Chapter 4

Evelyn's POV.

 I tripped over absolutely nothing, my clutch flying from my hand and skittering across the floor to land, with a pathetic thud, against the toe of his shoe.

So much for the grand entrance? Fuck it. 

He looked down at the sequined bag, then slowly, his gaze traveled up to me. Those smoky eyes didn’t look intrigued. 

They looked mildly, infuriatingly amused.

“You lost something,” he said. His voice was lower than the music, a rumble I felt in my teeth.

“Planning to keep it?” I blurted out, cringing internally. 

Evelyn what's wrong with you. 

One dark eyebrow lifted. He nudged the bag with his foot. I scurried forward, scooping it up, my face burning. 

“I heard the drinks here are overpriced and watered down,” I said, gesturing vaguely to his glass. “Is that true?” 

Trying to hold a conversation.

He stared at me. “You crashed into a venue to critique the bar stock?”

“I’m a critic at heart.” My smile felt glued on. “Of many things.”

“How exhausting for you.”

Okay. He was a fortress, I needed a bigger cannon. 

I opened my mouth again, but before I could utter a word, a muted ringtone cut through the bass. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted, a flicker of what looked like immense irritation.

“Excuse me,” he said, not waiting for a reply. He turned his back, taking a few steps toward a slightly quieter alcove.

He thought he was out of earshot. The music swallowed most of it, but I was straining to hear, my body angled toward him. I caught fragments.

“I’m on it… I know the timeline… No. No, I can’t just bring any woman. Yes, five days. I understand what ‘final’ means.”

He ended the call, standing perfectly still for a moment, his broad shoulders tense. Then he sighed, a sound of pure frustration, and turned back.

 The amused detachment was gone, replaced by a cold, focused intensity that was even more terrifying.

This was my chance. 

“So, I can be your contract wife.”

He froze, his eyes locking onto mine. The intensity sharpened, turning predatory. “Eavesdropping is a terrible habit.”

“It’s a survival skill,” I shot back, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Look, I have free days. My calendar is… suspiciously open.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not joking! You need a woman. I am, demonstrably, a woman.” I gestured down to my body, which suddenly felt a bit too desperate.

He just stared, that gaze stripping me bare, seeing every insecurity, every pathetic reason I was here.

Desperation made me reckless. The boldest, stupidest idea I’d ever had bloomed fully formed in the space between panic and lust. 

I took a step closer, ignoring the way my knees trembled.

“You don’t need any woman,” I said, forcing my voice not to shake. “You need a wife. So… take me home.”

For the first time, I saw genuine, unguarded shock on Lucian’s face. His lips actually parted.

“You,” he said slowly, with deadly precision, “are out of your mind.”

“Probably!” I agreed, the admission bursting out of me. “But I’m also here. And I’m offering. What’s the problem? Scared I’ll embarrass you?”

“The problem,” he said, stepping into my space, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a touch, “is that you are a chaos. What I need is precision. Discretion. A flawless performance. You are a walking, talking example of the opposite.”

His words stung, sharp and true. But the anger that rose up was hotter than the humiliation. 

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you just proposed a sham marriage to a stranger in a nightclub. That’s not the resume of a discreet person.”

“It’s the resume of a person who sees an opportunity and takes it!” I fired back. “You think some polished socialite is going to agree to this without a million questions.”

“That’s what concerns me most. Why? What do you gain?” He asked, but there's no way I can just say my plans. 

“I can be elegant! I can be normal!” I was pleading now, and I hated it. “I own a black dress. I know which fork is for salad. Mostly.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking toward the ceiling as if for divine intervention. “This is absurd.”

“Life is absurd! Your phone call sounded absurd! ‘I can’t bring any woman’? Yet, here we are!” I was waving my arms now. “Give me one test. One trial run. Let me prove I won’t… trip over the furniture at your important event.”

He was silent for a long moment, studying me. The calculated look was back. I could see him turning it over, the sheer insane logistics of it. My proposal dangled between us, ridiculous and shining.

“There’s a gala,” he said finally, the words crisp. “The Vanguard Charity Gala. In three nights. It’s the most scrutinized, gossip-fueled event of the season. Every eye will be on who I bring, what she wears, what she says, how she holds her champagne flute.”

A spark of hope ignited in my chest. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“If,” he continued, his eyes boring into mine, “you can get yourself an invitation, on your own merit, not mine, and if you can navigate that entire evening by my side without causing a single, solitary scandal… without tripping, without spilling a drink on a senator, without telling anyone about our… arrangement… then, and only then, will I consider your insane proposal.”

It was a mountain of a challenge. An impossible one. I didn’t have money, or connections, or a famous name. All I had was a red dress and a terrifying amount of nerve.

He saw the doubt flash across my face. A hint of that cruel, beautiful smile touched his lips.

 “That’s what I thought. It requires a certain pedigree. A certain… calm.”

The condescension was the final straw. It lit a fuse in me. 

“Fine,” I said, my voice suddenly steady. “The Vanguard Gala. I’ll be there. You won’t see me coming until I’m right next to you, not causing a scandal.”

He looked faintly surprised, then shrugged, the dismissive king once more. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Don’t embarrass yourself trying.”

He gave me one last, sweeping look, from my determined eyes to my shaky heels, then turned and melted back into the crowd, leaving me standing alone in the pulse of the music.

I looked down at my stupid, beautiful clutch. A slow smile spread across my face. 

He wanted a performance? He wanted flawless, elegant normalcy?

I was going to give him the performance of a lifetime. If only I knew what had been prepared for me.