CHAPTER 5

Clara twisted her face, her brows met as she swerved into the next turn.  The morning traffic was already irritating her, and that was before her phone vibrated.

She glanced at the screen while slowing at a red light.

Devereaux Franchise Team: Meeting confirmed for 9:00 a.m.

Her brows knitted together instantly. She checked the time. 8:43 a.m.

A sharp, humourless laugh left her lips. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Her office building was already visible ahead of her, the glass panels reflecting the pale morning sun. Matteo’s company, on the other hand, was in the opposite direction entirely. Across town. Past traffic she had deliberately avoided that morning.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. So this is how he wants to play it.

She cursed under her breath, ignoring the honk behind her as she made a sudden turn, merging back into traffic. The irritation simmering in her chest wasn’t just about the timing. It was about control. Matteo had it. And he knew it.

By the time she pulled into the underground parking lot of Devereaux Franchise Holdings, the dashboard clock read 9:07 a.m.

Clara stepped out of her car, straightened her jacket, and inhaled slowly.

‘You’re not late’, she told herself. ‘He is.’

The receptionist barely looked up before directing her upstairs. She was ushered into Matteo’s office without delay, which only added to the strange tension curling in her stomach.

The office was just as imposing as him. Minimalist, cold, and power embedded in every surface. Matteo stood near the window, his back to her, phone pressed to his ear.

He ended the call without turning around.

“Say what you came to say,” he said flatly, glancing at his watch. “I have somewhere else to be.”

Clara paused for half a second, then squared her shoulders.

“Good morning to you too,” she replied, her tone clipped as she moved further into the room. “I’ll get straight to it.”

She placed her tablet on the table, activating the screen. “The scandal isn’t going away on its own. Silence won’t help. Denial won’t either. So we redirect the narrative.”

Matteo finally turned to face her, his arms folding across his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp and calculating.

“Redirect how?” he asked.

“By giving them a version they can accept,” Clara replied. “Not the truth. A substitute.”

She explained the decoy plan calmly, and professionally, even though her pulse was beating faster than she liked. She talked about public perception and plausible deniability. About how ambiguity worked better than outright statements.

Matteo listened without interrupting. When she finished, he stepped closer, resting his hands on the table.

“And how does this help my company?” he asked, his voice low. “Not you. Not your reputation. Mine.”

Clara met his gaze. “Because it removes uncertainty. Investors don’t panic over a scandal when there’s a clear narrative. A woman. A timeline. Something digestible.”

“And you?” he pressed. “How does it help you?”

Her jaw tightened slightly. “It buys me time. And keeps my status professional.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, a faint smile curved his lips, not warm, not amused, but dangerous.

“So you plan to clean up your mess,” he said, “while hiding yourself.”

She didn’t correct him.

Matteo straightened. “Go ahead. Find your people.”

“I already did,” Clara replied.

That caught him off guard. Something flickered across his face, surprise, but was quickly masked. He moved back to his chair and sat, gesturing for her to continue.

“Show me.”

She pulled up the profiles of four women. Similar builds. Similar hair. Similar silhouettes.

Matteo dismissed the first three with barely a glance.

“Too tall.”

“No.”

“Not convincing.”

Then he stopped at the fourth image. He leaned forward slightly.

“This one.”

Relief washed through Clara, sharp and immediate. She hadn’t realised how tense she’d been until that moment.

“She’s available,” Clara said quickly. “And discreet.”

“Good,” Matteo replied, already standing. “You’ll work with my team on the logistics. Not me.”

Gratitude flared inside her, it was unexpected. She swallowed it.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed a button on his desk.

“Luca,” he said.

The door opened, and his personal assistant stepped in, tall, observant, with an expression that suggested he missed nothing.

“Luca Romano,” Matteo continued. “You’ll coordinate everything with her.”

Luca’s gaze shifted to Clara. Then his eyes narrowed. He tilted his head slightly, studying her face. 

“You’re the woman in the picture.”

The words landed like a slap. Heat rushed to her face, turning it red. Her chest tightened as embarrassment clawed its way up her throat.

She looked instinctively at Matteo. But he wasn’t looking at her.

“It was a mistake,” she said quickly, forcing her voice steady. “Nothing more.”

Luca raised a brow but said nothing.

“Get to work,” Matteo said curtly.

And just like that, she was dismissed. The rest of the day blurred into meetings and calls. The decoy’s name was Elena Moretti. A freelance model with enough presence to sell the illusion.

By late afternoon, everything was set. Meeting in a private restaurant. When they were about to leave, Luca gestured toward the elevator.

“You’ll ride with us.”

“I drove here,” Clara replied, adjusting her bag. “I can…”

“She can drive,” Matteo cut in sharply, already walking away.

The irritation in his voice was unmistakable. Clara clenched her jaw and followed.

The restaurant was quiet, exclusive with soft lighting. But Elena wasn’t there yet. Clara checked her watch, her nerves buzzing beneath her skin.

Five minutes later, the door opened. And Elena walked in like she owned the room. And without hesitation, she crossed the space and pressed a kiss to Matteo’s lips.

Clara froze. Her breath caught.