Chapter 7

Charlotte 

 "Tell me you're joking," Rhys says, his voice cutting through the quiet of my apartment.

 "I never joke about strategy," I reply, tossing my jacket over the couch. "Kevin wants to play smart? Fine. Let's show him what manipulation looks like when done right."

 He folds his arms, watching me that infuriating calm of his. " So, what now? Fake smiles, public appearances, a little PR war?"

 "Exactly." I grab a glass from the counter, pour water, and take a slow sip. "We make him look desperate. We make them doubt him."

 Rhys leans against the table. "You do realise the media still thinks you're the heartbroken ex, yeah?"

 "Good," I say, flashing him a quick smile. "That's how you bait sympathy. Then I flip it. Let them see me glowing, happy, unbothered. It will drive him insane."

 "Charlotte." His tone is low now. "This could backfire."

 "It won't. He's predictable. Narcissists always are."

 He studies me for a moment, and I can tell he wants to argue, but he doesn't. "So where do I fit in this master plan?"

 I turn, leaning against the counter. "You?" You are my leverage. My business partner. My... very convincing rebound."

 His brows lift. "Convincing, huh?"

 "Don't flatter yourself."

 "Oh, I wasn't." His mouth tilts into a half smile. But if I am going to play the part, I expect full creative freedom."

 "Meaning?"

 "Meaning," he steps closer, "if we're selling a story, it has to look real."

 There is a beat of silence. My heart betrays me, quickening at the proximity. I roll my eyes to hide it. "Relax, Rhys. We'll hold hands and smile for the cameras. We're not filming a romance movie."

 He grins. "Sure. Just remember who came up with the idea of making your ex jealous."

 "Correction," I say, brushing past him, "I came up with the idea. You're just the accessory."

 He laughs softly, following me into the living room. So we spend the next hour outlining everything, the events we'll attend, the statements they'll leak, and others.

 At one point, Rhys stops writing and studies me. "You are sure this is about taking him down and not about you proving something to yourself?"

 I meet his gaze without flinching. "Both."

 The next morning, my phone won't stop buzzing. News alerts, gossip blogs, and even a few congratulatory texts from people who suddenly remember my number.

 "CHARLOTTE ANDERS AND BUSINESS TYCOON RHYS VAN ALLEN SPOTTED LEAVING HER APARTMENT EARLY THIS MORNING."

 I almost laugh. One blurry photo, and they've already decided we're a scandal. The paparazzi must have camped outside all night, desperate for something to chew on. I scroll through the comments, watching theories multiply like wildfire. 

 "They look cute though, ngl."

 "So she moved on already? Damn."

 "You all need to stop pretending she is innocent. This woman plays games."

 "Not Charlotte wasting no time.... queen energy."

 I drop the phone on the counter, exhaling. No denial. No press statement. No explanation. They will believe what they want to believe anyway.

 A sharp knock echoes through the apartment around midday. I open the door and freeze. Roses. A full arrangement of them, blood-red and expensive. The kind Kevin used to send when he wanted to buy forgiveness.

 No note. No message. Just the flowers, staring at me like they already know who sent them.

 I don't touch them. Not at first. I just stand there, watching them like they might explode.

 Then, as if on cue, another bouquet arrives an hour later. Then another. Lilies this time. And then something so rare that it looks like it belongs in a museum. 

 Then, finally, a card that says: We should talk -K

 I'm halfway through taking in the last bouquet into the kitchen when another knock comes. This time, it's Rhys.

 He leans against the doorway, casual in a black shirt, his expression unreadable. "You planning a wedding without telling me?"

 I gesture toward the jungle of flowers. "If I am, trust me, you're not invited."

 He steps inside, looking around. "Kevin?"

 "Who else sends guilt in bulk?"

 Rhys smirks. "You could sell these. Probably make enough to buy a small island."

 "Tempting," I mutter, grabbing the card and ripping it in half.

 He watches me for a second, then says, "You really don't miss him at all, do you?"

 I turn, meeting his gaze. "I don't miss being someone's project."

 "You're not keeping the flowers?" Rhys asks

 "I'm allergic to bullshit," I say, dropping the roses into the trash.

 He smirks. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

 He steps closer, just enough for me to feel the quiet weight of his presence. "You ever get tired of pretending you don't care?"

 I turn to him, meeting his eyes. "You ever get tired of pretending you don't understand?"

 Something flickers between us, a challenge, maybe curiosity. It is sharp and quiet all at once.

 My phone buzzes again, slicing through the silence. A message. Kevin.

 Dinner? Just to talk.

 I stare at it for a long second, then let out a laugh that doesn't sound like humour. "He's good," I mutter. "He times things perfectly, guilt first then charm."

 Rhys tilts his head. "You thinking of saying yes?"

 I glance at him, smirking. "You think I would give him that satisfaction?"

 "You're considering it," he says, stepping even closer now. His voice drops a little. "Which means you're planning something."

 I shrug, feigning indifference. "Maybe."

 His gaze lingers on me longer than it should. 

 "Whatever it is, I want in."

 "Why?" I ask quietly.

 Rhys' lips twitch, the ghost of a smile forming. "Because you fascinate me, Charlotte. The way you hide your chaos behind calm, it's impressive."

 I huff out a breath, unsure whether to feel flattered or exposed. "Careful, Rhys. You sound d dangerously close to admiration."

 He leans closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I am."

 For a moment, the room feels smaller. The air heavier. His cologne lingers between us, steady and warm, and I hate that it is comforting.

 I turn away first, muttering, "You should leave."

 But he doesn't.