Chapter 2

Serena's head throbbed

Sunlight streamed through the blinds in her bedroom, too bright, too intrusive.

She groaned, pulling the pillow over her face for relief.

The bitter aftertaste of last night's champagne still lingered on her tongue, and fragmented memories of the gala played in her mind-her sister's smirk, Aidan's silence, Damien's voice...

Damien

Suddenly, she sat up, a wave of nausea threatening to topple her.

"God," she whispered, clutching her head.

The man had appeared suddenly, like a storm in a designer suit.

Cool, calculating eyes, an unreadable expression.

And the way he looked at her -as if she were a solution to a problem he hadn't fully explained.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.

The caller ID read: Unknown Number.

She ignored it. But it buzzed again. And again.

Finally, with a reluctant groan, she reached over, picked up the phone, and answered.

"Hello?"

"Miss Vale," announced a clipped, professional female voice.

"Mr. Cole would like to meet with you. Noon. Café Amalie, downtown. Private room."

Serena blinked, confused.

"I-what? Who is this?"

"His assistant. Please be punctual."

Click.

Serena stared at the phone, bewildered.

What the hell is going on?

Café Amalie exuded elegance bathed in the aura of old money.

Tall ceilings, soft music, and waiters in tuxedos who seemed accustomed to serving royalty.

Serena stood awkwardly in the entrance, her simple blouse and heels feeling sorely out of place.

Just as she considered leaving, a hostess approached.

"Miss Vale? This way, please."

The private room was discreetly hidden behind velvet curtains.

Inside, Damien Cole sat waiting, a silver coffee cup poised in his hand, his posture as composed as ever.

"Serena," he greeted, without looking up, "Sit."

She hesitated.

"You had your assistant stalk me and summon me as if I work for you?"

He glanced up, amused.

"If I wanted to stalk you, you wouldn't know about it."

Annoyed, she replied, "Try again."

He gestured to the chair opposite him.

"Please."

Reluctantly, she sat.

On the table lay a folder, thick and cream-colored, with her name embossed in silver

What's that?" Her eves narrowed.

"An offer," he replied

She didn't reach for it.

"You're quite mysterious for a man who barely knows me."

Damien leaned forward, his expression turning serious.

"I know enough," he said.

"I know you've been publicly humiliated. I know your family favors your sister over you.

I know your ex-fiancé is marrying her next month.

And I know you want revenge."

Her chest tightened at his words.

"You're wrong," she replied, "I want peace."

"No," he countered evenly.

"You want justice. And maybe a little dignity back. I can offer you both." She glanced at the folder, her heart pounding with curiosity.

"What is it?"

"A contract for a temporary relationship," he explained.

"You'll be seen with me.

Photographed. Rumors will circulate.

Your sister will question her position.

Aidan will regret everything."

Her eves widened in disbelief

"You want me to pretend to date you?"

He nodded.

"For a month. Strictly appearances.

No strings attached."

"Why me?"

Serena paused. She wasn't sure what to say, feeling the pressure of the moment.

"Because I need someone convincing, someone with a real motive, and someone who has nothing left to lose."

Feeling an unexpected warmth in the room, Serena looked away.

"What does that get you?" she asked softly.

Damien's expression turned serious. "Let's just say your sister and Aidan aren't my only targets to expose."

Serena turned back to face him, her gaze wary.

"You know them?"

He didn't respond.

After a moment's hesitation, she reached for the folder.

Inside lay a complete dossier pages brimming with legal terms, appearance schedules, and financial propositions.

He was offering her a stipend, a wardrobe budget, and total discretion.

It seemed absurd.

And yet...

"Why now?" she asked as she flipped through the pages.

"Why me?"

"I've been waiting for the right time. You marched straight into the storm last night, ready for battle."

She searched his eyes, unsure.

"You really think I'd agree to this?"

"I know you're smart, angry, and tired of always being the victim."

Her fingers tightened around the folder's edge.

"This won't end well," she said softly.

"The most powerful stories seldom do," Damien replied.

Later that evening, Serena found herself seated on her apartment floor, the open folder splayed before her.

A sonogram photo peeked out from a forgotten drawer nearby. She quickly tucked it beneath a pile of magazines. She revisited the contract and its implications.

It was a relationship built on deception, but it promised something she'd been missing for a long time.

Power.

Two short months ago

On a Friday night, the rain tapped softly against the windows of their shared apartment.

Serena had planned a quiet, intimate dinner, hoping it would be the night they could finally discuss moving forward- after enduring months of tension and distance. Her heart clung to hope-a fragile and perhaps foolish hope.

Aidan walked in, looking distracted, his tie already hanging loose, his eyes clouded with something indefinable.

Moving towards him with a hopeful smile, she wished he would notice her efforts. But instead, he sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers forming a steeple beneath his lips.

"There's something we need to talk about," he said, avoiding her gaze.

Serena felt her heart sink. She gently set the food down. "Okay..."

He let out a slow breath. "I don't think I'm the man you believe I am."

Her breath caught, "Aidan, what-"

"There's someone else."

Everything inside her seemed to still. The candles flickered, and her knees locked in place.

Finally, he met her eyes. "It wasn't supposed to happen. It just did. She was there when I was falling apart at work. She listened. She understood me."

