Chapter 8: The Act

JULIAN

“Meet my boyfriend. Julian Wolfe.”

She said it smoothly, but the desperation flickering behind her pretty, fake-ass smile gave her away.

I turned to her slowly, catching that “help me or die with me” kind of look in her eyes, and the way her grip on my arm tightened like a fucking warning.

Oh, we’re doing this now?

So I’ve officially stepped into a live episode of Days of Our Goddamn Lives.

“I didn’t realize you knew Isla,” came a low, authoritative voice that dragged me back to reality.

Standing in front of me, like he owned the room, was Abraham Ansley. Partner at the most ruthless law firm in the city. Legal bloodhound for the Preston Group.

Ansley. That name had already triggered something when I first saw it on her resume, but I’d brushed it off. Stupid move. I just didn’t expect to be face-to-face with Daddy Dearest this fast.

“I work with Julian,” Isla cut in, voice laced with a fake sweetness that didn’t quite hide the tension in her tone.

“How long have you known Isla?” Abraham asked, eyes sharp.

Seriously? That question’s for me now?

I glanced at Isla. This was her scene, her lie, her fucking soap opera. I was just the poor bastard she dragged into the script.

“We’ve known each other for about a year, but I only started working for Julian two weeks ago.” She jumped in again before I could even open my mouth.

She spoke so quickly that she set the timeline in stone before I could even think of improvising.

“Well, it’s good you brought her in. Better than her wasting time on whatever the hell she was doing before.”

I exhaled slowly, my jaw tightening.

Isla was still pressed against my side, but her father handled her as though she were an expensive decorative lamp.

“Actually, I brought Isla into Eleanor Rowe because I saw potential. Or more accurately, into one of the companies under the Preston Group’s,” I said, voice calm but with an edge. “It’d be a shame to let her talent go to waste.”

I didn’t plan to say that. It just slipped out.

Maybe it was the way his eyes skimmed over her, like she wasn’t worth noticing. Possibly it was the fact that she was gripping my sleeves tighter now.

“Take care of her,” Abraham said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Isla gets bored easily. If she decides she’s done working for you, let me know.”

I gave a tight nod, biting back the string of profanity climbing my throat.

He turned and walked away, taking the suffocating air with him.

I lowered my head slightly, letting my voice dip just for her. “Isla.”

“Not here. Not now.” Her voice wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t cold or cutting like usual.

She wasn’t hiding behind sarcasm or challenge or that perfectly constructed armor she usually wore so damn well.

Eyes that wouldn’t quite meet mine. Lips that trembled for a split second before she caught herself. Shoulders too stiff for someone pretending to be fine.

A side of Isla I hadn’t seen.

I leaned in closer, letting our bodies brush, just enough to make her look at me.

I tilted my head, my voice brushing her ear. “Let’s get you a drink.”

***

Isla quickly finished her drink and then turned to me with a serious expression. Despite that, she still managed to look like she had just stepped out of one of my most inappropriate daydreams.

“Before you start yelling, I just want to say I’m sorry. I was cornered,” she said.

This girl was chaos wrapped in silk: unpredictable, impulsive, infuriating. And yet, every time she showed up, she flipped the script.

Fucking curious.

“Boyfriend?” I asked, voice low but sharp enough that she heard the challenge.

She pouted. Not dramatically. Just enough to make my pulse spike.

“Oh, come on. You have to admit, my mom can be absolutely infuriating.” Her hand waved vaguely toward the crowd. “You know how my family is. All my brothers work at the firm. They’re older, smarter, and a hell of a lot more perfect—at least by my parents’ standards. And I was the kid they didn’t plan for.”

I stayed quiet, letting her talk. She looked like a grenade someone forgot to throw.

“As the youngest and the only girl, people think I’m spoiled. That I always get what I want.” She let out a small laugh, bitter around the edges. “What they don’t know is my parents curated my whole damn life. My school, my friends, even what colors I should wear. They controlled everything.”

