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Chapter 5 - THE AWARD WINNING PERFORMANCE

But then I thought about my family. Harvey's smirk. My father's dismissal. My mother's slap still burning on my cheek.

And I thought about that callback. About the role I'd just won. About every door that had been slammed in my face.

"Six months," I heard myself say. "And then we're done. Nothing else. Clear?"

Andre's expression didn't change, but something twinkled in his eyes. Relief? Calculation? I couldn't tell.

"Crystal clear," he said.

Claudia smiled—the first genuine emotion I'd seen from her. "Excellent. We'll draft the contract. You'll both sign tomorrow. In the meantime…" She pulled up her phone. "We need to schedule your first official public appearance."

"When?" I asked, my voice sounding far away.

"Today. Tonight, actually." She glanced at Andre. "Your album launch party. It's already scheduled, high-profile, perfect opportunity to debut the relationship."

My stomach dropped. "Tonight? That's in—"

"Six hours," Claudia finished. "Which gives us just enough time to prep you both."

The next few hours passed in a blur of stylists, photographers, and crisis management briefings.

Eida appeared at some point—She arrived in her white Mercedes. She found me in a dressing room surrounded by racks of designer clothes, a makeup artist hovering nearby.

"You actually agreed to this?" she whispered, pulling me aside.

"What choice did I have?" I whispered back.

"Um, saying no?" She crossed her arms. "Venny, this is insane. You're going to fake-date Andre Alhale. The man who didn't even remember your name a week ago."

"I know." I sank onto a velvet couch. "But Eida, you should see what they're saying online. About me. About my family. This scandal is destroying everything I've worked for before I even get started."

She softened slightly. "And you think pretending to be his girlfriend will fix that?"

"I think it's my only shot at controlling the narrative." I looked up at her. "Six months. I can handle six months. And when it's over, I'll have the visibility I need. The credibility. Maybe even respect."

"Or a broken heart," she said quietly.

"I won't let that happen." The words came out more confident than I felt. "This is a business transaction. Nothing more."

Eida studied my face for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. But let me know everything that happens from on. I don't want you to feel alone in this."

Relief flooded through me. "I will Eida. I promise. Thank you so much for everything."

The makeup artist returned, and I let myself be transformed. Soft gold shimmer around my green eyes, nude-pink lips precise enough to make a bold statement. The dress they'd chosen—baby-pink silk with a cinched waist—wasn't loud, but it commanded attention. My black hair fell in soft waves over my shoulders.

I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back.

She looked like she belonged beside Andre Alhale.

Almost.

The album launch party was at a rooftop venue downtown, all glass and steel and city lights stretching to infinity. By the time we arrived, the place was already packed with celebrities, influencers, and enough paparazzi to make my teeth ache.

Andre was waiting by his car—black suit, hair perfectly styled, that public smile already in place. But when he saw me, something shifted in his expression. Just for a second.

"Ready?" he asked, offering his hand.

"Definitely ready," I lied.

His fingers closed around mine, warm and solid. "Just follow my lead. Smile. Wave. Don't answer any questions you're not comfortable with."

"Aww, so romantic," I muttered.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a real smile. "For the show, darling."

My heart stuttered at the name, even though I knew it was fake. Even though this was all performance.

The cameras caught everything the moment we stepped out of the car. Flashes exploded like lightning. Reporters shouted over each other.

"Venny! How does it feel being announced as the female lead of Paper Heat: The Beginning?"

"Andre! Are the relationship rumors true?"

"Did you two fall in love on set?"

Andre's hand tightened slightly on mine—a reminder to smile. He gave a practiced laugh, the kind that sounded genuine but revealed nothing. "Some stories write themselves," he said smoothly.

A microphone was shoved toward my face. My heart hammered, but I forced my voice steady and clear.

"If love is scripted, I must've nailed my audition."

The crowd erupted. Laughter, camera flashes, excited chatter. I felt Andre's hand squeeze mine once—approval? Warning? It was confusing enough to tell.

