Chapter 4

Lucy's POV

She slammed the ring box shut.

“You're crazy!” Lucy snarled, leaping up from the sofa as if it scorched her. “So some shiny rock gives you the right to fix my life?”

“I think it gives you a way out,” I said evenly, watching her pace like a cornered animal.

Her hands shook. “You want me to smile for the cameras and play your pretty little fiancée, just so you can come out squeaky clean?”

“No,” I said, rising slowly. “I want you to stop being ripped apart by strangers who don’t know you. And I want the people who set this up to know they didn’t win.”

She whirled on me. “By what—marrying me on paper and parading me like a brand asset?”

I stepped closer. “Do you want them to keep dragging your name through the dirt? You’ve seen what they’re calling you. A user. A side piece. That’s their story. Unless we give them a better one.”

“You mean your story.”

“I mean ours,” I said, voice low. “Even if it’s fake.”

She blinked, silenced for a second. I saw it…the crack in her armor. That stubborn flicker of hope fighting her pride.

“Hold on one second. The marriage isn't real?” She asked.

“Yes,” I nodded. “Actually, I made a mistake. It's just a fake engagement. I have no intentions of getting married yet.”

She blinked again multiple times before looking around the room and back at me.

“You're sure this is fake?” She asked again.

“Sure, why would I marry a stranger?” I replied.

Still, she shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You can,” I said calmly. “And you will.”

Her mouth parted. “Or what?”

I stepped closer. “Or this storm doesn’t stop. Not for you. Not for your career. Not for your sanity. You’re not built for what the media can do to you, Lucy. I’ve seen them destroy stronger people for less.”

Her throat bobbed. “You’re threatening me.”

“I’m protecting you. As professional as I know how to be.”

There, stunned, she could feel the consequences of her decision bear down on her in real time. Then she slumped back onto the couch, gradually. “Just don’t lie to me.”

I gave a half-smile. “You’re asking that from a billionaire with lawyers and paparazzi at his heels.”

She looked up. “Exactly.”

“So, do we have a deal?” I asked, stretching my hand out to her.

She looked at it, then at me, before she took it. “Deal.”

The smile on my face grew, but within me. I felt the devilish spark rise up.

***

The next day at Genexus HQ, the building was already crawling with press by the time we stepped out of the car. The cameras flashed like lightning. My PR director ushered us inside, where stylists and assistants swarmed around the main studio floor.

Lucy walked a step behind me, her shoulders squared like she was going into battle.

The irony? She looked like a queen.

She wore a corporate black dress. Diamond-drop earrings. Her hair was partially teased into loose waves and she looked both expensive and simple. But her eyes? All ice.

“Welcome back, Mr. Wilson,” one of the creative leads greeted me. “And Miss Frank…wow. You clean up nice.”

Lucy forced a tight smile. “Charming.”

The shoot was inspired by a minimalist penthouse with a gray velvet sofa, darker grey cityscape backdrop and subtle studio lighting. I took my place. Lucy was guided to sit beside me.

“Let’s start with something soft,” the photographer called. “Lean into him, Lucy. Shane, hold her waist. I want you both to have your eyes on each other.”

Lucy didn’t move.

I turned to her slowly. “They need the image, sweetheart.”

Her jaw ticked. But she slid closer. Just enough to put on a show.

I placed a hand on her hip. It was professional. Almost.

Until she looked at me.

She shook under my touch, and I felt the urge to go further, but I held myself.

And something flickered between us.

Not heat. Not yet. But something worse…awareness.

She hated me. But in this light, in that dress, with the world watching…

I wasn’t immune.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

She leaned in, tilting her chin like she owned me. It was an act. A perfect one. She looked like she’d done this a hundred times. She gave a cold elegance, calculated grace. But I knew better. Every inch of tension between us was real.

The break came an hour later. Lucy stepped off set, slipping into the green room where bottled water and fruit trays sat untouched. I followed ten paces behind.

She picked up a granola bar, then tossed it down.

“You good?” I asked.

She turned, still on edge. “Peachy.”

My legal assistant, Mira, appeared behind her, holding a clipboard.

“Miss Frank,” she said politely. “Some quick paperwork for the release of your likeness…standard NDA, photo usage rights, a consent waiver.”

Lucy took it distractedly. “Sure, whatever.”

Her eyes barely skimmed the pages. She signed twice, fast.

“You didn't read it, huh?” I thought.

Mira smiled, exchanged a knowing look with me, then took the clipboard and disappeared out of the room.

Lucy turned back to me. “So this is it? We smile, we fake it, I go home and cry into my ramen?”

I answered softly. “Something like that.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “At least I’m getting paid for my heartbreak this time.”

I didn’t reply.

Because she wasn’t just getting paid.

She was now on paper and engaged to me.

Her signature had finalized the contract. The one my legal team had carefully embedded into the stack. A legal, binding engagement agreement was filed with my legal department to secure a “personal commitment” in the face of media pressure.

She didn’t read it. Most people don’t.

She thought it was just a release form.

And now… she was mine.

At least on paper.

I watched her as she walked to the mirror and fixed an earring, completely unaware of the line she’d just crossed.

Of what that signature now meant.

Not just for her.

But for me.

Because of this fake engagement?

It just became a real business.

I took a step back and pulled the signed contract out of Mira’s folder and slid it into the inside pocket of my blazer. My thumb traced along her name in a thin, black pen.

She may have walked into this thinking it was a favor. A role.

But it was more than that now.

And as I saw her raise her chin and head out again onto that stage, I smiled at the corners of my mouth.

I muttered in a tone that was only good for making sure that no one could hear me:

“Now you’re mine.”