Chapter Two – A Lie In The Spotlight

Lena Hart hadn’t been in the spotlight for more than two hours, and already she could feel the walls closing in.

The moment Zane Caldwell had slipped that gleaming ring onto her finger, she’d felt the weight of a thousand eyes crash down like a tidal wave. Camera flashes. Whispers. The glint of disbelief in people’s eyes as they watched her—not some socialite or heiress—but an ordinary art school graduate from Queens, suddenly standing beside New York’s most untouchable billionaire.

Now, inside the back seat of a glossy black SUV, Lena pressed her hands into her lap and fought to keep them still. The ring on her finger felt heavier than metal. It pulsed with everything she hadn’t yet said aloud.

Fake. It was all fake.

Zane was silent beside her, scrolling through his phone like nothing had changed. He looked like he always did—composed, calculating, completely in control. His tailored suit hugged his body perfectly, the faintest scent of leather and mint clinging to his skin. Beside him, Lena felt like a misplaced brushstroke in a painting that wasn’t hers.

She leaned against the cool window, watching the city pass by. Her thoughts raced, taking her back to last week, when she was still working shifts at the gallery and repainting old canvases to save money on supplies.When her biggest concern had been if the rent check would clear before her landlord came knocking.

Now she was sitting beside Zane Caldwell, wearing a six-figure ring, and pretending to be someone’s fiancée.

She barely recognized her life.

“How’s the fit?” Zane’s voice broke into her thoughts. Calm, smooth, with just a trace of amusement.

She looked down at the ring. “It’s fine.”

“You’ll need to wear it at all times now,” he said, not looking up. “We’re not giving anyone room to question this.”

Lena shifted in her seat, her pulse prickling. “You mean question me.”

Zane finally turned to her, his gaze sharp and unreadable. “Yes. You’re the unfamiliar variable.”

Ouch. So much for sugar-coating.

She squared her shoulders. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You said you could handle this.”

“I can. Just…” She swallowed. “I didn’t expect to feel like a target already.”

Zane’s expression didn’t soften. “You’ll have to get used to that.”

The car slowed to a stop in front of the penthouse building. Their new home, for however long this performance would last. Zane exited first, greeting the doorman with a polite nod. Lena followed, wrapping her coat tighter around herself despite the spring warmth.

The elevator was quiet and tense as it went up. When the doors opened, Lena walked into a huge, fancy room with tall windows. Outside, the city lights shone bright—pretty, but she didn’t believe in pretty promises.

Zane dropped his keys on the console table and headed straight for the bar. “Drink?”

“I’m good,” Lena replied.

He poured himself a scotch and took a slow sip, his back to her. Lena let her eyes roam the space. Modern, sleek. Every detail was curated to perfection, from the marble countertops to the expensive art on the walls—art she knew Zane hadn’t picked himself.

It wasn’t a home. It was a fortress.

“Where do I sleep?” she asked finally.

Zane turned, raising a brow. “In the guest suite. First door on the right.”

Guest suite. Right. She nodded and made her way down the hall, passing sleek black-and-white photos of parties she’d never attend. The room was huge—bigger than her whole apartment—all muted grays and creams. Perfect. Empty." 

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ring again.

What am I doing?

This deal had seemed simple on paper: pretend to be Zane Caldwell’s fiancée for six months. Attend functions, smile for the cameras, and in return, he’d fund her studio and wipe out the mountain of debt her mother had left behind. It had been transactional, logical. Lena was used to surviving, and this had seemed like a shortcut out of drowning.

But now?

It felt like she was losing pieces of herself already, and she hadn’t even unpacked a bag.

A soft knock came at the door. Zane stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

“I forgot to mention—there’s a charity gala next Friday. You’ll need a gown. I’ll have my assistant send options.”

Lena raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me choosing it myself?”

“I want control over every detail.” His tone was flat, almost bored. “This can’t look like a rushed arrangement.”

Lena rose to her feet. “You want control over how I dress, how I smile, when I speak—anything else?”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes. Until this is over.”

There was no apology in his eyes. Just the same steel that had made him a billionaire before thirty.

Lena folded her arms. “You might be paying for my silence, but you’re not buying my soul.”

Something flickered in his expression—too fast to name.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t need your soul. Just your cooperation.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the air colder than before.

Lena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She turned back to the window, watching the city pulse below.

She thought of her mother—gone now, but once the fiercest woman Lena had ever known. A woman who’d raised her alone, who’d fought for every meal, every scrap of dignity. She would have called this madness. She would have told Lena to find her way out.

But the truth was—Lena was tired of fighting alone.

She opened her suitcase slowly and began to unpack.