Chapter Seven—Nova

The café smelled like roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries, the kind of smell that usually calmed me, but right now it only made my stomach tighten. The walls were painted a soft cream, lined with shelves stacked with tiny potted plants and books no one would ever open. The place was cozy, warm, buzzing with laughter and low conversation.

Perfectly ordinary.

Perfectly wrong.

Because nothing about this afternoon was ordinary.

I tugged at the hem of my pink blouse for the thousandth time and tried not to think about how ridiculous I felt sitting here, waiting for Adrian Castellane.

Adrian. Freaking. Castellane.

The man who, for reasons I still hadn’t wrapped my head around, had agreed to play boyfriend. Fake boyfriend, I corrected myself quickly. Fake, fake, fake. A means to an end.

The plan was simple: make appearances, play the part, and watch Bruno squirm. The execution? Not so simple when your “fake” partner was six foot four, devastatingly handsome, and had a knack for making you feel like he saw through every single lie you told yourself.

The sound of the café door opening sent a ripple of awareness down my spine before I even turned. My gaze found him instantly—dark hair perfectly styled, broad shoulders framed in a tailored charcoal suit that screamed money and power even in this casual setting.

Adrian Castellane walked in like he owned the room. And maybe he did, in a way. People glanced up, some whispered, others pretended not to stare.

And then his eyes… those impossibly dark, unreadable eyes… found mine.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Nova,” he greeted as he slid into the seat across from me, his voice smooth, calm, like we hadn’t just agreed to step into a minefield together.

“You’re late,” I said, forcing my tone sharp, because the last thing I needed was to start melting at his stupid, perfect face.

He arched a brow. “Two minutes. Hardly grounds for complaint.”

“Two minutes is two minutes,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

His mouth twitched, the tiniest suggestion of a smirk. “You’ll survive.”

Ugh. Arrogant bastard.

Still, I hated how good he looked sitting there, sleeves rolled up just enough to show strong wrists, tie loosened like he’d just walked out of a boardroom to slum it with the college girl. My heart gave an annoying little thud, and I immediately shoved it back into place.

Focus, Nova. Bruno. Revenge. That’s why you’re here.

“So,” I said, grabbing my coffee cup as if caffeine could anchor me. “Are we just going to sit here and glare at each other, or do we have an actual plan?”

Adrian leaned back, studying me with the kind of measured patience that made me squirm. “The plan is simple. Appear together. Be seen. Let people draw their own conclusions.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed. “Anything else complicates things.”

“Complicates things?” I echoed, rolling my eyes. “This whole thing is already complicated.”

He just shrugged.

“Why this café?”

He arched a brow, giving me this look.

“What?” I glared at him.

“I thought you would have known that Bruno always comes here to get his afternoon coffee.” He seemed a bit surprised.

The realization hit a little too close to the bone. My throat tightened, and for a second, I hated him for saying it so casually.

“Guess your brother didn’t let me in,” I muttered.

His gaze didn’t waver. “No moping around.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Confidence and strength,” he said simply. “Don’t let them see you slip. Ever. A weakling is a prey. And I don’t date preys.”

I snorted. “Oh, please. You sound like a motivational poster.”

His lips curved, faint but undeniable. “Then maybe it’s working.”

I glared at him, but before I could respond, a flash of movement caught my eye.

Bruno.

He stood just inside the café, his jaw tight, his posture rigid. His gaze locked on me, then flicked to Adrian, and I swear I saw his ego crack right there in the middle of the room.

My stomach flipped, equal parts triumph and dread.

Showtime.

Adrian noticed him too. I felt, rather than saw, the subtle shift in his body—the quiet steel, the readiness for confrontation. Then, without warning, his hand reached across the table and closed over mine.

Heat shot up my arm. My brain stuttered.

“Smile,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Like you mean it.”

And damn him, I did.

It was awkward at first, the kind of smile that stretched too wide. But the longer his hand stayed wrapped around mine, the easier it became. My pulse thundered, my face warmed, and suddenly I wasn’t pretending.

Adrian’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, I forgot Bruno even existed.

Until his voice cut through the hum of the café.

“What the hell is this?”

Bruno stalked toward us, eyes blazing, fists clenched at his sides.

The room shifted, attention pulling toward the drama unfolding at our table. Whispers rippled through the air.

I straightened in my seat, fingers tightening in Adrian’s grip. “What does it look like?” I asked coolly.

Bruno’s face twisted. “It looks like you’re trying to make me jealous.”

Bingo.

“Why would I need to make you jealous?” I asked, tilting my head. “You dumped me, remember? Moved on. Shouldn’t you be happy I did the same?”

For a moment, Bruno faltered. But then his eyes darted to Adrian, seething. “You. You couldn’t resist, could you? First you criticize me for how I treat her, then you swoop in like some kind of savior?”

Adrian’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on my hand tightened. “You don’t get to talk about her like that,” he said, his voice quiet but lethal.

Bruno’s nostrils flared. “She’s not yours.”

“She is now,” Adrian said evenly.

The words. God. The words.

They weren’t real. They were part of the act. I knew that. And yet something in me shifted, sharp and dizzying, at the sound of them.

Bruno looked like he’d been slapped.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, before storming out of the café, leaving a trail of whispers behind him.

The moment the door slammed shut, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Well,” I said, trying to sound casual even as my pulse pounded. “That was fun.”

Adrian’s gaze flicked to mine. “You handled it well.”

I blinked. Was that… a compliment? From Adrian Castellane?

“Of course I did,” I said, recovering quickly. “I’m excellent at pissing people off.”

The corner of his mouth curved, the faintest hint of amusement.

I pulled my hand back before I could forget why it had been there in the first place. My skin tingled where his touch lingered, and I hated it.

This was supposed to be fake.

Revenge, not reality.

So why did it feel like something real had just cracked open between us?