She set her empty glass on the nearest table, and for a second, she looked small. Not fragile. Just tired of pretending to be something she wasn’t.

I got it. All the privileges in the world don’t mean freedom.

From the outside, her decision to intern at my place looked reckless. Spoiled rich girl playing pretend in the real world. But up close, it was the only rebellion she could afford. A small, desperate attempt to breathe.

“My mom was supposed to introduce me to someone tonight,” she said, her voice thick with disdain. “A person whose name I've already forgotten, which doesn't matter, anyway. It was a setup. She claimed it was just a friendly introduction, but I see through her game.”

I leaned back against the table, swirling the melting ice in my glass. The sound was soft, and it cut through the air between us.

“So, you’re anti-arranged marriage?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

Isla’s eyes widened. “I’m just not delusional.”

A sharp laugh escaped her mouth. It was real. She wasn’t performing anymore.

“I tried it once, okay? Went along with it just to shut her up. Worst decision of my life.” She rolled her eyes. “Two hours of dinner with a guy who couldn’t stop talking about himself. Claimed he was an actor, turned out he had one line as a background extra on some soap opera that got canceled after a week. Thought he was the next Henry Cavill. Honestly, he looked more like a valet who took a wrong turn into the studio.”

A low chuckle slipped from me before I could stop it.

Damn it, she was too honest.

I’d spent the last two weeks keeping my distance. Boundaries, professionalism, all that responsible bullshit.

She was a storm dressed in a tight dress, and every time she looked at me with those reckless eyes, I felt logic slipping through my fingers.

I knew this feeling. I’d felt it once before a year ago when she walked into my life, turned everything upside down, and then disappeared without a trace.

Now she was back. 

I couldn’t let this happen again because Isla was emotional right now. She wasn’t thinking straight, and I was her temporary escape.

When this party ended, she’d go back to her world. And I’d still be standing here, wondering what the hell just happened.

I wasn’t the man who made the same mistake twice.

I wasn’t an idiot who fell for the same girl all over again.

All it took was one lie. One fake boyfriend slipped of the tongue, and my walls were already starting to crack.

I reminded myself silently. “Don’t touch her again, Julian. Even if she touches you first.”

Her hand lifted between us in a small, defensive gesture. “I swear I wasn’t trying to use you. I remember what you said last week.” 

Yeah… unfortunately. So did I.

The way her voice cracked just slightly at the end told me something; I already suspected she was still bleeding from it.

Bleeding because of me.

Fuck.

I didn't mean to push that hard. I spoke too fast, letting my temper lead and my ego finish the job.

Now, here she was, standing in front of me, practically begging me to listen.

“We were just talking when my mom saw us. I… I’d already told her I had a boyfriend,” she continued, her words softer now.

She sighed long and heavy, like the last breath before drowning. Her shoulders fell, the fight in her posture finally giving up.

“To my parents, I’m still a little girl who can’t make her own decisions. So whatever I want doesn’t matter.”

The weight of that truth—how deeply it cut her showed all over her face. 

Then she reached for my hand. Gripped it like I was the only thing keeping her from collapsing completely.

“I don’t want to go back home just to be forced to quit and marry some stranger. If my mom finds out I lied about having a boyfriend, I’ll lose everything. Everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

Just raw hope on her face, and a desperation she couldn’t hide.

“Just tonight,” she whispered. “Please. After this, I’ll disappear from your life.”

I tightened my hold on her hand. “So I’m just your rented boyfriend for the night?”

Her lips curled in a shaky smile. “If it were forever, I wouldn’t say no either.”

I huffed a low laugh. “Cute.”

She laughed louder. Her panic was still there, just better disguised now.

“I’m kidding,” she said quickly, pointing at me. “Although, let’s be honest, last year, you were the one making it hard for me to breathe. Looks like the tables have turned.”

I narrowed my eyes. She was good at this.

