Make the guy hate you. Do things that’ll piss him off so bad he’ll call the wedding off himself. You know how easily rich men get irritated.”

I stared at her, half-laughing. “You’ve completely lost your mind. I can’t do that, Ivy.”

“Please, Rosie.” She squeezed my hand, lowering her voice like she was begging for her life. “You’re the only one I can trust. My dad won’t listen to me. This is the only way I can be with Aiden.”

“But—”

“Please…” she cut me off, her voice trembling a little. “You know how much I love him.”

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. How could I say no to that face? Ivy had helped me through my own heartbreak, and now she was looking at me like I was her last hope.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll go.”

Her face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree. “Thank you!” She squealed and hugged me so tight I almost lost my breath. “I love you so much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, hugging her back. “Love you too. Now get off me, you just ruined my movie night.”

She laughed. “Sorry!”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “You owe me big time.”

We ended up laughing until tears came out. For the first time in a while, it actually felt good to laugh that hard.

The next morning, Ivy showed up in my room holding a hanger like it was a weapon.

“This,” she said, “is what you’re wearing.”

The dress she picked was bold. Deep red, with a plunging neckline and a high slit that showed one leg completely. The fabric was soft and clingy, hugging every curve like it had been made for me. The front was cut so low that it made wearing a bra impossible. It was the kind of dress that made heads turn the second you walked into a room. Definitely not something a proper “future bride” would wear to impress her fiancé.

I slipped into it, smoothing the fabric down while Ivy got ready for her date. When I was done, she gave me a once-over, her mouth curving into a wicked grin.

“He’s definitely not gonna like this,” she said.

I smirked. “That’s the point. Who wants to marry a girl who dresses like this on a first meeting?”

She laughed. “Exactly.”

We finished getting ready together—her for her romantic date with Aiden, me for my fake one. She left with a bright smile on her face, and I grabbed my small purse before heading out to catch a cab.

The ride to the restaurant felt longer than usual. My heart pounded a little faster than I expected, maybe from nerves. I wasn’t used to playing pretend, especially not as someone’s fake bride.

When the cab stopped, I took a deep breath and stepped out. The restaurant looked fancy, with soft lighting, glass walls, and people walking in dressed like money. I stood there for a moment, staring at the doors, psyching myself up.

“You can do this,” I muttered under my breath. “Just piss the guy off, make him hate you, and go home.”

Inside, I walked up to the receptionist. “Reservation with Mr. Braxton,” I said, trying to sound calm.

She smiled politely. “Of course. He’s already here. Please, follow me.”

My heels clicked quietly against the floor as I followed her to the private section. My palms were slightly sweaty, but I kept my chin up, pretending I belonged there.

The receptionist pushed the door open, and there he was.

A tall man stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, voice calm and low. When he turned around, my heart stopped.

It was him.

The man from the hotel. The wrong room. The wrong night.

Every nerve in my body screamed to run, heat flooding my face as his eyes locked on mine. For a moment, I thought he looked surprised too, but then his expression shifted, jaw tightened, and that quiet authority I remembered from that night settled right back in place.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

“We meet again, Rosie.”

My stomach dropped.