We moved through the entrance, and I knew without looking that the quote was already spreading online. Screenshotted. Memed. Analyzed.

Inside the venue, the noise shifted from chaos to controlled glamour. Music pulsed, glasses clinked, beautiful people swirled around us like we were the sun they orbited.

"You're a natural," Andre murmured near my ear.

"I'm an actress," I replied, smiling at a passing photographer. "What did you expect?"

"Honestly?" His blue eyes met mine. "I didn't expect you to agree at all."

Before I could respond, someone called his name. We were pulled into conversations, introductions, photo opportunities. Through it all, Andre's hand stayed at the small of my back or intertwined with mine. 

I played my part. Laughed at the right moments. Gazed at him with carefully calibrated affection. Let him whisper things in my ear that looked intimate but were actually logistics.

"There's a journalist from Entertainment Weekly at three o'clock. We should talk to her."

"Smile more. You look tense."

"Rita's publicist is here. Don't make eye contact."

The last one made my stomach clench. I caught a glimpse of a woman across the room—sharp suit, sharper expression, watching us like a hawk.

"Can I lie? She looks friendly," I whispered.

Andre giggled, his eyes half closed.

Was that funny?

"Yep. She definitely wants me destroyed," Andre finally replied. "So keep smiling."

I did. Even though my face hurt. Even though my feet screamed in these heels. Even though every camera flash felt like evidence of a lie I was now complicit in.

Hours later, we finally escaped to a quiet balcony. The party continued inside, muffled and distant.

I leaned against the railing, closing my eyes. "Is it always like this?"

"The parties? Yes." Andre stood beside me, loosening his tie. "The pretending? That's new."

I opened my eyes to find him watching me. Without the cameras, without the crowd, his expression was different. Tired. Almost vulnerable.

"Why did you really agree to this?" I asked.

He was quiet for a moment. "Because I'm tired of being told who I am. What I should do. Who I should love." He looked out at the city. "This arrangement gives me control. For once."

"Control," I echoed. "Is that what you call it?"

"What would you call it?"

"Survival."

He turned to face me fully. "Then we're doing the same thing. Just with different words."

My phone buzzed in my clutch. I pulled it out.

#VennyAndAndre was trending number one. Again.

Article notifications flooded my screen:

"Andre Alhale's New Love: Inside Their Whirlwind Romance"

"Venny Loundel's Quote Goes Viral: 'If Love Is Scripted, I Nailed My Audition'"

"From Heiress to Starlet: How One Relationship Changed Everything"

Two million likes in twenty minutes. Comments pouring in. Fan accounts already created. Edited photos of us looking like a magazine cover.

"We're officially the nation's favorite lie," I said quietly, showing him the screen.

Andre glanced at it, expression cryptic. "Get used to it. Every breath you take now is content."

"You surprisingly sound thrilled."

"I'm being realistic, Venny." He stepped closer. "The performance doesn't end when the cameras stop. It ends in six months. Can you handle that?"

I met his gaze, refusing to look away. "Can you? Andre"

For a moment, something passed between us. Recognition. Challenge. Maybe even respect.

Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression went cold.

"I need to take this," he said, stepping away.

I watched him move to the far corner of the balcony, his voice too low to hear but his body language tight. Angry. Whatever the call was, it wasn't good.

When he returned, his jaw was set. "We need to go. Now."

"What? Why—"

"Rita." The name came out sharp. "She just posted something. Claudia says we need to do damage control immediately."

My stomach dropped. "What did she post?"

He showed me his phone.

It was a photo of Rita, tears streaming down her face, mascara smudged. The caption read:

"When you give someone your whole heart and they throw it away for a publicity stunt. Some of us believed in real love. #Heartbroken #BetrayedByYou #TheRealStory"

The post already had hundreds of thousands of likes. The comments were vicious.

"Andre is TRASH."

"Venny Loundel is a home-wrecker."

"Rita deserves so much better."

"This 'relationship' is so obviously fake."

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