Ava adjusted the diamond ring on her finger for the third time that morning.
Too loose. Too tight. Too fake.
In the mirrored elevator of Thorne International, she watched her own reflection—sharp suit, controlled smile, makeup flawless. A woman who looked like she belonged in Damien Thorne's world, even if she felt like an actress fumbling her first scene.
The elevator dinged. She stepped out onto the executive floor, heels clicking across marble like war drums. The air smelled like power—expensive cologne, fresh flowers, secrets. Damien was already waiting near the entrance of the press room, black suit immaculately tailored, blue tie precise. The picture of calculated calm.
She hated how devastating he looked.
"You're late," he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"I was trying to decide how to fake my smile."
"Just smile like you're in love with me."
Ava turned to him, flashing a grin. "I'd rather be hit by a bus."
His mouth twitched. "So would I. Let's go."
.
.
They walked together into the glaring lights and the swarm of reporters. Cameras clicked rapidly, flashing bright like stars exploding in the night. Ava's PR instincts kicked in—smile, soften your jaw, tilt your head just enough to look adoring but not desperate. It was a delicate balancing act she wasn't sure she could master.
Damien's hand was firm in hers, a grounding force in the storm. The touch was electric, sending a jolt through her nerves she refused to acknowledge.
The press conference unfolded like a carefully written script. Damien made his statements—about transparency, about finding balance in his life, about love. The word rolled off his tongue with the elegance of a lie. Ava repeated her lines silently: steady, sincere, supportive.
Then the questions started coming fast.
"How did you two meet?"
"What was your first date like?"
"Damien, how does it feel to finally let someone in?"
Ava jumped in before he could freeze. "We met at a fundraiser. He hated it. I loved it. I dragged him to the dance floor, and he stepped on my toes five times. It was perfect."
Laughter bubbled through the room. Flashbulbs popped in a relentless rhythm.
Damien turned to her, eyes narrowing, lips barely moving. "You're a better liar than I expected."
"You're welcome," she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.
Later, in the quiet sanctuary of Damien's office, the mood shifted. The energy between them crackled with a tension neither dared to name.
"Don't improvise like that again," Damien said, loosening his tie, his voice low and clipped. "We have rules."
"Your rules," Ava shot back, the spark of rebellion lighting her eyes. "If I'm supposed to sell this engagement, I'll do it my way."
"This isn't just about appearances, Ava."
Her brows lifted. "Oh? Then what is it about?"
He walked toward her, slow, deliberate, until the space between them was charged with something that had nothing to do with contracts. "It's about control. Keeping this narrative tight. Clean."
Ava stepped closer too, her voice a dare. "Control all you want, Damien. But if I fall, I'm taking your narrative with me."
For a long moment, they stood locked in a silent battle, words left unsaid hanging like smoke between them.
Then a knock at the door broke the spell.
Lena stepped in, eyes flicking between them. "Just got word—Cameron Blake's running a profile on the two of you. He's already digging into your past."
Ava's stomach twisted in knots.
Damien's jaw clenched. "Handle it."
Lena left without another word, but the chill remained.
Ava turned to Damien. "Is there something I should know?"
He looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, the mask slipped.
"No," he said, too quickly.
But Ava heard the lie and the fear behind it.
That night, Ava lay awake in the guest bedroom, the lights of Manhattan glittering like distant promises outside the window. The city was alive beneath her, but inside her chest was a quiet storm.
She could still feel Damien's hand on hers from the press room, could still hear his voice telling her it was all just business.
But it wasn't.
Not anymore.
Her mind drifted to her own tangled past—the shadow of her father's disgrace, the whispered judgments, the constant fight to prove she was more than a legacy of scandal.
And now, this fake engagement, this charade, was supposed to be her ticket to freedom.
Only, freedom felt complicated. Dangerous.
Because every stolen glance, every tight smile, every heated silence with Damien was pulling her deeper into a web she wasn't sure she wanted to escape.
Morning came too soon. Ava dressed with mechanical precision, each garment chosen to mask the whirlpool of emotions she refused to show.
As she left the room, Damien was already waiting by the window, silhouetted against the rising sun. He didn't turn when she entered.
"You're early," she said softly.
"Some things don't wait for timing."
She stepped closer, trying to read the unreadable lines of his face. "What are you afraid of, Damien?"
He didn't answer, but for a moment, his hand brushed hers—brief, tentative—before retreating.
In the silence that followed, Ava understood the truth beneath all the power and ice: they were both prisoners of their pasts, desperate to rewrite their stories.
But rewriting a story meant risk.
And neither of them knew if they were ready to pay the price.
The days that followed felt like walking a tightrope stretched over a canyon. Ava balanced her growing anxiety with forced smiles, managing to convince the world—and herself—that this engagement was just a business deal. But every moment near Damien chipped away at that illusion.
In meetings, their hands occasionally brushed under the conference table, a flash of heat quickly extinguished by the weight of reality. During dinners, the silence between them grew thick, layered with unsaid words and dangerous questions neither dared to voice.
One evening, Ava found herself alone in the vast Thorne penthouse, staring out at the city lights that flickered like a constellation of broken promises. The apartment was a palace of glass and steel, but to her, it felt cold, sterile—like living inside a sculpture, beautiful but lifeless.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Lena: "How's life in the lion's den?"
Ava smiled despite herself and typed back, "I'm just the bait. You're the trap.'
Before she could hit send, the door clicked open.
Damien stood there, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. He looked less like the unshakable CEO and more like a man carrying invisible scars.
"I didn't hear you come in," Ava said, voice soft but steady.
"I don't announce myself," he replied, stepping inside.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other, two strangers trapped in a lie neither wanted to sustain.
