THE BILLIONAIRE'S PRETEND GIRLFRIEND

CHAPTER EIGHT — AFTER THE DINNER

Dinner dragged to its end with all the warmth of an interrogation. Every question aimed at Chloe was laced with skepticism, and every answer she gave carried cool precision that unsettled more than a few members of the Sterling family.

Damien sat in silence, jaw tight, enduring the performance. To his right, Clara maintained her elegant composure, though the faint edge in her tone betrayed her irritation. To his left, Chloe was maddeningly calm, sipping wine as though she owned the room.

When dessert plates were finally cleared, Isabella’s voice cut through the room.

“Damien,” she said, her tone smooth but firm, “why don’t you be a gentleman and see Clara home?”

Damien’s head turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. He had no interest in playing chauffeur. “Nathan will take her.”

“No.” Isabella’s gaze sharpened. “It would be rude. Clara is our guest. You’ll take her yourself.”

Eleanor leaned back, lips twitching in amusement. “And of course, you’ll drop Chloe as well. Can’t very well send your… girlfriend off alone, can you?”

The deliberate pause before girlfriend wasn’t lost on anyone.

Damien’s jaw clenched. He hated being cornered. Still, refusing would only feed suspicion. With a clipped nod, he rose from his seat. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Clara stood gracefully, smoothing her dress, her smile polite but triumphant. Chloe rose too, unbothered, gathering her purse with calm poise.

“Have a nice evening everyone.”

The Ride

The Sterling driver held the car door open. Chloe slid in first, followed by Damien. Clara hesitated for a beat before stepping in, ending up on Damien’s other side.

The atmosphere inside the car was suffocating. The sleek black car cut through the quiet streets like a panther on the prowl, its polished exterior gleaming under the glow of the streetlights. Inside, the air was tense, heavy with unspoken thought.

The night air was cool as the Sterling car pulled away from the manor, its polished frame cutting through the city lights. Inside the backseat, silence pressed down like a weight.

Damien sat in the middle, his posture rigid, hands braced on his knees. To his right, Clara Hamilton sat with her perfect smile, her perfume a delicate floral note in the confined space. To his left, Chloe lounged with effortless poise, one ankle crossed over the other, her calm expression making it seem as though this wasn’t the most uncomfortable ride in history.

The contrast between them was unbearable.

“Thank you for dinner, Damien,” Clara finally said, her voice warm, cultured, the kind of tone trained for society gatherings. “Your family is always such gracious hosts.”

Damien gave a curt nod. “Mm.”

Clara smiled sweetly, her voice light. “Dinner was wonderful, Damien. Your mother has such impeccable taste in hosting.”

Chloe’s lips curved faintly. “She certainly knows how to set a scene.” Her tone was smooth, but her eyes glimmered with mischief.

Clara glanced at her. “I don’t believe I asked for your opinion.”

“Mm,” Chloe hummed softly, unbothered. “And yet, here I am, giving it.”

His noncommittal response didn’t deter her. “I had a lovely time,” she added, her gaze flicking subtly past him to Chloe.

Chloe didn’t miss it. Her lips curved faintly, but she said nothing, letting Clara fill the silence.

After a beat, Clara pressed on. “I’m looking forward to Friday.”

Damien’s jaw flexed. Of course she’d bring that up. “We’ll see,” he muttered.

Beside him, Chloe finally spoke, her tone featherlight. “Friday?”

Damien turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing at her in the dim glow of the car. She was smirking — of course she was smirking.

“Family arrangement,” Clara answered before he could. Her smile was polite, but her eyes were sharp. “We’re scheduled to have dinner.”

“Oh,” Chloe said softly, her gaze sliding back to Damien. “How… efficient of them.” She tilted her head, voice dipping into teasing silk. “Tell me, darling, do you usually juggle women over back-to-back dinners, or am I just special?”

Damien closed his eyes briefly. “Don’t start.”

Clara bristled. “There’s no need for sarcasm. This isn’t a game, Chloe.”

Chloe turned toward her fully then, her expression calm but her smile edged with something sharper. “You’re right. It’s not. It’s Damien’s life. And as his girlfriend”—she let the word linger, deliberately—“I’d say I have a better view than most.

The tension was reaching its breaking point. Damien could almost hear the words unsaid between the two women, like blades drawn beneath silk.

And that was only the beginning.