The lie he put a ring on

Chapter Two: An unreasonable proposal

By the time I got home, I had replayed my meeting with Adrian Blackwell so many times that I was beginning to hate the sound of his name.

Not that I had ever been particularly fond of it, lol.

I dropped my bag onto the couch and kicked off my heels, hoping the familiar comfort of my apartment would help me forget the morning. Instead, I kept remembering the way Adrian had looked at me across his desk, as if three years hadn't passed, as if he hadn't once watched me fall apart and decided there was nothing he could do about it.

A knock sounded at my door.

I frowned. I wasn't expecting anyone, because it's late.

When I opened it, Camille stood outside with a paper bag in one hand and a knowing smile on her face.

She raised the bag slightly. "Before you ask, yes, I brought food. And before you lie, I already know something happened."

I stepped aside. "Do you ever get tired of being dramatic, Camie?"

She shook her head "Never. It's one of my best qualities."

She walked in, placed the bag on the coffee table, and made herself comfortable on the couch. I closed the door and followed her, already regretting giving her a spare key.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

She sighed dramatically. "You're still gonna ask that? Obviously, I'm here for the tea. Duh!"

I rolled my eyes, chuckling at her ridiculousness.

"There you go. All right, now," she said, turning toward me. "Tell me everything."

"There isn't much to tell, madam."

"Lianna."

I sighed. Yeah, I wasn't going to win against Miss Devil.

"He requested me personally. Not the agency. Me."

Her smile disappeared.

"Adrian?"

"Do you know another Blackwell who could make my day this miserable?"

Camille stared at me for a moment before leaning back against the couch.

"Okay. That's concerning." She hesitated. "Did he mention your dad?"

"No."

"And how do you feel about that?"

I looked down at my hands.

"I was there to do a job, not beg him to care."

The words came out sharper than I'd intended. Camille didn't comment on them. Instead, she reached for my hand and squeezed it gently.

"Then that's what you'll do," she said. "Your job. Nothing more."

I nodded, grateful that she understood without asking me to explain the things that still hurt.

Then she nudged the paper bag toward me.

"But you're eating first. I refuse to let Adrian Blackwell ruin your appetite too."

A small laugh escaped me.

"You're unbelievable, Cam."

"I know. Now eat."

For a little while, we talked about everything except Adrian. It helped. Camille had always known when to tease me and when to let the silence do its work.

Then my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

An email notification appeared on the screen.

From: Natalie Hart

Subject: Follow-Up Meeting Request

I opened it.

Good evening, Ms. Reyes.

Mr. Blackwell has requested a follow-up meeting with you tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. He would like to discuss a private matter separate from the communications strategy meeting.

Please let me know if you are available.

I read it twice.

"A private matter?" Camille leaned over to look at the screen. "Oh, absolutely not."

"That's what I'm thinking."

She nodded. "Good. Ignore it."

I started typing a polite refusal, then stopped.

Whatever Adrian wanted, I wasn't going to spend another day wondering about it. If he had something to say, he could say it to my face.

I deleted my draft and typed a new response.

I'll be there at 10:00 a.m.

Camille watched me press send.

"Oh my God, you're impossible."

"I want to know what he wants."

"And I want a villa in Italy. Doesn't mean either of us is getting what we want, girl."

I laughed despite myself, but the feeling faded almost as quickly as it came.

Tomorrow, I would hear him out. That was all.

At least, that's what I told myself.

———————～⁠♡

The following morning, Natalie led me into a private conference room overlooking the city.

Adrian stood by the windows, one hand in his pocket. On the table sat a folder and two untouched cups of coffee.

He turned as I entered.

"Avilianna."

"Mr. Blackwell."

His gaze lingered on me before he gestured toward the chair opposite his.

"Please, sit."

I did, keeping my bag beside me.

"If this concerns the communications strategy, I thought we'd agreed to coordinate through the proper channels."

"It concerns the company," he said, taking his seat. "But not the strategy you presented yesterday."

"Then what exactly are we discussing?"

He opened the folder and slid several pages toward me.

"Three years ago, the investigation into the missing funds damaged the company's reputation. Now that the case is receiving renewed media attention, the board is concerned about the effect on our shareholders, our partners, and the company's stability."

I scanned the documents. Headlines, financial summaries, and notes from recent board discussions filled the pages.

"And your leadership," I added.

His eyes lifted to mine.

"Yes. My leadership."

At least he wasn't pretending otherwise.

"The gala next month will bring shareholders, business partners, and members of the press into the same room," I said. "You're expecting questions about the investigation."

"I'm expecting more than questions."

"Then we prepare for them. We coordinate with legal and make sure no one makes claims we can't verify."

