Chapter 2 What have I done to myself?

Zoey’s POV 

I did not wait for Christian. I turned on my heel the second the flashbulbs faded and started walking, my heels clicking too fast against the polished marble floor. My pulse was still high, my head was still loud, and my chest felt like it had been stuffed with too many questions that refused to sit still. Behind me, I heard his footsteps; they were slow, unbothered, and too composed for a man who had just blown up my life.

I pushed through a side door I vaguely remembered from years ago - a quieter corridor with dimmer lights, no photographers, no investors, and no fake smiles. It was just us. I stopped near a tall window that overlooked the garden below, the glass cold and reflective, showing our silhouettes instead of our faces. Christian stopped a few feet behind me.

I folded my arms and turned. “Who are you?” I asked again.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he had not bothered solving yet. “I already told you,” he said. “Christian.”

“Don’t do that,” I snapped. “Don’t play games with me. You know what I mean.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by distant music drifting through the walls. Finally, he spoke. “Why do you care so much?”

The question hit me harder than I expected, and I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Why do you care who I really am?” he repeated, calmer this time. “You hired someone to stand beside you, to look convincing, and to make your ex sweat. I did that. So why does my identity suddenly matter?”

My laugh came out sharp - almost hysterical. “Because I did not hire you,” I said. “I hired a fake fiancé, and now I’m standing here with a real billionaire who apparently knew my name, my scandal, and my family before I even opened my door.”

His expression did not change. “And?” he asked.

“And?” I echoed. “And it feels like everything else about you is fake too.”

His gaze hardened just a little. “It doesn’t matter what’s real or fake about me,” he said, his voice smooth but with steel underneath. “What matters is that I did exactly what you paid for.”

I stared at him. “I didn’t pay you,” I shot back.

“You eventually will,” he said easily. “You already know my charge.”

That irritated me even more. I pushed away from the window and took a step closer to him, close enough that I could see the faint gold flecks in his dark eyes. “Fine,” I said. “If you’re so real, answer me something.”

He lifted a brow. “Go ahead.”

“What’s your full name?” He didn't say a word. “Exactly,” I said.

He exhaled slowly. “Next question.”

I crossed my arms tighter. “Where are you from?” Again, he didn't respond. “Next question,” he replied.

My jaw tightened. “What do you actually do?”

“I run a company,” he said simply.

“You mean Bellucci Winery,” I snapped. A flicker crossed his face- quick, then gone. “I run a company,” he repeated.

I let out an incredulous laugh. “You are impossible.”

“And you are agitated,” he said calmly.

“Yes, I am!” My voice rose before I could stop it. “Because you lied to me, walked into my life, let the world think we’re engaged, and now everyone here must think I found the most stable man on earth!”

Christian opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, I saw movement over his shoulder: a man and a woman approaching us slowly, clearly curious and clearly watching. Instinct kicked in before reason did. I grabbed Christian by the collar of his suit, yanked him toward me, and kissed him. It was not soft or polite; it was that kind of full-on, messy, desperate, dramatic kiss that shocked both of us.

His body stiffened for half a second, then his hands came up- one sliding to my waist, the other gently cupping the back of my neck, pulling me closer like this was the most natural thing in the world. I felt his breath mingle with mine and his warmth bleeding into my skin, and for a split second, I forgot I was acting.

When I finally pulled back, slightly breathless, the man and his partner were right beside us, both smiling in that amused, starstruck way people smiled when they thought they had stumbled on something romantic.

“Oh my goodness,” the man said, grinning broadly. “You two are beautiful together.”

I forced a smile, my heart still racing for reasons I refused to analyze. “Thank you,” I said quickly.

The man’s girlfriend clasped her hands together. “You look so in love.”

Christian’s hand tightened on my waist, subtle but possessive. “We are,” he said smoothly, his voice low and rich. “Madly.”

I shot him a quick glance; he met my eyes and didn’t flinch. “I have loved her longer than she knows,” he added casually.

My brain short-circuited, and I felt my cheeks heat instantly. “Christian…”

He squeezed my waist lightly, cutting me off. The man laughed softly. “That is incredible. How long have you two been together?”

I opened my mouth. “Three years,” I said, at the exact same time Christian said, “Six months.”

We both froze, and the couple looked between us, confused. I laughed too loudly. “I mean…”

“Three years,” Christian corrected smoothly, glancing at me with something like amusement. “She just likes to forget how long she’s been stuck with me.”

I scoffed. “Stuck with you? Please. I’m the prize.”

The man chuckled. “I love that. You have that playful energy.”

His girlfriend tilted her head, studying us more closely now. Her smile was still there, but her eyes were sharper. “Three years is a long time,” she said slowly. “How did you meet?”

I opened my mouth again, heart pounding. Christian answered first this time. “At a charity auction,” he said effortlessly. “She outbid me.”

I blinked. “That is not true,” I blurted out.

He turned to me, eyes glinting. “You absolutely did. You just don’t remember because you were too busy pretending you didn’t care.”

I stared at him, completely thrown. The man laughed again. “Sounds like fate.”

His girlfriend, however, was not laughing anymore. She looked at us, really looked, like she was trying to see past the smiles and the charm. Her gaze lingered on my hand, still gripping Christian’s lapel, then on his hand, still firm at my waist, then back to our faces. She folded her arms slightly, polite but suspicious.

“That’s interesting,” she said. “Because the way you two answered… it almost sounded like you weren’t sure about your own relationship.”

My stomach dropped while Christian smiled smoothly. I swallowed, and then she asked the question that froze the air between us: “So… are you actually engaged, or is this all just for show?”