The Grand Ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was a sea of shimmering gowns, clinking crystal, and sharp-toothed smiles. As we stepped out of the black limousine, the flashbulbs of a hundred cameras exploded like lightning.
Adrian didn't hesitate. He reached for my hand, his fingers weaving through mine. To the cameras, it looked like a man hopelessly in love. To me, his grip felt like a command: Don't trip. Don't speak out of turn.
"Smile, Mia," he murmured under his breath, leaning down so his lips brushed my ear. The sensation sent a traitorous shiver down my spine. "The world is watching."
"I'm a nurse, Adrian," I whispered back through a frozen grin. "I've handled life-and-death emergencies. I think I can handle a few appetizers and some judgmental socialites."
"These people are more dangerous than a trauma ward," he countered.
As we moved through the crowd, the whispers followed us like a wake behind a ship.
"Is that her?"
"The nurse from West Bengal?"
"I heard she's a gold-digger who trapped him."
Adrian ignored them all, playing the part of the devoted fiancé to perfection. He pulled out my chair, introduced me with a pride that felt hauntingly real, and kept his hand on the small of my back throughout dinner. For a few hours, I almost forgot the contract in his desk drawer.
But the illusion shattered during the slow dance.
The music was low, and the lights dimmed. Adrian pulled me close, one hand resting on my waist, the other holding mine against his chest. I could feel the steady thrum of his heart.
"You're shaking," he said softly, his dark eyes searching mine.
"It's a lot of pressure," I admitted, looking up at him. In the dim light, the hardness of his face seemed to soften. For a fleeting second, the CEO mask slipped, and I saw a man who looked... lonely. "Do you ever get tired of the act, Adrian?"
His gaze dropped to my lips, and the air between us suddenly felt charged with something that wasn't in the agreement. His hand tightened on my waist, pulling me an inch closer.
"The act is the only thing that's safe, Mia," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.
Just as his head began to tilt downward—just as the cameras caught what looked like a looming kiss—a high-pitched voice interrupted us.
"Adrian! Darling! You didn't tell me you were into... charity cases now."
We pulled apart instantly. Standing there was a woman in a gown made of silver sequins, looking like a shark in couture. Adrian's face turned back to stone. This was the one person he hadn't warned me about: his ex-fiancée, Celine.