My Billionaire Fiancé Is A Lie

You better watch your mouth, young lady

Leila's POV

I knew something was wrong before I even turned the corner.

There was a kind of silence that screamed. The kind that made your heart beat faster, even before your eyes caught up with the horror waiting for you.

Rain poured like the sky was grieving too, soaking the street in sheets of silver misery. And there, at the end of the block, outside our building was the sight that shattered what little pride I had left.

All of our stuffs, on the f*****g street.

Boxes. Trash bags. My brother's mattress, drenched. Our folded clothes spilling out onto the curb like garbage. Kellan's old teddy bear lay face-down in a puddle, one glassy eye missing.

I stood frozen for a full five seconds. Then I ran.

"¡Maldita sea!" I hissed. "No. No, no, no!"

I dropped the small bag I'd taken from the Manor and dropped to my knees beside our ruined things, grabbing at whatever I could save. Everything was wet. Everything smelled like mildew and loss. My fingers were shaking.

Kellan.

Where was Kellan?

"Leila!"

I looked up. My baby brother was sitting on the stairs, soaked to the skin, shivering violently in a too-thin hoodie. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy.

"¿Dios mío, qué te hicieron?" I breathed, running to him.

I knelt in front of him and cupped his face. Burning hot.

Fever.

Of course. Because the universe wasn't done dragging us through hell today.

"I was waiting for you," he whispered, voice small. "He threw everything out. I told him you'd come back."

I didn't realize I was crying until his hands, so small, wiped my cheeks.

I didn't want to call her.

Not because I didn't trust her but because I did. And people like Zara? They don't let you suffer quietly.

But when I saw Kellan curled up in the cold, his lips tinged blue and his fever rising fast, I swallowed my pride and reached into my soggy bag for my phone. The screen was wet. My hands were shaking.

I called. She picked up on the first ring.

"Leila? What's wrong?"

Her voice dropped all that sass she usually carried around like perfume. Just serious. Just Zara.

"We've been evicted."

"What?"

"We're sitting in the rain. All our stuff is outside. Kellan's sick, and-" My voice cracked. I hated that. "We have nowhere to go."

There was a pause. Then. "I'm on my way."

She didn't ask what happened.

She didn't ask if it was a joke.

She just hung up.

That's Zara.

We met four years ago working a brunch shift at Cafe Verona, the kind of restaurant that thought putting microgreens on toast justified charging thirty dollars. I was bussing tables. She was waitressing and talking s**t to the customers under her breath. I admired her mouth before I admired her heart.

Now, she waitresses by day, bartends by night, and still manages to show up like a wrecking ball when I need her.

The front door slammed behind us.

"Oi! I told you two losers I wasn't running no shelter!" our landlord barked, standing on the porch in a wife-beater shorts, holding a beer at 3 p.m. "Tired of this nonsense. Rent's two weeks overdue. You think I'm a charity case?"

I stood slowly, shielding Kellan with my body.

"I just needed till Friday," I said hoarsely. "Please."

"You think I care? Your mama already skipped out, and now you're dragging that sick kid around like a sad movie. Go cry to someone else."

He turned to spit into the bushes.

I closed my eyes.

I wanted to scream. Break. Collapse.

But Kellan was watching me.

So instead, I turned back to him, knelt again, and opened the small white box I'd carried all the way from Anderson Manor.

Inside were two toasted bagels. A boiled egg. A small orange juice.

Luxury leftovers.

"Look what I brought for breakfast," I whispered, wiping his face gently. "Still warm."

He smiled faintly. "From the big house?"

"Yep. You like bagels, right?"

He nodded. I broke it in half and handed it to him.

I was going to break. I knew it. Right there in the rain, on the stairs of a building that didn't want us anymore.

But just before I could, a car horn honked.

The cherry red convertible screeched up like a getaway vehicle in a heist movie. Zara leapt out in a full denim-on-denim situation, hair in a ponytail, gold hoops swinging, platform boots splashing puddles like she was stomping on the patriarchy.

