I’ll Pretend to Love Him

Lisa walked into the Loneria private lounge at exactly 7:00 p.m. wearing a simple cream dress and a calm expression that cost her more effort than she wanted to admit, and Richard was already there, standing the moment she entered with surprise flickering across his face before he controlled it.

“You asked to meet,” he said.

“I did.” She sat without waiting for an invitation. “We need to talk about the court order.”

Richard remained standing a second longer before taking the seat across from her, the table between them feeling wider than it should have.

“I’ve already spoken to my father,” he said. “He’s not willing to withdraw the filing.”

“I know.” Lisa kept her voice even. “That’s not why I’m here.”

He watched her carefully. “Then why?”

“Because fighting him head-on right now will only make the restrictions tighter. I need the company stable until I’m fully free of the order, that means fewer public clashes, that means you stop looking like the enemy in every room we share.”

Richard’s jaw tightened. “You’re asking me to pretend nothing happened.”

“I’m asking you to stop giving his side more material. The fake message, the hospital refusal, the way you’ve been watching me, all of it feeds the story that I’m unstable, and I need that story to quiet down.”

Silence stretched between them.

“And what do I get?” he asked.

Lisa held his gaze. “You get me not treating you like a threat in public. For now.”

It was not warmth, it was strategy, and she could still hear Adrian’s voice in the back of her head telling her to embrace him, treat him like she cared, keep him from fully aligning with his father.

Richard studied her for a long moment, something complicated moving behind his eyes, suspicion mixed with hope and the residual hurt from the cold reply he still believed she sent.

“You’re different,” he said finally.

“I am.”

“Is someone telling you what to do?”

The question landed too close, but Lisa did not look away. “I’m telling myself what to do. That’s the only version that matters.”

Before he could answer her phone vibrated once on the table, she glanced at the screen.

Adrian.

First two private holdings locked. Quietly. The linked documents are more dangerous than I thought. Do not mention them to anyone.

She locked the phone and looked back at Richard.

“I need one more thing,” she said. “Tell your father the restrictions are working. Tell him I’m cooperating. The less pressure he feels to add new measures, the more room I have to breathe.”

Richard gave a short, humorless breath. “You want me to lie to him.”

“I want you to manage him. You’re good at that.”

She started to rise, but Richard moved first. He stood, stepped around the table, and closed the distance before she could fully retreat. His hand lifted and settled against her cheek, warm and careful, his thumb brushing once near the corner of her mouth in a touch that was far too gentle for the history between them.

“Lisa, take things easy,” he said quietly. “Everything is going to be fine. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

The tenderness in his voice slid under her skin before she could stop it. For one dangerous second she wanted to lean into the warmth, into the version of him that used to feel safe, into the soft way he said her name like it still meant something clean, vengeance pulled harder.

She remembered the hospital room, the sound of Claire’s voice, the slow poison, the way this same man had once held her hand while her body failed, and the softness turned sharp again.

“Don’t,” she said, blunt and low, though she did not immediately pull away.

Richard’s eyes searched her face. “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks, but you keep shutting every door. Your behavior has been strange, cold, distant, like I’m the enemy. Do you have any idea how much that’s been hurting me? I love you and I’ve never stopped…..just give me a chance to prove my love for you. Even when you look at me like you don’t know who I am anymore.”

The words should have meant nothing.

They still pressed against the old place inside her that had once believed him.

At the same time another face rose in her mind without permission, Adrian’s calm sharp eyes, the way he had refused her body when she offered it as payment, the steady heat of the hug she still had not forgotten, the dangerous understanding that existed between two people who had already died once. Something in her was beginning to tilt toward him, toward the man who matched her hatred instead of asking her to soften it, and the realization left a restless ache she refused to name.

She stepped back, breaking the touch.

“I can be civil,” she said. “I can stop feeding the story that I’m unstable. I can sit in rooms with you and not look like I want you gone. That is what I’m offering, your father is getting on my last nerve, you'll definitely suffer the consequences.”

Richard’s hand fell to his side as the tiny hope in his expression dimmed but did not fully disappear.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” he said.

“It’s not supposed to.” Lisa picked up her bag. “It’s only supposed to buy time.”

She left him standing there.

Outside the lounge she did not go straight to the car. She stopped in the quiet corridor, the ghost of his touch still warm on her cheek, and typed back to Adrian.

How dangerous?

The reply came almost immediately.

If either father realizes those papers still exist, the quiet path closes. We move slower. No mistakes.

Lisa stared at the message, then at the closed lounge door behind her. She had just let Richard Hale touch her face and speak about love while the memory of his betrayal sat like iron in her chest, and the worst part was not the performance, it was the brief moment she had wanted the tenderness to be real. Vengeance had dragged her back, but the pull toward Adrian remained, quiet and unwanted and growing.

She walked toward the exit with her shoulders straight and her expression calm. Behind her Richard remained in the lounge turning over every word she had said, while across the city Adrian continued closing doors the Hales had not yet noticed were shutting, and Lisa carried both men in her head like two different kinds of fire she had

not yet decided which one would burn her next.