Chapter Two: The Dinner Deal
1550 Words
The next day, Ariana Cruz sat on the edge of her small twin bed in her tiny apartment above the flower shop, still wearing her work apron and staring at the glossy black envelope in her hands like it might explode.
It had arrived with a luxury car—long, sleek, and guarded by a driver in a charcoal suit who said only, “Mr. Westwood is expecting you, Miss Cruz.”
The envelope contained a handwritten note on creamy, embossed stationery:
> Ariana,
As promised—dinner. No cameras. No pressure.
Just answers.
– Damien.
She stared at the note again.
Was she really doing this?
Her phone buzzed beside her, the cracked screen lighting up with a message from her best friend, Tessa.
> Are you actually going?! Is he even real?? Or is this a Netflix drama you forgot to tell me you were starring in?!
Ariana shook her head, smiling faintly. She quickly texted back:
> One dinner. If I don’t come back, he’s either a murderer or he offered me a million dollars to pretend we’re married forever.
She tossed the phone aside and stood, eyeing the outfit she’d borrowed from Tessa: a fitted navy-blue dress, simple and elegant, paired with low heels. Far from designer, but it would have to do.
Minutes later, she descended the steps and slipped into the back of the sleek black car.
“Mr. Westwood’s penthouse,” the driver said, then pulled away from the curb.
---
Thirty minutes later, she was standing in front of a massive glass door at the top floor of the Westwood Tower. It hissed open silently, and Ariana stepped into a world so breathtaking she nearly forgot to breathe.
White marble floors. A view of the entire city skyline glittering like diamonds. Soft jazz music floating through the air. And Damien—standing near a grand piano, nursing a glass of scotch.
He turned at the sound of her heels.
“You came,” he said, his voice smooth, unbothered.
“I almost didn’t,” Ariana said honestly, setting her clutch down.
“But you did,” he replied, eyes scanning her from head to toe—not with lust, but curiosity. “You clean up well.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly. “So do you.”
He smiled. “Hungry?”
She nodded, more nervous than she let on.
Dinner was set on a long glass table—steamed salmon, wild rice, grilled vegetables, and fresh bread. Classy. Elegant. Intimidating. They ate mostly in silence at first, Ariana trying to figure out what exactly she was doing in a billionaire’s home with a man she’d met less than 24 hours ago.
“So,” she finally said, wiping her mouth. “Why me?”
Damien leaned back. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you pretend I was your fiancée? You could’ve picked anyone—someone rich, someone from your world.”
He studied her for a moment. “Because you’re not from my world.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He exhaled slowly, then set his glass down. “You were real. Unscripted. When that woman tried to humiliate you, you didn’t shrink—you stood there and took it with grace. No drama. No theatrics.”
Ariana frowned. “That’s... a very strange reason to fake an engagement.”
He nodded. “Probably. But you intrigued me. And I needed a temporary solution to a very permanent problem.”
“What problem?”
“My family wants me to marry someone from a very specific bloodline,” he said with a smirk. “A merger disguised as love. If I don’t settle down soon, I risk losing part of the company to my cousin, who’s more snake than man.”
Ariana blinked. “So your brilliant solution is to bring in a stranger off the street and say she’s your bride-to-be?”
“You’re not just a stranger,” Damien said. “You’re a stranger with dignity. That makes you far more qualified than most people I know.”
She stared at him. “You’re insane.”
“Possibly,” he said with a casual shrug. “But here’s the real offer. I want you to pretend to be engaged to me—for three months. Just until the board finalizes my position and the media circus cools down.”
Ariana laughed. “No. Absolutely not. That’s crazy.”
“I’ll pay you,” he added, smoothly. “A hundred thousand dollars.”
She choked on her wine. “Excuse me?”
“Three months. No intimacy, no expectations. Just appearances. You attend a few functions, smile at the cameras, and help me convince the world I’m in love.”
“And what happens after?”
“We end it. You disappear back to your life with a six-figure thank-you.”
Ariana leaned back in her chair, staring at him like he’d grown two heads. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Damien nodded. “Probably. But it’s also real.”
She hesitated. Rent was overdue. Her flower shop was struggling. Her mother’s medical bills were piling up. And yet—was she really about to sell her dignity for a fantasy?
“What if I say yes?” she asked softly.
Damien’s eyes sparkled. “Then tomorrow, we go ring shopping.”
Ariana stared at Damien, trying to process the absurdity of everything. “Ring shopping? You really want to dive into this fake engagement thing, huh?”
Damien’s lips twitched. “If we’re going to lie, we might as well do it convincingly.”
She stood from the table and began to pace slowly, her heels clicking against the polished marble. “You don’t even know me. For all you know, I could be some psycho with a criminal record.”
He took a sip of his scotch. “You’re not.”
“You’re that sure?”
Damien tilted his head. “I had someone run a light background check.”
Her jaw dropped. “You what?!”
He shrugged, unbothered. “Standard protocol. You live above the flower shop. Raised by your grandmother. No criminal record. Clean credit. Not exactly the profile of a criminal mastermind.”
“You looked into my life before offering me money to be your fake fiancée,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “I should walk out of here.”
“You could,” he said calmly. “But you haven’t.”
Ariana stopped pacing. “Because I’m not sure if I’m desperate or stupid.”
Damien set his glass down and stood, walking over to her. He wasn’t intimidating in the traditional sense—he didn’t try to loom or use his height against her. Instead, he stopped a foot away, hands in his pockets, eyes steady.
“You’re not stupid,” he said quietly. “Desperate, maybe. But not stupid.”
She met his gaze. “This isn’t normal.”
“No,” he admitted. “But sometimes the most unexpected arrangements lead to the best outcomes.”
Ariana folded her arms. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“Never,” he replied with a small smile. “You’re my first fake bride.”
She laughed in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself?”
He stepped back. “Look, Ariana. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking for a performance. We don’t even have to live together. Just show up to a few events, wear a ring, and pretend to tolerate me.”
She gave him a dry look. “You make it sound so romantic.”
He smiled. “I’m working on that part.”
A long silence fell between them.
Finally, she exhaled and looked at the city lights glowing behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. “If I say yes… what do I have to lose?”
Damien didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked to a drawer near the piano and pulled out a plain white envelope.
“Your first payment,” he said, offering it to her. “Twenty thousand. Consider it a retainer.”
Ariana stared at the envelope. Her fingers itched to take it. That kind of money could fix a lot of things in her world. But it came with strings—gold-plated strings wrapped in champagne lies.
She took the envelope.
Damien’s eyes flickered with approval. “I’ll send a car for you tomorrow. Noon. We’ll keep it low-key. No paparazzi.”
She nodded slowly. “This doesn’t mean I trust you.”
He smirked. “Of course not. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
Ariana turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Just so we’re clear, Damien… the second this starts to feel too real—I’m out. Money or no money.”
He gave her a mock salute. “Understood, Miss Cruz.”
With that, she slipped out the door, the envelope clutched tightly in her hand, and a thousand questions dancing in her head.
As she rode the elevator down, her heart pounded with a mix of dread and excitement.
She had just agreed to fake an engagement to a billionaire stranger.
And somehow, it already felt like the biggest decision of her life.
- Writer