She looked at the scene like it personally offended her. The wet mattress. The busted suitcase. The landlord's beer gut hanging over his waistband.

And she lost her mind.

"Oh, hell no," she snapped, marching right up to him. "Who the hell evicts a kid and his sister in the middle of a damn thunderstorm? You heartless walrus!"

He blinked at her, thrown off.

Zara wasn't done.

"I should pour bleach in your whiskey, you nasty, moldy bread-roll of a man. Look at you, smelling like broken dreams and bad child support."

He pointed at her, offended. "You better watch your mouth, young lady—"

"Oh, what? You gonna fall on me? With all that beer belly? Do us all a favor and roll back into the sewer you slithered out from. That's probably where your real kids live—oh wait, you don't even know who they are!"

He turned beet red. "You want me to call the cops?!"

"Do it!" she screamed. "Tell them you threw a sick kid into the rain and got roasted by a broke girl in glitter boots! I'll bring popcorn!"

I stared.

So did Kellan.

She marched over to us next like the storm itself sent her. Threw her arms open. "Get in the damn car. We are done entertaining trolls."

I didn't move.

"I don't want to be a burden—"

"Oh, shut up, Leila. You're not a burden. You're my best friend. You wipe my eyeliner when I cry over men that aren't worth toilet paper. You bail me out when I forget to pay rent. And you pretend my cooking doesn't taste like flavored anxiety. Get in the car."

I laughed through the tears.

And that's when I finally broke.

Kellan coughed, small and weak.

Zara was already throwing our things into her trunk like a hurricane in boots. She wrapped him in her oversized coat and kissed his forehead.

"Hang in there, kiddo. Auntie Z's got you."

__

Her apartment was tiny. One bedroom. Mismatched chairs. Lavender candles. Burnt toast in the sink.

But it was warm. And it didn't smell like failure.

She made Kellan tea with honey, gave him dry socks, and tucked him under her fleece blanket while SpongeBob played in the background. Then she pulled me into the kitchen, tossed me a towel, and handed me a mug of cheap coffee.

"You're going to say no, aren't you?" she asked, arms crossed.

I stared at her over the rim of my cup.

"Say no to what?"

"To the billionaire. The deal. Whatever the hell that man offered you. You're going to say no and go down with your broke-girl pride."

I didn't answer.

"I swear to God, Leila," she snapped. "This man is rich, hot, and clearly mentally unstable. That is the golden trifecta. Take the deal."

"You don't even know the full story."

"Don't need to. I know you. And you're too proud for your own good. Always playing the big sister. Always trying to be the adult when you are just a kid yourself."

I sighed, leaning against the counter.

"He offered me almost a million dollars, Z."

Zara blinked. "I'm sorry. Did you say almost a million dollars?"

I nodded.

"For six months. Fake fiancée. Fake smiles. Fake everything."

She let out a low whistle. "Girl, that's not even a job. That's reparations."

"I don't trust him."

"You don't have to. You just have to act. And you've been acting your whole life."

I sank into the chair.

She sat beside me. Softer now.

"You're trying to save Kellan, right? Not your ego. Not your mama. Just him."

I didn't respond.

I didn't have to.

Later that night, I sat by Kellan's side as he drifted in and out of sleep on the couch. I wiped his forehead with a damp cloth and tried to stop my own hands from shaking.

"You're gonna fix everything, right?" he asked sleepily.

"I promise."

He smiled. "I miss Mom."

I swallowed. Hard.

"She's just, you know Mom. Always moving around."

"Do you think she'll come back this time?"

I forced a smile. "You want more orange juice?"

He nodded.

I stood, walked to the kitchen, and gripped the counter with both hands until my knuckles turned white.

Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Six months.

A lie that could fix my entire life, give Kellan a better life, and expose me to a whole new life of luxury.

Or destroy it.