Zoe's POV
The ballroom is too big. Too bright. Too full of people who belong and Zoe who doesn't.
She stands in the entrance of the resort's main event space and her chest feels tight. Around her are the kinds of people she's only seen in magazines. Women in designer dresses that probably cost more than her apartment. Men in suits that fit like they were painted on. Everyone is tanned and polished and radiating the kind of confidence that comes from never worrying about money.
Zoe is wearing the emerald dress Marcus sent. It's beautiful but it's a costume. Everyone in this room will know that.
Marcus's hand appears at the small of her back.
The touch grounds her. Reminds her why she's here. Seven thousand dollars. A weekend of pretending. Then everything changes.
"Stay close," he says quietly, and his voice is gentle. Like he knows she's terrified.
They move into the crowd together and people immediately turn toward them. Zoe watches them register Marcus and then look at her with curiosity. Who is the girl? Where did she come from? What is she doing on the arm of the most eligible bachelor in Manhattan?
An older woman approaches first. Salt and pepper hair, diamonds that could ransom a country, a smile that's mostly teeth.
"Marcus darling, introduce us to your lovely companion," the woman says.
Marcus's hand stays warm against Zoe's back.
"This is Zoe, my girlfriend," he says simply. No hesitation. No apology for the fact that she's not from their world. Just a statement of fact like her presence here makes perfect sense.
"How wonderful," the woman gushes. "How did you two meet?"
Zoe's brain goes blank but Marcus answers smoothly.
"We're old friends actually. Reconnected after years apart. Funny how fate works." He squeezes her back gently. "Sometimes the person you're supposed to find was always there waiting."
It sounds rehearsed but also sincere. Like he's telling the truth even though they both know this is a performance.
More people approach. A politician. Two investors. Wives with curious eyes that are trying to figure out her story. They ask questions. How long have you been together? What do you do? Where are you from?
Zoe answers carefully. Doesn't lie but doesn't reveal too much. She's good at this. Years of waitressing taught her how to smile and make people feel comfortable even when she wants to disappear.
Then someone asks the question she's been dreading.
"And what do you do, Zoe? Are you in finance like Marcus?"
Embarrassment floods her like a physical thing. What does she do? Work three jobs and sell paintings on street corners? Drop out of college because her mom got sick?
"I'm between jobs right now," she says quietly, and the words sound pathetic next to all these accomplished people.
The woman's expression shifts. Pity maybe. Or judgment. Something that says she's now categorized Zoe into a box labeled "not important."
But Marcus cuts in before the silence can grow teeth.
"Zoe is an artist," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes everyone pay attention. "Incredibly talented. She has a natural gift for capturing emotion in visual form. It's actually quite remarkable."
He's never even seen her work. He has no idea what her paintings look like or if she's talented at all. But the way he says it sounds like he believes it completely. Like he's seen every single one of her paintings and been moved by them.
The woman nods like this makes sense now. Like "artist" is a suitable explanation for why she's here.
The conversation moves on and Zoe's heart is still racing.
They make their way through the crowd. Marcus introduces her to investors and their wives. Each time he keeps his hand at her back. Each time he includes her in conversations. Each time he makes her feel like she belongs here even though they both know she doesn't.
An hour in, he disappears to get her champagne.
He returns with a glass of something that probably costs more than her monthly food budget and leans close.
"You okay?" he asks quietly, like he's genuinely concerned.
Zoe nods because what else can she do?
"You're doing great," Marcus says. "Really. You fit in like you've always been part of this world."
She's lying perfectly is what he means. But he says it like she's doing something amazing.
The evening continues. Dancing starts. Marcus stays near her like he's afraid she'll disappear if he looks away. Other women try to engage him in conversation but he keeps redirecting back to Zoe. Asking her opinions. Making sure she's comfortable. Treating her like she's the most interesting person in the room.
By nine o'clock, Zoe has stopped feeling terrified and started feeling something else entirely.
She's started believing the lie.
She's started thinking maybe she does belong here. Maybe she is the kind of woman a billionaire would want. Maybe this could be real if she lets herself believe it.
That's when the older investor approaches.
He's tall. Distinguished. The kind of man who probably runs half the companies in New York. He claps Marcus on the shoulder with easy familiarity.
"You're different tonight," the investor says, and he's looking at Marcus like he's seeing something he hasn't seen before. "Lighter. Like someone just turned the weight off. Like you're actually happy for the first time in years."
Zoe watches Marcus's face. Watches him try to decide how to respond.
"Yeah," Marcus says finally. "I guess I am."
The investor glances at Zoe then back to Marcus and his smile is knowing.
"She's something special," he says. "Hold onto this one."
Marcus's response comes out quiet but firm. There's something in his voice that sounds like a vow.
"I intend to."
The investor walks away and Zoe is left standing there with Marcus's words echoing in her head.
I intend to.
Like he's not planning on letting her go. Like this isn't a three-day contract anymore. Like the performance is becoming something real.
Marcus turns to look at her and there's something in his green eyes that makes her breath catch.
"What?" she whispers.
"Nothing," he says. "I just wanted to remember this moment. You. Here. Real."
But it's not real. That's the thing that's killing her. This is all a beautiful lie and tomorrow or the next day it's going to explode.
She's not a girlfriend. She's an actress. He's not in love with her. He's just very committed to the performance.
Except when he takes her hand and doesn't let go for the rest of the night, it feels real.
Except when he looks at her like she's his entire world, it feels real.
Except when she's dancing with him and his hand is on her waist and she can feel his heart beating, it all feels terrifyingly, dangerously real.
And Zoe realizes with absolute certainty that by the time this weekend ends, she's going to be completely and utterly destroyed.