Then, almost without thinking, Damien closed the distance between them. His hand found hers, fingers curling around hers like a lifeline.
"Why do you keep pushing me away?" he asked quietly.
Ava's heart thundered. "Because I don't know who you are. And I'm scared of finding out."
Damien's eyes darkened with something fierce, something vulnerable. "I'm not the man you think I am."
She swallowed hard. "Then who are you?"
He pulled her close, voice low and rough. "Someone who's tired of pretending. Someone who wants to be real—for once."
The walls around Ava crumbled.
But just as she leaned in, the moment shattered with the sharp ping of her phone.
A text from Cameron Blake: "Got some interesting info on the Thorne file. Let's talk."
Damien's grip tightened, but he didn't let go.
"Let him come," he said, voice like steel.
Ava nodded, her resolve hardening. Whatever this game was, it was no longer just about appearances.
It was about survival.
The next morning dawned cold and gray, matching the mood hanging heavy between them.
In the car on the way to the next public event, Ava studied Damien's profile—the jawline, the set of his mouth, the slight crease between his brows.
There was a man beneath the billionaire mask, one she was starting to understand—and maybe, just maybe, care about.
"Tell me one truth," she said suddenly.
He glanced at her, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"Anything," she added.
Damien's gaze drifted to the window. After a long pause, he said, "I'm afraid of being forgotten."
Ava's breath caught.
"Not because of the company or the name," he said quietly. "Because no one ever saw me."
She reached for his hand, this time without hesitation.
"You're seen now," she promised.
And maybe, for the first time, the lie they lived felt like the beginning of something real.
The gala was an opulent affair—crystal chandeliers dripping like stars overhead, a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos blending into a symphony of polite laughter and clinking glasses. Ava felt like an imposter in this world of privilege and power, where every smile was calculated and every glance weighed.
Beside her, Damien was the epitome of controlled elegance, his tailored tuxedo as sharp as his reputation. Yet, despite the composed exterior, she caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled tightly around his glass.
"Just smile like you love me," Ava whispered under her breath as the cameras swiveled in their direction.
Damien's eyes flicked to hers, dark and unreadable. "If I smiled like that, they'd know I'm lying."
She bit back a retort, knowing this charade was unraveling faster than either of them wanted.
As they posed for the photographers, Ava could feel the weight of a thousand eyes—curious, skeptical, hungry for scandal. But inside, her mind raced with a thousand doubts.
Was this just another role she was doomed to play?
The evening wore on, and the pressure mounted. Reporters circled like sharks, eager for a slip-up, a hint of drama. Ava's phone vibrated again — a text from Lena, "You okay? Need me to crash the party and save you?"
Ava smiled faintly. No, she was on her own tonight.
Then came the moment—a stolen kiss, meant only as a brief, strategic move to silence rumors. But the flash of cameras caught it, and suddenly the internet exploded.
"Gala Kiss Goes Viral: Thorne's New Flame?"
The headline burned on every screen. Ava's agency received dozens of new clients, their phones ringing off the hook.
But beneath the success, a storm was brewing.
Later, alone in the limousine, Damien's voice broke the silence.
"This was supposed to be pretend."
Ava turned to him, eyes searching. "Then why does it hurt like it's real?"
He looked away, jaw clenched. "Because maybe it's not."
Their fragile facade was cracking, and neither knew what lay beyond the shards.
Back at her apartment, Ava paced, heart pounding.
She dialed Lena's number. "We need a plan. This is getting out of control."
Lena's voice crackled with sarcasm. "Welcome to the big leagues, babe. Ready to play dirty?"
Ava laughed despite herself. Maybe she was.
But deep inside, a new fear gnawed at her—what if the game they were playing wasn't just about business anymore?
What if it was about love?
The next morning, Ava woke to the soft light filtering through the blinds, but the glow couldn't touch the heaviness in her chest. She lay there, tangled in the sheets, replaying last night's gala kiss over and over like a fragile, forbidden secret.
Her phone buzzed beside her—a string of messages from Lena, from Damien's assistant, even from Cameron Blake. The world was closing in, but Ava needed a moment to breathe.
Sliding out of bed, she crossed to the window and looked out over the city skyline. Manhattan stretched endlessly beneath her, full of stories, secrets, and people pretending to be someone else.
She wondered how many of them felt as alone as she did.
Later, over coffee in a quiet cafe away from the prying eyes of the press, Ava met with Lena. Her best friend and partner in crime had an eyebrow raised, arms crossed like a general ready to strategize.
"So, spill. What's Damien really like behind that icy exterior?" Lena asked, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
Ava shrugged, stirring her latte. "Complicated. Guarded. And somehow… softer than I expected."
Lena laughed. "Sounds like you're in trouble."
Before Ava could answer, her phone lit up again—a message from Damien: "Meeting in thirty. My office."
The weight of the message pressed down on her. This was no longer just a game. Every interaction with Damien peeled back another layer of armor, revealing the man beneath—the one who played piano with quiet passion, who designed buildings in his mind, who feared trust more than failure.
At the office, Damien greeted her with that same cold precision, but his eyes betrayed the storm beneath.
"We need to talk," he said.
They sat across from each other, the tension thick as concrete.
"I know this engagement… it's complicated," Damien began, voice low. "But it's not just for the cameras anymore. I'm starting to care, Ava. And that scares me."
Ava's heart hammered. "Me too."
For the first time, the walls they'd built around themselves felt like they might come crashing down.
But just as hope flickered, Damien's phone rang—a sharp reminder of the outside world—and he stepped away, leaving Ava alone with her swirling thoughts.
As she watched him retreat, she realized something had changed. The fake engagement wasn't just about business anymore. It was about two broken people trying to find something real in the chaos.
And neither of them knew where it would lead.