Serena forced herself to move. She walked to the coffee table and opened the takeout box, just to keep her hands busy. "You could've talked to me," she said, her voice cracking.

"I tried," came his hollow reply. "But you were so focused on making everything perfect."

"I wanted us to be happy," she whispered.

"I know," he answered. "But I think I've been lying to myself. I love you, Serena. But... not the way you deserve."

And there it was, the sentence that shattered her.

She dropped the chopsticks. They clattered like the brittle sound of breaking bones.

"Who is she?"

''You don't need to know'' he said looking away

'' If you are going to break up with me atleast tell me who she is''

''I'm protecting her''

Her knees wavered, but she refused to fall.

"You were going to marry me," she uttered, voice cracking. "We were together for four years. You were my future."

"I thought so too," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

That night, he left. And Serena stood by the window, watching his figure melt into the rain-soaked city. Her reflection in the glass seemed pale, empty.

She stayed up until morning-not crying, not screaming-just silent.

That was the night her belief in forever vanished.

Two years ago

In another rain-soaked moment, Aidan revealed the truth to her.

"I don't think I love you as I should," he had said, his eyes fixed on the floor of her apartment.

Serena had just returned from picking up takeout. The steam rose from the Thai food in her arms, its aroma filling the room. But inside, a chill settled over her.

You don't think...?"

That evening found her in a luxurious penthouse suite nestled within one of the city's exclusive shopping enclaves. A French stylist named Margot was measuring her, as if the mention of Damien's name was just another whisper on the wind.

"In high society, appearances are everything," Margot remarked, raising a beaded black evening gown. "People need to see you and think, 'She's untouchable now.""

Serena glanced at her reflection in the mirror.

New makeup, a tailored dress, sparkling jewelry she could never afford- yet in her eyes, a storm raged. Margot leaned in, tweaking the neckline with a gentle touch. "You've been through hell," she said softly. "Make them believe you own it."

Later, as Serena slid into the backseat of Damien's car, he simply observed her.

"You clean up well," he said at last.

Serena turned to him. "So do you. It's a shame it's all pretense."

His smile was shallow, never reaching his eyes.

"Not all of it," he replied.

As the city lights shimmered around them, Serena pondered just how real this façade of romance might become.

But as their car drew into the hotel driveway, Serena's phone suddenly buzzed.

She glanced at the screen and froze.

From an Unknown Number:

"You have no idea who you're dealing with, Serena. Back off-while you still can."

Her breath hitched.

Damien noticed the change in her expression.

"Something wrong?"

She quickly locked the screen. "No. Nothing at all."

But the knot forming in her stomach told her that this charade was spiraling into something far more perilous than she had ever imagined.

"I care about you, Serena," he said, eyes lifting, voice soft. "But not in the way you deserve."

The memory looped in her mind like a broken record.

She had begged him not to leave that night. And yet, he did.

Now, as she stared at Damien's contract, she realized that was the night she stopped believing in love- and began learning to survive without it.

The following morning, she found herself ushered into Damien's office on the 31st floor of Cole Holdings.

The room was all glass, steel, and silence. Damien stood behind his desk, not looking at her until the door clicked shut.

"You signed it," he said, holding up the contract.

"You already had it delivered?"

"I don't wait around."

She crossed her arms. "Now what?"

He came around his desk and handed her a small black folder.

Inside were event dates, appearance protocols, a driver's contact number, and a nondisclosure agreement.

"You'll need a new wardrobe. I've already arranged a stylist. You'll meet her this afternoon."

Serena blinked in surprise. "You really planned all this."

Damien's voice was smooth and assured. "I don't play games I don't intend to win."

She paused, considering the situation. "And what do I call you in public?"

He glanced at her, amusement playing in his eyes. "My darling works just fine.

Her phone chimed again.

A message from Damien: You have until morning.

She studied the glowing screen.

Finally, she typed back:

Where should I sign?

That evening found her in a luxurious penthouse suite nestled within one of the city's exclusive shopping enclaves. A French stylist named Margot was measuring her, as if the mention of Damien's name was just another whisper on the wind.

"In high society, appearances are everything," Margot remarked, raising a beaded black evening gown. "People need to see you and think, 'She's untouchable now.""

Serena glanced at her reflection in the mirror.

New makeup, a tailored dress, sparkling jewelry she could never afford- yet in her eyes, a storm raged. Margot leaned in, tweaking the neckline with a gentle touch. "You've been through hell," she said softly. "Make them believe you own it."

Later, as Serena slid into the backseat of Damien's car, he simply observed her.

"You clean up well," he said at last.

Serena turned to him. "So do you. It's a shame it's all pretense."

His smile was shallow, never reaching his eyes.

"Not all of it," he replied.

As the city lights shimmered around them, Serena pondered just how real this façade of romance might become.

But as their car drew into the main road, Serena's phone suddenly buzzed.

She glanced at the screen and froze.

From an Unknown Number:

"You have no idea who you're dealing with, Serena. Back off-while you still can."

Her breath hitched.

Damien noticed the change in her expression.

"Something wrong?"

She quickly locked the screen. "No. Nothing at all."

But the knot forming in her stomach told her that this charade was spiraling into something far more perilous than she had ever imagined.