Pretend to Be Mine

I rubbed my temples and stared at the glowing spreadsheets on my laptop screen. The numbers swam in front of my eyes, columns blurring together like waves. The office around me was nearly silent now—just the low hum of computers and the shuffle of the night security guard making his rounds. Most interns had left hours ago, but I was still here, clinging to perfection like it was oxygen. My boss hadn’t demanded I stay late. No one was watching me except the shadows stretching long across the glass walls. But mediocrity wasn’t an option. Not here, not at Harrington Enterprises, where excellence was the air everyone breathed—or suffocated without.

My phone buzzed against the desk, vibrating insistently until I reached for it. Maya.

“Don’t tell me you’re still at that office,” she said, laughter spilling through the line. “Elena, it’s Friday night.”

“I’ll leave soon,” I promised, leaning back in my chair and pressing the bridge of my nose. “I just want this model finished before Monday.”

“You’re not a machine,” she teased. “Normal people go out, eat ice cream, maybe even kiss someone. You? You date Excel.”

“Not everyone has the luxury of being seventeen with no rent to pay.” Despite my exhaustion, a smile tugged at my mouth. “Besides, if I do well here, maybe everything changes for us.”

Her laughter softened. “I know. You’re working so hard, and I love you for it. But don’t forget to breathe, okay? You deserve more than stress and takeout dinners.”

The words lodged in my chest. I hated when Maya went sentimental; it reminded me of our parents’ absence, of how I was more than a sister—I was guardian, provider, protector. Every late night was for both of us.

“I’ll be fine,” I said quietly.

“You better be. Because if you collapse, I’m too delicate to drag you to the hospital.”

I chuckled and hung up, the heaviness in my chest easing just a fraction. Maya always had that effect. I shut my laptop, stuffed it into my bag, and left the office. Maybe fresh air would rinse away the fatigue.

The city streets were quieter than usual. A chill nipped at me as I crossed toward the subway, my heels clicking on the pavement. You deserve more. Maya’s words replayed in my head, and for one dangerous second, I let myself believe them.

That thought stuck with me—distracting enough that I didn’t notice the sleek black car until the horn blared. The screech of tires cut through the night like a whip. My stomach dropped as brilliant headlights seared my vision. I stumbled back, my laptop bag tumbling to the pavement with a sharp thud.

The world seemed to slow: cold wind whipping past my face, the smell of burning rubber, the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

The tinted window rolled down, and a smooth, irritated voice cut through the night.

“Do you have a death wish?”

My eyes met piercing blue ones, and for a split second, I could only gape.

My stomach plummeted.

Adrian Harrington. The CEO. Billionaire. My boss’s boss’s boss. The man whose signature could shift markets and whose headlines filled gossip columns.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, my face flushing hot. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

His blue eyes flicked over me, assessing, cold. “Clearly.”

Exhaustion and humiliation burned together, sparking something reckless. “Well, I survived, didn’t I?” I muttered before I could stop myself.

The silence that followed was electric. Then, to my shock, Adrian’s lips curved into a faint smirk.

“You’ve got some fire,” he said, his voice softening just slightly. “Most people just grovel.”

I blinked, unsure how to respond. I wasn’t most people, but I wasn’t about to admit that.

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. Nearly hitting someone was infuriating—but something about me must have made him pause. I hadn’t cowered or whimpered. There was fire in my gaze, reckless but unyielding.

“Just… watch where you’re going,” he said finally, before the window slid shut and the car pulled away.

I stood frozen, heart thundering. Of all the people in New York to nearly kill me, it had to be Adrian Harrington. Shaking my head, I hurried into the subway. Maya was never going to believe this.

Later that night, I padded across the apartment floor, the tiles cold under my feet, the hum of the fridge filling the quiet room. The couch felt like a small sanctuary after the chaos outside. Even as I sank into it, I could still feel my pulse hammering, a reminder of how close I’d come to danger—and how alive the city felt in moments like this.

Maya was sprawled on the other end, scrolling her phone. “You look like you saw a ghost,” she said.

“You’re never going to believe who almost hit me with his car tonight,” I blurted.

“Please don’t say a taxi again.”

“Adrian Harrington.”

Maya sat up so fast her phone nearly flew. “Wait. Billionaire Adrian Harrington? Your Adrian Harrington?”

“He’s not my anything.” I groaned. “And yes. Him.”

She burst into laughter. “Oh my God. Only you. Only you could turn a billionaire meet cute into a near-death experience.”

“It wasn’t a meet-cute!” I buried my face in a pillow.

“Sure,” she teased. “Tell me again when he shows up with flowers.”

I shot her a look, but she only grinned wider. “Careful, sis. You might’ve just stumbled into your own story.”

I rolled my eyes, but a flicker of something dangerous lodged in my chest. The way Adrian had looked at me—sharp, calculating, as if I wasn’t invisible after all.

And I hated myself for wondering, even for a second, if Maya was right.

Adrian Harrington had faced ruthless board members, billion-dollar acquisitions, and scandals that could have broken anyone weaker. But none of that unsettled him the way one reckless intern had.

He should have forgotten me the moment his car drove away. I was nobody. An inconvenience at best.