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Chapter 7: Proof of Fire
Last Updated:
2025-09-24 15:05:14
Latest chapter
Pretend to Be Mine Chapter 14: A War Without Rules
Adrian Harrington wasn’t a man who reacted—he calculated. But tonight, calculation had teeth.I stood across the polished table from him in his penthouse office, the city glittering like a million unblinking eyes behind the glass. Marcus lounged at my side, but even his usual smirk felt sharpened. A folder lay open between us, spilling photographs and documents across the wood.Adrian’s voice cut through the quiet. “This,” he said, each word precise, “is Clara Vance.”I leaned forward. The dossier read like a confession: shell companies, charity accounts quietly siphoned, investments buried under fake names.“She’s been stealing?” I asked, disbelief and a strange thrill tangling in my chest.“Skimming,” Marcus corrected, tapping a page with the edge of his pen. “Enough to ruin her if the right people see it.”Adrian’s jaw flexed. “The board doesn’t know yet. She’s been careful. But if we leak this—her credibility vanishes. She loses her leverage.”I tasted metal, part fear, part fury.
Pretend to Be Mine Chapter 13: Lines I Refuse to Cross
The week after the rooftop confrontation, I clung to routine like a lifeline.I still clocked in at Harrington Enterprises every morning, still triple-checked reports, still brewed the same bitter coffee at my desk—as though the ground beneath me wasn’t shifting. But beneath that careful rhythm, my nerves hummed like a live wire.Every elevator ding made me flinch. Every whisper in the hallway felt like a dart aimed at my back.And I wasn’t imagining it.The whispers were louder than ever. Eyes followed me into the breakroom, conversations dipping into silence the moment I poured my coffee.“Contract girl,” someone muttered just loud enough for me to hear.My stomach twisted. Every polite smile felt fake, every handshake weighted with judgment. I wasn’t the invisible intern anymore. I was a headline—one people wanted to watch burn.When I returned to my desk, an unmarked envelope sat waiting. My pulse spiked as I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper with bold, blocky type:
Pretend to Be Mine Chapter 12: Fire on the Roof
The city lights streak past the car window like blurred warnings, neon flashing across my lap as if the city itself is whispering: turn back. My nerves buzz, but beside me Adrian sits like carved stone—silent, controlled, unreadable. Every flicker of a passing streetlight glances off his profile and leaves it harder to read.Finally, I can’t stand the quiet.“Why bring me?” I whisper. “You could’ve handled Clara yourself.”His gaze cuts to me—sharp but soft at the edges. “Because this isn’t just about me anymore. She came after you. That makes it our fight.”The words are simple, but they wrap around my chest like a net. Dangerous in their weight. For a moment I forget how to breathe.Clara Vance is too calm.She’s waiting at a corner table in one of Manhattan’s sleekest rooftop lounges, wine glass in hand, legs crossed like a queen surveying her court. The city glows beneath her—skyscrapers glittering like jewels—but all I see is the woman who tore my life apart.As we approach, Adri
Pretend to Be Mine Chapter 11: Headlines and Crossfire
The headline spread like wildfire.Exclusive: Adrian Harrington’s Love Contract Exposed—Romance or Business Deal?Screens everywhere blazed with the leaked document—clauses about appearances, timelines, even acceptable hand-holding durations. Proof, undeniable and humiliating, that everything between us had been staged.At Harrington Tower, the board meeting was brutal. I wasn’t there, but the reports reached me in real time. Directors slammed newspapers on the table, their voices sharp enough to slice through glass.“You’ve jeopardized this company’s reputation.”“You lied to us—and to the public.”“What kind of CEO runs his personal life like a business transaction?”I could almost see the older director jabbing a finger at Adrian. You expect us to believe in your leadership when your judgment is compromised by a… contract mistress?The phrase burned when I read it. Contract mistress. Like that was all I’d ever been.Later, Marcus told me Adrian rose slowly, a shadow cutting across
Pretend to Be Mine Chapter 10: Under the Lights
I have never felt so exposed.The press-conference podium gleams beneath the harsh lights, microphones lined up like weapons. Rows of reporters pack the room, their faces eager, hungry. Cameras whir and flashes pop, the buzz of whispered speculation wrapping around me like static.Adrian stands beside me, every inch of him composed, his charcoal suit sharp enough to wound. His presence radiates control, but I can feel the tension in the way his hand brushes mine before resting lightly at my back.My nails bite crescents into my palm. My shoulders ache from holding my posture upright, even as every instinct screams to curl into myself and disappear.“Stay calm,” he murmurs, voice low enough only I can hear. “They can smell fear.”My mouth goes dry. “Comforting,” I whisper back.He almost smirks, but then the first question slices through the air.“Mr. Harrington, are you confirming a relationship with Miss Ramirez?”Adrian leans forward, gaze steady, voice firm. “Yes. Elena and I are t
Pretend to Be Mine Chapter 9: Cracks in the Spotlight
By Monday morning, my world was a circus. Reporters camped outside my building, shoving microphones toward anyone who entered or left.I sank into the couch, staring at the ceiling. Every headline felt like a punch to the stomach. Had I imagined the way Adrian looked at me at the gala? Was that connection real, or just part of the performance? And Clara—Clara would stop at nothing.A hundred eyes followed my every step, some curious, some cruel. I felt naked under the weight of cameras and tweets alike, a private life shredded into public fodder. Was I strong enough to withstand it? Could I survive the chaos without losing myself entirely?At work, whispers swelled louder—“gold digger,” “liar,” “social climber”—like knives thrown at my back. I tried to ignore them, head down, but the weight pressed until my hands shook over the keyboard.My hands trembled as I typed, deleted, and retyped emails. Every word felt like a betrayal of my own dignity. And yet, I couldn’t stop. Survival dema
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