Chapter four

The world of the Kingsleys, as Ethan had aptly put it, was a whirlwind of polished surfaces and hidden agendas. The following days were a blur of meetings with stylists, PR managers, and a stern-faced lawyer who drilled me on every aspect of the contract.

The transformation was astonishing. Gone were the flour-dusted clothes and comfortable aprons. In their place were designer dresses that cinched my waist and shoes that made my feet cry silent tears of protest.

My apartment, once a haven of familiar clutter, now felt sterile and impersonal. The only reminder of my old life was the faint aroma of vanilla that lingered in the air, a ghost of forgotten baking endeavors.

Through it all, Ethan remained a constant presence. He wasn't cold or distant like I'd initially expected. He possessed a quiet charm, a dry wit that occasionally made me forget the stakes involved.

One afternoon, during a particularly grueling fitting session where the stylist argued the merits of a sequined jumpsuit ("It screams sophisticated yet playful!") I found myself snapping.

"This isn't me," I exclaimed, flinging the glittery monstrosity off my body. "I'm a baker, not a disco ball!"

Ethan, who'd been observing silently, chuckled. "Don't worry, Miss Moore. You'll still be able to bake under all that…sequin."

"See?" I said, gesturing to the offending garment still draped on the chair. "This isn't me. I can't pretend to be someone I'm not for six months."

His smile faltered. "But you can learn," he said softly. "Think of it as…acting. You're playing a role, Olivia."

Olivia. The first time he'd used my first name, a strange flutter had gone off in my stomach. Now, it felt oddly familiar, a hint of the woman I might become under his tutelage.

"Acting is one thing," I countered, "but being someone's pawn in a family drama is another."

His jaw tightened. "This isn't about pawns, Olivia. It's about…freedom."

He seemed to regret the admission as quickly as the word left his lips.

"Freedom?" I scoffed. "Freedom from what, exactly? Being ridiculously wealthy?"

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, a gesture that mirrored the disarray simmering beneath the surface. "Let me just say, money doesn't buy everything, Olivia. Some things…some freedoms…are far more valuable."

His words were cryptic, but they piqued my curiosity.

"Like what?" I pressed.

He hesitated, then leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "The freedom to love who you want, to live your life on your own terms. Freedom from…manipulation."

His gaze held mine, and in that moment, I saw a vulnerability I hadn't expected. A flicker of a pain that seemed to contradict his seemingly perfect life.

The revelations, both personal and professional, were starting to chip away at the carefully constructed image of Ethan Kingsley, billionaire extraordinaire.

Later that week, we had dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants I'd ever been to. Crystal chandeliers twinkled overhead, casting the room in a soft, artificial glow. Everyone seemed to be staring, their hushed whispers a constant hum in the background.

I felt like a china doll misplaced in a museum, stiff and uncomfortable in the ornate chair. Ethan, however, seemed at ease, effortlessly navigating the social landscape of the elite.

"So," I started, trying to cut through the awkward silence, "tell me more about your grandfather. What does he expect from this… charade?"

He sighed, swirling the red wine in his glass. "William Kingsley is a man obsessed with control. He wants a perfect heir, one with a perfect family. A picture-perfect wife by my side is apparently the final piece of the puzzle."

Anger flickered within me. "So, he's treating you like a trophy to be displayed?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "Something like that. He never approved of my choices, you see. Never thought I had the… 'temperament' to run the family business."

"Temperament?" I echoed, surprised.

"Let's just say we don't exactly see eye-to-eye on how things should be done."

He glanced at me, a flicker of something akin to gratitude in his eyes. "At least with you, I have a choice. Even if it is…an unconventional one."

The gratitude felt unexpected, warming me from the inside out. Here, amidst the suffocating luxury of the restaurant, a connection sparked – a sense of shared frustration against an overbearing force.

...dinner progressed, the conversation flowed more easily. We talked about our childhoods, Ethan describing summers spent in a stuffy mansion governed by strict rules, and me reminiscing about Nana's laughter and the comforting aroma of fresh bread.

My world seemed light years away from his, yet the vulnerability he'd shown earlier created a bridge between us.

When the bill arrived, a staggering sum that could have stocked my bakery with the finest ingredients for a year, a familiar fear crept in. Was I selling out, becoming just another pawn in a wealthy family's game?

Ethan seemed to sense my apprehension. "Don't worry about the bill, Olivia. It's taken care of."

His nonchalant tone further emphasized the chasm between our worlds. This kind of money was a drop in the bucket for him, while for me, it was a lifeline.

Later, back at my now sterile apartment, a strange tension hung in the air. He'd come to discuss the final logistics of the contract, but the conversation kept veering off track, touching on shared dreams and hidden hopes.

"You know," I said impulsively, "with all this talk of a perfect wife and family legacy, I haven't heard anything about you.What do you want, Ethan? What kind of life do you actually dream of?"

He met my gaze, his eyes holding a depth I hadn't noticed before. "A life free from expectations, Olivia. A life where love isn't a bargaining chip in a family power struggle."

His words were a confession, a glimpse into the man behind the billionaire façade. A man who, like me, craved a life on his own terms, free from the constraints of circumstance.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Just as I felt the urge to bridge the gap between us, a knock on the door shattered the unexpected intimacy. It was the stern-faced lawyer, his arrival a reminder of the reality we were about to step into.

With a sigh, Ethan straightened his tie. "Duty calls," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

"Duty or escape?" I countered, a playful glint in my eyes.

He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. "Perhaps a bit of both, Olivia. Until next time, then."

As he left, I couldn't help but wonder. Was this marriage of convenience just a business arrangement, or could it blossom into something more? One thing was certain: the world of the Kingsleys was a dangerous game, and I was about to take my first tentative step onto its glittering, treacherous stage.