Chapter 10

I strolled into the restaurant like I were it's boss.

Chin up, steps slow, hips swaying—not too much, but just enough to be seen. That was the trick with the femme fatale act. You didn’t rush. You let the room adjust to you.

And adjust they did.

A few heads turned. The hostess did a quick double take. Curious glances brushed over me—some intrigued, some impressed, some undoubtedly judging.

I didn’t care.

Because tonight, I wasn’t Harper Adams.

I was Riley Bennett, socialite and professional heartbreaker.

At least, that was the illusion I needed to sell.

Inside? I was spiraling.

My heart felt like it was doing back-flips in my chest. My stomach was knotted so tight I thought i would pass out any second now. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, fake an emergency, do anything but sit across from this man.

But I had a mission: Make Ethan regret this arrangement.

And the best way to do that? Be the exact opposite of what a Reynolds bride should be.

The Look? Executed Flawlessly.

✔ Hair: Fiery red with streaks of violet—loud and dramatic.

✔ Dress: Sleek black, with a slit high enough to make grandmothers clutch their pearls.

✔ Lipstick: Deep crimson—bold, sharp, lethal.

I was not the kind of woman a high-society family would approve of.

Which meant I was exactly what I needed to be tonight.

I spotted Ethan the moment I stepped in. Relaxed. Composed. Completely unreadable.

And the second he looked up at me—

Oh, God.

No reaction. None.

Not at the hair. Not at the dress. Not even at the dramatic entrance I had so carefully crafted.

Why isn’t he surprised? Why isn’t he even blinking?!

That threw me off completely.

I had prepared for a reaction. A widening of his eyes, a raised brow, maybe even mild disapproval.

Instead, he just...looked at me.

Calm. Unreadable. Completely unbothered.

I resisted the urge to stumble. No. No, Harper. You don’t panic now.

I forced a slow, lazy smirk and strutted forward, every move carefully calculated.

“Ethan, I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.”  I purred’, while I lowered myself into the seat across from him. “

“Not at all.”

I swallowed.

Okay. Fine. Keep pushing.

I let my fingers brush over the edge of the wine glass, eyes playful. “Do you always invite women to restaurants like this?” I mused. “Or am I special?”

Ethan’s lips twitched slightly.

“Do you want the honest,” he said, “or the charming answer?”

Huh?

I paused. That hadn’t been the response I was expecting.

I covered my hesitation with a smirk. “Charming. Always.”

“Then yes.” He picked up his glass, calm as ever. “You’re special.”

I exhaled lightly, forcing a small laugh. Okay, recovered. Not bad.

But then—

“And if you wanted honesty?”

Oh.

I slightly bent my head, trying to study him. “Tell me.”

Ethan’s gaze lingered over me, slow and assessing.

“Then I’d say you’re the first woman to show up looking like she might commit a heist before dessert.”

My fingers tightened around the glass.

Oh, he’s playing.

He’s playing, and I was not ready.

I took a slow sip of water, trying to calm my heart. Okay. Okay. You want to play this way? Fine.

The waiter returned, breaking the ice.

“Would you like to start with drinks?” he asked.

I reached for the menu, keeping my movements fluid, controlled. “Red wine,” I said.

Ethan barely glanced up. “She’ll have grape juice.”

I paused.

Then, slowly, I turned to him, giving him a polite but pointed smile. “I’ll have wine.”

Ethan met my gaze, calm and unreadable. “Wine clouds the mind.”

I tilted my head. “And what makes you think I want to be my sharpest for dinner?”

He exhaled lightly, as if this was all very predictable. “I think you wouldn’t order wine if you weren’t trying to prove a point.”

I could feel my nails digging into the paper of the menu. Damn him.

The waiter, seemed to sense the air around us and coughed uncomfortably. “All right.

. Red wine for the lady.”

Once he left, I turned back to Ethan, my expression smooth. “Are you in the habit of ordering for people?”

He took a sip of his own water. “Only when I can predict their bad choices.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head.

“Charming.”

Ethan didn’t respond, just watched me with calm amusement'.

Why is he always so damn composed?

I exhaled really slowly. “Ethan. Why don’t we stop pretending. This arrangement? It’s not going to happen.”

He studied me. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

A pause.

Then—

“Why?”

Huh. What?

Ethan leaned back slightly. “Why are you so intent on not marrying me?”

I let out a small laugh. “Ethan, seriously?”

“I’m listening.”

I huffed. “Because I don’t know you and we could say the same for you.”

His voice was steady. “That’s fixable.”

“We have nothing in common.”

“Also fixable.”

I leaned forward slightly, narrowing my eyes. “Because marriage is serious. And I don’t do serious.”

He took a sip of his drink, ever so calm. “That’s interesting.”

I raised a brow. “What is?”

“You say you don’t do serious,” he mused, “but you seem quite serious about refusing me.”

My lips parted. Wait. What?

Ethan set his glass down. “If you truly weren’t serious about anything, you wouldn’t fight this so much.”

I opened my mouth—then shut it.

Oh my God.

I felt the trap closing around me.

I had spent the entire evening arguing with him, pushing back, insisting I wanted nothing to do with him.

And somehow, he had flipped it against me.

I forced out a small, sharp laugh. “That’s a reach, Ethan.”

“Is it?”

I glared. “Yes.”

He hummed lightly, like he wasn’t convinced.

What’s going on. No. I need to end this, right now.

“Ethan,” I said, voice firm. “I am not marrying you.”

A small pause.

Then, he' leaned forward, arms on the table.

“Then, let’s make a deal.”

I stiffened. “What deal?”

A slow, controlled smile.

“Three dates.”

I paused. “Excuse me? What??”

He tilted' his head. “You don’t want to marry me. I understand that.”

I narrowed my eyes. No, you don’t. If you did, you’d let this go.

“So,” he continued smoothly, “prove it.”

I stared at him.

I was trapped.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

I gripped my wine glass, my fingers a little too tight.

I opened my mouth—then shut it.

Ethan picked up his fork, completely unbothered.

“Take your time, Riley,” he murmured. “I’ll wait.”