Chapter 4: Public Lies, Private Distance

"Eva Monroe's Point Of View''

The flashing lights were almost blinding.

We stood on the red carpet outside the Lucent Foundation Gala, with cameras aimed at us like they were sniper rifles, every lens focused on us as if we were prey rather than guests.

Cassian’s hand held mine tightly, possessively, but there was nothing warm or affectionate about it. It was a signal. A warning. A contract in touch form.

“Smile,” he murmured under his breath. “Like I just gave you the moon.”

I angled my chin and curled my lips. My smile hurt.

“Ms. Monroe! What’s it like being engaged to New York’s most elusive billionaire?” one of the photographers shouted.

“Is it true he proposed during a helicopter ride?” another barked.

Cassian gave a faint smirk and pulled me closer. “I like my privacy,” he said, loud enough for the press. “But I couldn’t resist showing her off.”

They ate it up. Cameras clicked. Flashes popped.

My cheeks throbbed from the effort of keeping up appearances.

Inside the gala, the atmosphere crackled with the sound of champagne corks popping and the presence of billion-dollar egos. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, illuminating a sea of designer gowns and perfectly tailored tuxedos. People murmured our names as if gossip were the most valuable currency.

Cassian guided me to a secluded corner, handed me a glass of something far too pricey for my palate, and then slipped away to chat with two distinguished gentlemen who looked like they could own half of Wall Street.

I stood alone.

Fake fiancée. Real prop.

My fingers tightened around the glass.

---

Cassian and I shared a bed in theory only.

At night, I retreated to my suite. The silence between our rooms was thick, almost sentient. We passed each other in the mornings like coworkers, not lovers. He left for ValeCorp before sunrise and came home long after dark.

Sometimes, I’d notice him stealing glances at me during dinner, his eyes sharp and calculating. It felt as if he was trying to decipher a foreign language without a dictionary in sight.

He never asked questions.

He never offered answers.

And I never gave him anything real.

Because real life would ruin everything.

---

A week after the gala, I found myself seated across from a magazine editor in a penthouse suite, being prepped for a cover story about the “surprising, whirlwind romance” of Cassian Vale and his mystery fiancée.

“She’s a modern-day Cinderella,” the editor gushed to the camera crew. “From diner to diamond. Tell us your love story, Eva.”

I swallowed hard.

“Well,” I said, “he saw me across the room at a charity gala.

I really shouldn’t have been there in the first place. And then, of all things, I ended up spilling champagne all over his tux! He made a joke about expensive dry cleaning.”

They laughed. The crew nodded. The lights burned my face.

“It was easy with him,” I added. “Like falling into gravity.”

When the interview came to an end, I stepped out onto the balcony, feeling my heart race in my ears. Cassian was already there, arms crossed, gazing out at the skyline.

“You’re good at lying,” he said without turning.

“You trained me well.”

His jaw flexed. “Is it that hard to pretend you like me?”

I looked out over the city. “It’s not about liking you. It’s about surviving you.”

That made him pause.

“I’m not the enemy, Eva.”

“No,” I said. “You’re just the one writing the script.”

The next event came two days later. A product launch at ValeCorp. Cassian held my hand like a trophy while reporters snapped photos.

He delivered a speech about innovation, legacy, and the future. I stood behind him, nodding like I gave a damn.

Afterward, he leaned in and whispered, “You could smile more.”

I turned my head just enough to mutter, “You could feel more.”

He stiffened.

We stepped out of the building without a word.

That night, I spotted him on the rooftop balcony, gazing out at the city as if it owed him something.

“You really think this is how it ends?” he asked without turning.

“What?”

“This performance. This game. You think you’ll walk away clean?”

I walked up beside him, close but not touching. “Do you want the truth?”

He looked at me then. Tired. Angry. Curious.

“I think you’ve spent your entire life building walls so no one could hurt you,” I said. “And now you’re dying behind them.”

His eyes darkened. “Not dying anymore.”

“No,” I said softly. “Just rotting in a prettier cage.”

As I settled into bed later on, I found myself going over that moment in my mind again and again. The way his shoulders tensed. The look in his eyes.

He wasn’t just angry. He was lost.

And for just a moment, I nearly felt a pang of sympathy for him.

Almost.

The tabloids went wild the next morning.

"Cassian Vale and Mystery Fiancée Take NYC By Storm!"

"A Love Story for the Ages—Billionaire’s Bride-to-Be Is Just Like Us!"

I looked at the glossy photos over coffee. My hand in his. My lips parted in a laugh I didn’t remember.

None of it is real. Every angle a lie.

Cassian walked in, took one look at the paper, and tossed it on the table.

"You’re becoming quite the icon."

"I’m becoming your mascot."

He poured himself coffee. "Same thing in this world.”

I stood. "I’m not a puppet, Cassian."

He met my gaze. "Then stop dancing so well."

---

By afternoon, I couldn’t breathe in that place. I left the penthouse and wandered through Midtown, sunglasses low on my nose.

I ended up at the hospital.

Liam’s room was quiet. Machines beeped steadily.

His chest rose and fell, as if the world around us hadn’t shifted at all.

I settled next to him, allowing the silence to envelop us.

“I signed a contract,” I whispered. “Sold myself to the devil with a tailored suit.”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

But I imagined he would’ve said something sarcastic. Something brave.

“You’d hate him,” I added. “He’s cold. Controlling. Smarter than everyone else in the room and never lets you forget it.”

I paused.

“But you know, sometimes I catch Liam looking at me like I’m the last bit of honesty left in his life. And honestly, that really freaks me out.”

That night, I came home late. Cassian was waiting, sitting in the dark like a ghost in an Armani suit.

“I went to see my brother,” I said before he could ask.

“I know.”

Of course he did.

He studied me as if I were some puzzle he just couldn’t solve. “Why do you keep staring at me like I’m the monster?”

“Because you are,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “But maybe... maybe you don’t want to be.”

His eyes burned.

“You think I’m the villain, Eva?”

I stepped closer. “No. I think you’re the story everyone’s too afraid to tell.”