Fake lover

Just like every night before I knew about his betrayal, I lie down in bed—but this time, I make sure to keep as much distance as possible from Oliver, trying to avoid even the slightest contact. The mere thought of his touch makes me feel sick.

"Why are you lying so far away, Giselle?" he complains as the mattress sinks under his weight.

"I-I don’t want to hurt you. I know your ribs are still sore."

"I don’t care. Get closer," he orders. Just to keep him from suspecting anything, I scoot closer until we’re just inches apart. But it’s not enough—he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me tightly against his body.

[…]

For the next two days, Oliver insists I stay by his side every moment. And just when I think I won’t be able to sneak away to meet this Nathan guy, Paulette shows up at the house—giving me the perfect excuse to get away from the ever-watchful Lefebvres.

"Are you done eating?" Oliver asks me.

"Yes, I’m going to help—"

"Go to the bedroom and stay there until I come get you."

"But—"

"Stop arguing and do as I say. Paulette and I need to go over some things in the study. Don’t interrupt us," he warns me, and I nod slowly, biting back my words.

When I glance at his assistant, I catch her smirking at me with thinly veiled amusement. I inhale quietly, rise from the table, and leave the dining room, leaving the Lefebvres behind—undoubtedly plotting something against Dubois.

Once I’m out of sight, I dash up the stairs and lock myself in the bedroom, pacing restlessly as I try to figure out how to get away from them. After a few minutes, I grab some of the money Oliver leaves me for errands, open the door carefully, and peek out. No sign of his ever-present nanny, thank God.

I hurry downstairs, but as I head toward the study, the older woman appears.

"You can’t go in there. My boy Oliver and his parents are in a meeting with Miss Paulette."

"In that case, I’ll step out to the garden for a bit," I say.

"Do whatever you want. Just don’t go near that room."

I don’t answer. I turn on my heel and nearly sprint out of the house. As soon as I’m past the gates, I finally breathe freely. Without wasting another second, I head straight to the meeting spot, hoping Nathan agrees to my proposal—to help me divorce Oliver and get revenge on him and his family.

After several minutes, I reach the location and wait… twenty minutes go by. Just as I’m about to give up and head back to endure the Lefebvres until the company’s anniversary event, a sleek luxury SUV pulls up beside me. I recognize the face in the driver’s seat and can’t help the wave of relief that floods through me.

"Get in," he says coldly.

Nathan

"Did you do what I asked?" I ask Kalet as soon as he walks into my office.

"Yes, about checking the composition of that perfume, the witch's brother is already on it..."

"Kalet!"

"And the other thing… not much out there about her, but I did dig up a bit. She keeps a low profile," he says, completely ignoring my glare.

"Her parents died years ago in a fire. She was an only child—no other known family, at least not around here. Studied chemistry, but never practiced. Or at least that’s what they want us to believe."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because after her parents died in that accident, she married that bastard Lefebvre—and that’s when his company started to take off."

"Because they’re stealing our products," I growl.

"I agree. But even the products they’ve released that aren’t ours have done pretty well in the market. That’s why I think she’s the mastermind behind them. I mean, do you really think Oliver could come up with anything like that? The guy can’t even string a sentence together, let alone create something useful."

"And what did you find out about their marriage? How bad is it between them—besides what we already know about her lover?"

"They put on a good show in the beginning. Newlywed bliss and all that. She used to attend every event with him. But little by little, she stopped going out. It’s like she became a prisoner in that house."

"Even his parents and his mistress were more present than she was. It’s like he’s ashamed of her. And don’t tell me it’s because of how she looks—I doubt anyone forced him to marry her."

"I wasn’t going to say that," I snap, irritated.

"You made it pretty clear that day you think she’s ugly."

"And she is."

"Not arguing with you about that. You wouldn’t know how to treat a woman if your life depended on it."

"Oh, and you do? You call Scarlett a witch every other word," I mutter. "But putting her looks aside—is there anything else I should know about this woman?"

"Nothing major. Want me to keep digging?"

"No. Doesn’t seem worth it. You’re not going to find anything that really matters."

"In that case, I’ll get going."

"Wait—one more thing," I stop him as he heads for the door. "Why did you shut me up when I mentioned her not having kids with me?"

"Are you seriously asking that? Are you really that much of an idiot?"

"Kalet! I’m your boss. You’d better show some respect."

"And I do respect you—but that doesn’t mean you’re not an idiot sometimes. That woman is sterile!" he snaps, rolling his eyes like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

"How do you know that?"

“It was all over the media. People had been wondering for a while when they’d have their first heir. But as the months went by and she didn’t get pregnant, they started saying she was infertile.

“Then Lefebvre stopped appearing with her in public. And well, after what you told us about his mistress being pregnant, it’s obvious—she can’t have children.”

I stay silent at this revelation, my mind flashing back to the expression on that woman’s face that day. She looked devastated, shattered, like her whole world was on the verge of collapse and she was desperately clinging to whatever she could to survive.

For the first time, I feel a flicker of sympathy for her. It must’ve been hell, going through that alone.

But I shake my head almost immediately, pushing the feeling away. I can’t afford to blur the lines between business and personal matters—and whatever happens with her, it’ll only be professional. That’s all.

If I accept the deal, that is.

Two days later

Pacing around my office, I glance at my watch and grunt in frustration. Time’s running out before my supposed meeting with Lefebvre’s wife—and if nothing goes as planned, I’ll be forced to meet with her.

“Any news? Did Scarlett’s brother figure out a way to make a fragrance with those ingredients?” I ask Kalet as soon as the door closes behind him.

“Unfortunately, no,” he mutters, slowly shaking his head. “He tried several times over the past few days, but nothing good came of it. All of them were too generic.”

“Damn it!” I growl, clenching my fist. “I didn’t want to rely on that woman.”

I return to my desk and pick up the phone to call my assistant.

“I need you to draft a contract,” I tell Kalet, listing out every detail the document should include.

“Is something wrong, boss?” Scarlett asks, waiting patiently for me to finish speaking with Kalet. “Wouldn’t it be better to have an actual lawyer draft it instead of your puppy?”

“Scarlett!” I snap, raising my hand to warn my driver this isn’t the time to argue. “Do as I said, Kalet.”

“You’ll pay for this, hellspawn,” Kalet hisses at her as he passes, shooting her a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“I need you to buy the cheapest phone you can find. Something discreet. And make sure the registration isn’t tied to us in any way.”

“Alright. I’ll get someone—”

“No. I need you to take care of it. And I need it within the hour.”

“That soon? Who’s it for?”

“I’ll explain later. Just get it done.”

She nods and hurries out, leaving me with the sinking feeling that going through with this marriage is pure madness.

An hour later, Kalet and I are headed to the location Lefebvre’s wife gave me. From a distance, I see a figure wrapped in a thin coat, hugging herself tightly as the wind tears through the open space.

“You sure about this?” Kalet asks from the driver’s seat, watching me in the rearview mirror. “Once you two sign those documents, there’s no turning back. And more importantly—you’ll have to keep your word and help that woman.”

“Why do you even care so much?” I snap.

“Because she reminds me of my sister. She did everything she could to escape her abusive husband—everything, including faking her own death. She didn’t care what pain it would cause her family.”

“Fine. I promise I’ll help her. I’ll keep my word. Happy now?” I mutter irritably, though I make sure not to mention how much I plan to gain from this arrangement.

“In that case, get ready to become the fake lover of Lefebvre’s wife.”

As we approach, the woman looks like she’s about to leave. But the moment I roll down the window and she sees me, her eyes light up, making her look far younger than she probably is.

“Get in,” I say coldly.