The cameras were already waiting.
Amber knew it the moment the car slowed in front of the venue, flashes reflecting off the tinted windows like warning lights. Even before the door opened, she felt the familiar shift inside her—the calm precision sliding into place, the version of herself the world expected stepping forward.
Beside her, Alex adjusted his cufflinks with practiced ease. If he felt the pressure tightening around them, he didn't show it. He rarely did.
"Remember," he said quietly, voice low enough that only she could hear, "we control the pace."
Amber smirked. "You control corporations. I control perception. Don't confuse the two."
The driver opened the door.
Noise rushed in immediately—voices calling their names, shutters clicking, the electric hum of attention. Alex stepped out first, straightening to his full height, offering a brief nod that sent a ripple through the crowd. Then he turned and extended his hand back into the car.
Amber paused.
The gesture wasn't in the contract.
She looked at his hand, then up at his face. His expression was neutral, composed—but his eyes flicked to hers with a silent question.
Public affection, minimal. Appropriate proximity.
She placed her hand in his.
The reaction was instant.
Gasps. Murmurs. A spike in camera flashes so bright it momentarily washed the world white. Alex's grip was steady, warm, fingers closing around hers with deliberate care. He didn't pull her close—didn't need to. The symbolism was enough.
They were together.
As they walked toward the entrance, Amber became acutely aware of every point of contact. The brush of his thumb against her knuckles. The subtle angle of his body, positioned just enough to shield her from the crowd. It was protective without being possessive, calculated yet instinctive.
She hated how natural it felt.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted. The gala buzzed with controlled elegance—crystal chandeliers, champagne flutes, murmured conversations that paused just long enough to watch them pass. Eyes followed them everywhere.
"Smile," Alex murmured.
Amber tilted her head slightly, lips curving into a flawless expression. "Careful. People might think you enjoy this."
"I enjoy results," he replied.
They stopped near the press backdrop, microphones already being thrust forward. A reporter leaned in, voice eager.
"Mr. Wilson, Ms. Gareth—this is quite the surprise. Care to comment on the rumors?"
Alex didn't hesitate. "Amber and I have known each other for some time. We value our privacy, but yes—we're together."
The words landed cleanly, decisively.
Amber turned to look at him, just enough surprise in her expression to sell the moment. She let her fingers tighten slightly in his hand.
"I wouldn't call it a surprise," she added smoothly. "Just something we chose not to advertise until now."
Another reporter jumped in. "Is this serious?"
Alex glanced at her, giving her the opening.
She met his gaze, holding it a second longer than necessary. Let them see it. Let them believe.
"It is," she said simply.
The lie slid out too easily.
Applause broke out—not loud, but approving. The kind that came with validation, with acceptance. Alex inclined his head, guiding her away from the press and into the main hall.
Once they were out of earshot, Amber let out a slow breath. "Congratulations," she said under her breath. "You just convinced half the city."
"And you," he replied, "convinced the other half."
They moved through the room, exchanging pleasantries, stopping when required, posing when expected. Alex's hand remained at the small of her back—never lingering too long, never straying—but always there. A constant reminder of the role they were playing.
Or becoming.
At one point, a woman approached—elegant, sharp-eyed, her smile tight.
"Amber Gareth," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Lillian Moore. I work closely with Wilson Group."
Amber shook her hand politely.
"I must say," Lillian continued, eyes flicking briefly to Alex, "I didn't realize Alexander was capable of surprises."
Alex's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Amber caught it.
She smiled sweetly. "Neither did I. But here we are."
Lillian laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Indeed. Well, enjoy the evening."
As she walked away, Amber leaned closer to Alex. "Friend of yours?"
"Colleague," he replied shortly.
"Interesting," Amber murmured.
The band began to play then, a slow, elegant melody filling the space. Couples drifted toward the dance floor.
Amber felt Alex tense beside her.
"No," she said immediately.
He looked down at her. "It would help."
"I don't dance for optics."
"You dance beautifully," he said before he could stop himself.
She blinked, caught off guard. "You've never seen me dance."
"I've seen enough," he replied quietly.
For a moment, they stood there, suspended. Then Amber sighed.
"One song," she said. "And if you step on my foot, I walk."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Deal."
On the dance floor, his hand settled at her waist, her other resting lightly on his shoulder. They moved slowly, carefully at first, bodies adjusting to the rhythm—and to each other.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was worse.
It was intimate.
Amber became aware of his breathing, steady and warm. Of the way his grip tightened slightly when she shifted closer. Of the way the world seemed to recede, the performance blurring into something dangerously real.
"You're tense," he murmured.
"So are you," she shot back.
He exhaled softly. "This is only the beginning."
She looked up at him, searching his face. "That's what worries me."
The song ended too soon. Applause followed, polite and approving. They stepped apart, the spell breaking reluctantly.
As they left the floor, Amber's phone vibrated in her clutch.
A message from Camila.
You're trending again. But this time… they believe it.
Amber slipped the phone back into her bag, heart pounding harder than she liked.
Outside, the lie was working.
Inside, it was starting to ask for more than either of them had promised to give.