7. His Fiancée

~Zane~

“Mr. Sterling.”

“My manager will send a message. He’ll arrange an appreciation gift.”

I stood in the wardrobe room long after the door had clicked shut behind her, staring at the space where she’d been sitting.

An appreciation gift.

I laughed and immediately regretted it.

The movement pulled at the old injury along my ribs.

I pressed a hand flat against my side and breathed through it until the sharp edge dulled back down to something manageable.

I had taken worse hits. I’d finish worse seasons than this one.

None of it had ever hurt like watching her walk out.

That was the only crack I allowed myself…one second of feeling it.

Then I straightened my jacket, put my face back together, and walked to my suite.

However, Chloe was already in my suite when I got there.

She was perched on the arm of my sofa when I stepped inside, still in her carpet dress.

She had her manicured hand scroll through her phone like she’d been waiting exactly as long as it took to look unbothered.

“You can’t be in here,” I said.

“I’m your fiancée, Zane. I don’t need a producer’s permission to see my own fiancé.”

She didn’t even look up.

“Leave,” I said, almost immediately, pulling off my shirt.

“Oh, I will leave.” She finally lifted her eyes to mine.

“Right after you explain to me why Foster’s hand on that redhead’s back sent you storming across a lounge.”

I said nothing.

There was no version of the truth that made any of this simpler…

Chloe had signed as a contestant to gain more popularity, she hadn’t expected I would be the bachelor of the show. And now, she probably felt like it was an automatic win for her until the first challenge.

“Your mother called twice.” Chloe set the phone down, folding her hands like she was delivering a business update. “She wants proof that we’re getting along. A photo of the two of us…she wants it to look like family.”

“Take it yourself. Send it to her. I don’t care what she does with it.”

“You don’t mean that.” Her voice softened into something almost convincing, if I hadn’t heard this exact tone from her a dozen times before.

“That poor woman has done everything for you, Zane. All you have to do is play her true son for one photograph even though you…” She stopped and continued, “She just wants her family whole again.”

I smirked. There it was… the performance she was actually good at.

Painting Victoria as some grieving, devoted mother who’d given me everything, conveniently leaving out every year of exactly what that devotion had cost me.

“Careful,” I said. “You almost sound like you believe that.”

Chloe rose and crossed the room toward me.

Without a word, she slowly unzipped her dress and let it slide to the floor.

She was completely naked.

I’d caught a glimpse of her slipping off her underwear earlier while I was facing the mirror, pulling my shirt over my head.

She lifted a hand toward my face.

I caught her wrist an inch before it reached me, my grip as firm as the one I used to pin an opponent’s stick against the boards.

“No,” I said.

She didn’t stop.

She twisted her wrist free and immediately reached lower, her fingers already working at my belt.

“I know you want me…”

I caught that hand too but harder this time, and stepped back until a full arm’s length separated us.

“Wear your clothes,” I said coldly. “Now.”

Chloe froze, her hand still hovering where I’d released it.

“Zane—”

“You don’t get to do that,” I cut in. “This engagement is nothing more than a piece of paper our parents signed. I’ve tolerated it for exactly one reason, and it isn’t you or your father’s company.”

My jaw tightened.

“My father is dying, Chloe. Before he goes, he has one final wish which is to see this merger through. That’s the only reason this arrangement still exists. The day he’s gone… this engagement ends with him.”

“You cold monster!” Chloe snapped. “How can you talk about your own father like that?”

I ignored the outburst.

“So don’t ever put your hands on me again without my permission,” I said, my voice flat. “The last woman I’d ever want in my bed is you.”

Without taking my eyes off her, I pulled out my phone and opened the private banking app my accountant used to manage the monthly allowance my mother insisted I continue providing…the one thing, besides the engagement ring, that made this arrangement appear genuine to everyone on the outside.

I tapped the contact.

“Card ending in 4471. Freeze it. Effective immediately.”

Her face was drained of colour.

“You can’t be serious.” Her voice cracked. “That’s my card, Zane. My allowance—”

“Was a gift,” I said. “And gifts can be taken back.”

I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

“You don’t get to walk into my room, strip naked, put your hands on me without my consent, and still expect me to finance your lifestyle as if nothing happened. That’s not how this works.”

I paused.

“Not anymore.”

She looked completely embarrassed.

She snatched up her dress, put it back on in hurried, jerky movements, and stormed out, slamming the bedroom door hard enough to shake the walls.

Only after she had gone did I notice the lace underwear she’d left behind on my bed.

I picked up my phone again.

“Call the cleaners,” I told my assistant. “There’s a pair of underwear on my bed. Dispose of it.”

I glanced once at the crumpled fabric before looking away.

“And keep this confidential.”