The interview went viral overnight. Clips of Tom's soft glances and Nadia's rare blush were replayed endlessly across news channels, spliced with dramatic commentary.
"A business merger disguised as romance—or is it the other way around?" one host asked.
"Look at their body language," another insisted. "That isn't staged."
For once, the public seemed on their side. The headlines were positive, even admiring. Investors liked what they saw.
But Nadia felt anything but secure.
---
She shut her laptop in frustration. The penthouse was quiet, Tom in the other room taking a call. She paced the living area, mind racing.
He'd said those things—those personal things—like they were truth. The scar on her wrist. Her nervous habit. The word inevitable.
And people believed it. She believed it, for a split second.
It unsettled her more than Vogel's tests or Reinhardt's demands.
When Tom returned, phone in hand, she confronted him immediately.
"You enjoyed that interview too much."
He raised an eyebrow. "Enjoyed saving both our companies?"
"Enjoyed… whatever that was." Her arms crossed tightly. "The way you looked at me. The way you talked. It didn't sound rehearsed."
"That's because it wasn't," he said simply.
Her chest tightened. "Don't play games with me, Tom. This is business."
He studied her, expression unreadable. "If it were only business, you wouldn't care whether it was rehearsed or not."
Nadia opened her mouth to retort, but no words came. She turned away instead.
---
By afternoon, they were summoned to Verdant's headquarters. The board wanted answers.
When they entered the conference room, Nadia immediately felt the shift. Her directors, usually cautious and skeptical, were animated, almost buoyant.
"Congratulations," one said. "The interview was a turning point. Investors are calling, journalists are asking about partnerships. We finally look credible."
Another added, "Reinhardt's office confirmed preliminary approval. We're closer than ever to securing full funding."
Relief rippled through the room. Nadia forced herself to match their optimism, but inside, unease lingered.
---
As the board dispersed, Tom lingered near the windows, gazing at the London skyline.
"You should be happy," he said quietly.
"I am," Nadia replied, though her voice lacked conviction.
He glanced at her. "But?"
She pressed her lips together. "But I don't like losing control of the narrative. You… improvised."
His mouth curved into a half-smile. "Improvisation kept us alive today."
Nadia's fists clenched at her sides. "Don't mistake survival for victory."
He stepped closer. "And don't mistake partnership for weakness."
She bristled but didn't move away. His nearness unnerved her more than his words.
---
That evening, back at the penthouse, their uneasy silence was broken by a knock at the door.
It was Vogel. Again.
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, eyes sharp as ever. "Congratulations," he said flatly. "Reinhardt is satisfied, for now."
Nadia frowned. "For now?"
Vogel's lips thinned. "Skepticism remains. Your performance was convincing, but skeptics never rest. Rivals are already whispering about a sham. They will look for cracks. If they find them, Reinhardt will pull out."
Nadia stiffened. "Then we'll make sure there are none."
Vogel's gaze shifted to Tom. "You seemed… comfortable in the interview. Perhaps too comfortable."
Tom met his stare evenly. "I was being myself."
"That may be dangerous," Vogel replied. "Feelings complicate strategy."
A silence stretched. Nadia's pulse quickened. Did Vogel suspect more than he let on?
Finally, Vogel adjusted his cufflinks and moved to the door. "My job is to test. Yours is to survive. Don't forget that."
When he left, the air in the penthouse felt heavier.
---
Later that night, Nadia stood on the balcony overlooking the city. Tom joined her, jacket off, sleeves rolled.
"He's right, you know," she said quietly. "Feelings complicate strategy."
Tom rested his hands on the railing beside hers. "Maybe strategy needs complicating."
She turned to him sharply. "This isn't a joke. If they catch us—if they prove this marriage is fake—it's over. For both of us."
"I know." His voice was steady. "That's why I'm not faking."
Her breath caught. "Tom—"
He faced her fully, eyes locked on hers. "You think I agreed to this just for your technology? Just for press? I agreed because I've wanted this—you—for years. The contract was just the excuse I needed."
Nadia's heart slammed against her ribs. The honesty in his voice terrified her.
"This isn't fair," she whispered.
"Life isn't fair," he said softly. "But it's honest."
She took a step back, shaking her head. "No. We can't—this is dangerous."
He didn't push closer. He simply held her gaze, letting the weight of his words linger.
Nadia turned away, retreating into the penthouse. Her mind screamed at her to stay focused on the deal, on Verdant, on survival.
But her heart whispered something else entirely.
---
The next morning, the fallout began.
Media outlets dissected every second of the interview. One tabloid ran a headline:
KINGSLEY'S SOFT SIDE: CEO IN LOVE?
Another speculated:
MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE OR REAL CHEMISTRY?
The attention, while positive for investors, drew unwanted scrutiny. Old acquaintances resurfaced. Reporters dug into her past relationships. Bloggers analyzed her wardrobe as if every stitch revealed hidden truths.
At Verdant, Nadia's assistant delivered a stack of interview requests thicker than her quarterly reports.
"We can't ignore them," the assistant said nervously. "If we refuse, it looks suspicious."
Nadia rubbed her temples. "Schedule two. Print only. Controlled."
When she glanced at Tom, he was already scrolling his phone, unfazed. "Let them talk," he said. "Every headline about us is free publicity."
"Free publicity can turn poisonous," she snapped.
He looked at her calmly. "Not if we stay united."
---
By afternoon, trouble arrived.
A rival energy CEO, Richard Blake, released a statement questioning the authenticity of the marriage.
"Corporate alliances should be built on integrity," Blake declared. "If Verdant Power is using personal life as a smokescreen for financial instability, investors deserve transparency."
The statement spread fast. Hashtags trended. Analysts debated.
Nadia slammed the article down on her desk. "He's trying to kill us."
Tom scanned it, unimpressed. "Then we don't let him."
"How?" she demanded.
He leaned back, eyes glinting. "By proving him wrong in front of everyone. A gala. Next week. Kingsley Hotels' annual charity ball. You'll be there as my wife. We'll show them what a united marriage looks like."
Nadia's throat tightened. A gala meant more eyes, more lies, more risk.
But backing down meant Blake's narrative would win.
She exhaled slowly. "Fine. We'll play your game."
Tom's smile was faint but certain. "It's not a game, Nadia. It's war."
---
That night, alone in her room, Nadia stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She told herself it was simple: survive the gala, secure the investors, crush Blake's rumors.
But no matter how many times she repeated it, she couldn't shake Tom's words from the balcony.
I'm not faking.
And for the first time, she wondered if she was.