The fiancée

River 

The restaurant was crowded. Too crowded infact. 

I scanned the room automatically. Left to right. Cataloguing

Then I stopped. 

I spotted her before the hostess reached me. She was already seated. 

Oliver’s file had described her in a dull language of background reports. But the woman sitting at the center of the room looked nothing like the report. 

She wasn’t buried into her phone, nor was she checking the time every few seconds. A single glass of water rested untouched in front of her while her gaze wandered through the restaurant—not nervously, but deliberately. 

Most people waiting for someone like me rehearsed conversations in their head or searched the room every time the door opened. 

She did neither of that. 

“Good evening, Mr. Cassian.” 

The air hostess looked very surprised to see me.

“I’ll take you to your—“

“I know where it is.” 

She smiled for a fraction of a second before she stepped aside. 

When I stopped beside the table she looked up. 

Not a flicker of recognition. 

Her dark eyes just looked at me. Assessing me. 

“Ms Hale?” 

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she studied me with the same quiet scrutiny I’d been giving her from across the room. 

“Depends,” she said. 

I raised an eyebrow. 

“On?” 

“Who’s asking.” 

“River Cassian.” 

Recognition settled into her expression—not from what I look like, but from my name. 

“Oh,” she said. “You are the project.” 

“Project?” 

“You are ten minutes late.” 

No hello. Nice to meet you. Just straight to the point. 

“I was begging to think you had changed your mind.” 

I removed the buttons om my suit before answering. “I considered it.” 

“I appreciate the honesty.” 

“It was a difficult decision. And beside it rained.” 

A faint smile appeared on her lips. 

“So your greatest obstacle this evening was the weather?” 

“For a moment.” 

She tilted her head slightly. 

“I’m not a project for your information. Don’t you think it’s rude to call someone that?” 

“Olivers words. He called you a project like you were some kind of renovation he was doing on the side.” She picked up her glass of water. “I pictured someone different.”

“Someone less capable of getting a girlfriend yhe traditional way?” 

“Someone who looked like they needed intervention.”

“Maybe I do.” 

“You don’t look like you need anything. In fact, you look like you have everything.” Her eyes are steady. Unafraid. “Which makes it weird.” 

“What makes it weird?” 

“Are you just going to answer me with questions or are you going to talk like a normal person?” 

“Who’s asking the questions now?” 

“You are sitting across from me like you are reading me. Most men at least pretend to make small talk first.” She leaned back slightly. “You are not going to pretend are you?” 

“No.” 

“Good. I hate small talks.” She picked up the menu again. “So tell me the truth. What’s actually wrong with you?” 

“Nothing is wrong with me.” 

“Then why does a billionaire need to hire a girlfriend.” 

“The board doesn’t like mystery.”

“You are mysterious?” 

“Apparently.” 

“But I don’t see you as someone who wants to be mysterious. You clearly just made a deliberate choice to not care about being seen.” 

I don’t respond to that.

“So what’s your deal? Cold? Traumatized? Recently dumped and your ego can’t handle it?”

“Do you ask all your clients these questions?” 

“You are not my client. You are hiring me. Which makes you the client, actually.” She flagged the waiter without looking away from me. “And yes, I asked a question that you need to answer. I should know what I’m walking into.” 

The waiter appeared. She ordered without hesitation. Committed. No second thought. 

I ordered the same thing. 

“Here’s what I think,” she said once the waiter left, her voice quieter and more intense. “I think you are lonely and you don’t have a lot of fun in your life. And what’s life without a little fun.” 

My jaw tightened.“That’s a very good thought you have there.” 

“Can you please answer my questions? It’s becoming frustrating,”she said drinking water from her glass again.”I just want to know if you are actually going to do this or if you are going to spend six months of your life resenting me for existing.” 

“I don’t resent you.” 

“You don’t know me.” 

“Oliver told you nothing. Everything you just said is the little assumption you made in your head.” 

The waiter came with our food. She thanks home and dive right into her food. I stared at the way she carefully placed her napkin on her lap. 

“So tell me something,” I said quietly. “Why did you accept this?” 

She went completely still 

I watched it happen—the shift. Her composure, which had been sharp and controlled, suddenly became something else. Something raw flickered across her face for just a second. Her eyes went distant. The confidence drained out of her shoulders. It was like watching and armor crack. 

But then she shakes it off fast. She picked up her fork, steadied her breathing and looked at me. 

“I was bored,” she said simply. 

But that wasn’t the truth. 

“You were bored,” I repeated, not believing her for a second. 

The lie sat between us like something alive. 

I did my research last night about her. Clearly she had no family. Her page was quite filled with what she does. But it seems to me that her company was suffering. 

But I didn’t push. I let her get away with what she just told me. But I knew there was something underneath all of this. Something she was running from or running towards. 

We are in silence for a moment. A different kind of silence. 

The conversation resumed slowly. But my eyes never left her face. And she knew it. She felt it. Everytime she looked at me, I was already looking at her. 

The hostess appeared at our table suddenly, her expression apologetic but firm. 

“Mr Cassian, I’m very sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone at the door who’s insisting on seeing you. She said it’s urgent.” 

I frowned. “I’m not expecting anyone.” 

“She’s quite persistent. She says…”Yhe hostess hesitated, uncomfortable. “She says she’s your fiancée.”