“I’ve never met a woman who’s asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend,” I said. “Usually, they ask for more.”

She smiled again. “Just tonight. Or just in front of my mom. After that, we go back to normal.”

As if anything about Isla was normal.

I moved fast. Closed the distance between us in one step.

She gasped, tipping backward on that flimsy bar stool. But before she could fall, my arm wrapped around her back and pulled her in, flush against me.

“Let’s say I agree to be your boyfriend for the night. What do I get out of it?” I murmured in her ear.

She froze. Her lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. Isla pupils dilated. Her chest rose and fell just a little too fast. And I couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my mouth.

“What do you want?” she whispered finally, like she wasn’t sure if it was a question or an invitation.

I dragged my hand slowly down her back, letting my palm mold to every curve until I stopped just above the swell of her ass.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice low. “You tell me.”

Her eyes widened, the nerves finally cracking through her composure.

Game on, Isla.

“As far as I remember,” I whispered in her ear, my voice low, frayed with heat, “Isla never hesitated when she wanted something. She was always direct.”

I felt a slight shift in her body, tension rising beneath my fingertips as the memory of that night slammed into both of us.

The one where she wrapped her bare body around mine, begged me in that throaty voice not to stop fucking her. The night she came undone repeatedly in my arms, moaning my name like it was the only word she knew.

“I…” she started, but it came out small. Barely audible.

My eyes dropped to her lips. That perfect, kiss-ruined mouth that once had me completely off track. I’d kissed those lips so hard she sobbed into my mouth, trembling and wild in my arms.

She wasn’t just some girl who played games. And I wasn’t the kind of bastard who took advantage just because temptation decided to sit on my lap and whisper dirty things.

“Just kidding,” I muttered, forcing myself to step back. I needed air, space, and sanity. “You think I’ve lost my damn mind, don’t you?”

She playfully smacked my arm, her eyes glowing in the dimly lit backyard. Her cheeks flushed, and her pupils dilated.

Fuck.

I wanted to know what she was thinking. But asking would mean opening a door I wouldn’t be able to close tonight.

“Well, I was very close to telling you that you could do anything you wanted,” she said with a wicked grin, eyes glinting. “Daddy.”

Jesus.

Fucking hell.

Isla really knew how to flip the entire goddamn script.

Her hand dropped, trailing down my thigh slowly. Light as a tease. Her fingers ghosted over the part of me that had been hard for the last five minutes and counting.

“Have your way with me, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice dipping into a low, seductive rasp. “Feel me up.”

My body roared at the invitation. Every goddamn nerve is on fire.

But before I could react, she pulled back. As if she hadn’t just poured gasoline all over us and lit the match.

“I remember your little speech from last week,” she said breezy. “The offer is no longer available.”

Then she smiled. Sweet, infuriating. Like she hadn’t just played me like a violin.

“Because tonight you’re my boyfriend. And that means your job is to stick with me until this party ends. How’s that sound, Mr. Julian?”

Mr. Julian?

Goddamn. Even that sounded like foreplay coming from her mouth.

I downed my whiskey. All of it. My tongue was on fire, but not nearly as much as the rest of me.

I couldn’t stop staring at her. The emerald dress clung to every curve, appearing to be sewn onto her skin. And that slit—Jesus Christ—that slit moved with every step she took, flashing those smooth thighs like a personal dare.

All I could think about was bending her over a bathroom counter, yanking that dress up, and pounding her until she screamed my name and squirted all over my cock.

I wanted to fuck her in that dress.

“One more hour, then we'll take a break,” she said, extending her hand.

I pulled her close to me, her sweet and addictive scent hitting me like a sucker punch.

She tilted her face up to mine, brushing her fingers along the back of my neck, that smirk still teasing her lips.

“You ready?” She whispered, never looking away.

“Let’s go, my fake girlfriend,” I growled, tightening my grip around her waist.

If she thought she was the only one who knew how to play dangerous games, she had another thought coming.

Two can play this game.