Liam didn't speak for a full minute after Miranda's flash drive lit up the screen in his office. The video looped on the massive monitor behind his desk, grainy but clear: Damien, sitting in that smug, leather chair of his, promising Miranda power, money, and an executive title at Grayson Tech—in exchange for sabotaging us.
We watched in silence, again and again, each replay like a punch to the gut.
"This is treason," Liam muttered finally, his jaw locked tight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "He's trying to paint me unfit for leadership. He wants to make it look like I've lost control of the company, of my judgment—of everything. And then he swoops in like a savior."
I swallowed hard. "And he's willing to use Eli to do it."
Liam turned toward me, eyes burning. "Not a damn chance."
His voice was low but dangerous. I'd seen Liam angry before, but this was different—cold, calculated rage. The kind that didn't just want justice. It wanted destruction.
I stepped closer, uncertain of where the edge was between comfort and provocation. "So what now?"
He didn't answer. Not right away. Instead, he walked to his desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a small velvet box. My heart stumbled. He turned and held it up like a grenade he was about to throw between us.
Then he flipped it open.
Inside was a diamond ring—simple but elegant, sharp edges that caught the light like it could slice through the lies surrounding us.
I blinked, taken aback. "What is this?"
He looked me straight in the eye. "A weapon."
I let out a shaky laugh. "I'm sorry, is this your idea of a proposal?"
He snapped the box closed but held it between us like it still meant something. "To finalize the merger with Kessler Innovations, I need to appear stable. They're already nervous about our internal power struggle. The board needs to see commitment, not chaos. A public engagement sends the right message. Solidifies my image. This isn't just personal, Ava. It's a strategic move."
"A fake engagement," I said slowly, still trying to process the implications.
"Yes," he said. Then, more softly, "Unless you'd rather make it real."
The words hung in the air like smoke—hard to see, impossible to ignore. The tension between us, always simmering, suddenly ignited. Something old and fragile stirred in my chest. I looked down at the ring, then back up at him.
This was insane. Reckless. Dangerous.
But this was also war.
And maybe—just maybe—beneath all the strategy, there was something real worth protecting.
I lifted my chin. "I'll do it. But only on my terms."
His eyes narrowed with interest. "Name them."
"Triple salary," I said without hesitation. "Full control over my projects. And access to a discretionary innovation fund to develop my own tech once this is over. No strings, no oversight."
His mouth quirked up at the corner. "I always forget how sharp you are."
"You shouldn't," I said, stepping closer, letting my voice drop. "You're sleeping with me, after all."
For a moment, his mask slipped. I saw the flicker of heat in his eyes, the flicker of something else—regret, maybe. Or longing. But then he nodded, formal again. "Deal."
That night, we drafted the press release together.
Grayson Tech CEO Liam Grayson Announces Engagement to Executive Strategist Ava Sinclair.
By dawn, the story had exploded. My phone buzzed nonstop—friends, enemies, media outlets all scrambling for a comment, a photo, a quote. I became the face of calm in a storm that threatened to swallow the company whole.
We held a staged photo op outside Grayson headquarters. Liam stood behind me, one arm curled around my waist, his other hand brushing my temple with a kiss that looked real—too real. The warmth of his touch lingered, even after the cameras stopped flashing.
"They bought it," I murmured as we stepped away from the reporters.
"They did," he agreed, smoothing his hand down my spine like a reflex. "But now we have to sell it to the board."
And then, the Kessler Gala.
The event of the quarter. The ballroom was drenched in crystal chandeliers and moneyed arrogance, every surface gleaming with excess. I wore a deep emerald gown that shimmered like forest fire beneath the lights. Liam's gaze swept over me like it was the first time he'd seen me.
"Ready?" he asked as we stood outside the grand doors, arm linked through mine.
"Let's convince the world we're in love," I whispered.
He leaned in, lips near my ear. "Who says I need convincing?"
We entered the ballroom like royalty. Every step rehearsed, every smile deliberate. Hands clasped. Glances that lingered too long. We played our roles so well, I almost forgot where the act ended.
We laughed when people congratulated us, accepted toasts with sparkling champagne and easy charm. For the first time in weeks, I felt the room tilt in our favor.
But then I saw him.
Damien.
Standing near the bar in a tailored black suit, smirking like he was already writing our downfall in ink.
He didn't approach immediately. He waited—always the predator, never the fool. I slipped away under the guise of fixing my lipstick, and that's when he cornered me outside the restroom. His cologne hit me before his voice did—sharp, too sweet, like rotten fruit.
"Quite the act you're putting on," he said, voice like poisoned silk.
I didn't flinch. "Better than the one you staged in the boardroom."
His smirk widened. "Enjoy playing princess. It'll crumble soon."
"You sound jealous."
"Oh, I am. You picked the wrong brother, Ava. I would've kept your secrets safe."
I stepped in close, just enough for the security camera to catch my expression. I tilted my head, smiled coldly.
"And I would've burned your empire down just for fun."
I walked away before he could reply.
The rest of the night was a blur of polite conversations and barely concealed tension. By the time we got to Liam's penthouse, my head was spinning. I kicked off my heels the moment we stepped inside, but I didn't get far.
Liam pinned me to the door before it even clicked shut.
His hands were on my waist, his mouth trailing down my neck, his breath hot and urgent. "You were magnificent tonight," he murmured, voice hoarse.
"I was just acting," I whispered, even though my body betrayed the truth.
He pulled back, eyes searching mine. "Were you?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know anymore.
There was something dangerous about pretending to be in love with someone you already cared about. Something intoxicating about blurring the lines.
And we were past the point of pretending.
The ring on my finger was just a symbol. The real fire was between us—untamed, unresolved, and far from over.