"Agreed."

I closed the folder.

"If that's all, I'll have the revised plan ready by the end of the week."

"There's something else."

Of course there was.

Adrian leaned back, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"I need you to pretend to be my fiancée."

For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him.

Then I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because I genuinely couldn't believe he was serious.

"I'm sorry. Your what?"

"My fiancée."

"Yes, I heard you the first time. I was hoping you'd hear yourself the second, sir."

He didn't smile.

That was when I realized he meant every word.

I pushed my chair back. "Absolutely not."

"Avilianna, let me explain."

"No. Whatever ridiculous conclusion you've reached, the answer is no."

"The board is concerned about the renewed investigation and what it could mean for the company," he continued. "A public engagement could redirect some of the attention during the gala and reinforce the impression that the company is moving forward while the independent investigation proceeds."

I stared at him. Seriously, what's wrong with his head?

"You're proposing a fake engagement to improve public perception?"

"I'm proposing a temporary arrangement with clearly defined terms. Nothing would be concealed from investigators, and no evidence would be withheld."

I almost admired how calmly he said it. He made it sound like another business proposal, as though he were asking me to approve a press release instead of participate in a lie.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"No."

"Then you've seriously overestimated my willingness to entertain yours."

He exhaled slowly.

"You would be compensated for your time. The agreement would include boundaries, confidentiality, and a defined end date."

I looked at him, searching for any sign that this was a joke.

There was none. He's absolutely insane.

"You've clearly considered your options."

"I have."

"And somehow, you landed on me."

"Yes."

The certainty in his answer irritated me more than it should have.

"Why?"

"You're familiar with the company. You understand the media. You challenge me when you think I'm wrong, and you won't agree to something simply because I ask you to."

I gave him a disbelieving smile.

"Those are reasons to hire a communications consultant, Adrian. Not a fiancée."

"You're already working for the company."

"Professionally. That's where our relationship ends."

His jaw tightened.

"You're also someone I trust to tell me when a plan is going wrong."

For one unwelcome second, I remembered when his trust had meant something to me. When I believed I could turn to him with anything and he would listen.

Then another memory surfaced.

Three years ago, I'd stood before him with documents in my trembling hands, begging him to help me prove my father's innocence.

Your father made his choices, Lianna. You need to make peace with that.

I curled my fingers against my palm.

"Don't use trust as a selling point."

His expression shifted.

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Isn't it? You don't get to tell me you trust me now as if nothing happened between us. You don't get to talk about how well I understand you when you made it very clear how little you wanted to understand me."

Silence settled between us.

I gathered the papers and slid them back across the table.

"Find someone else."

"Lianna."

The name stopped me.

Not because I wanted it to, but because I hadn't heard him say it like that in years.

I stood, forcing myself to meet his eyes.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't call me that as if you still have the right."

Something tightened in his expression, but I refused to wonder what it meant.

I picked up my bag.

"You want a fiancée who can stand beside you at a gala, smile for the cameras, and help convince the world that everything is fine? Find someone who believes in your version of the story."

"And you don't?"

I paused.

"I believe in facts," I said. "And I believe people deserve the chance to defend themselves before the world decides they're guilty."

His expression darkened.

For a moment, I wondered if he understood what I was really saying. If he remembered the girl who had stood before him, begging him to look at the evidence.

But I wasn't that girl anymore.

"You really haven't changed," I whispered.

"Neither have you."

I almost smiled.

"Then you should know better than to expect me to agree."

I turned toward the door.

"Avilianna."

I stopped, but didn't look back.

"You asked why I chose you," he said. "The answer hasn't changed."

I tightened my grip on my bag.

"You haven't given me an answer."

"Not one you'd accept."

I looked at him then, searching his face for an explanation. A confession. Anything that might tell me there was more to this than a convenient arrangement designed to protect his reputation.

But Adrian had always been good at keeping his cards close.

And I'd learned the hard way that wanting to know what he was hiding didn't mean I could trust him with the truth.

"Then we have nothing else to discuss," I said before walking out.

—————～⁠♡

The elevator doors closed, leaving me alone with my reflection in the polished metal.

I looked composed. Professional. Entirely unaffected. But my hands were still trembling.

A fake engagement. With Adrian Blackwell. Hell no.

Three years ago, I had begged him to believe in my father.

Today, he had asked me to help the world believe in him.

The irony was almost cruel.

I had refused him. Clearly. Firmly. There was no room for misunderstanding.

And yet, as the elevator descended, one question refused to leave me alone.

Why me?

Adrian Blackwell could have chosen anyone. Someone who wouldn't challenge him, someone who wouldn't remember what happened three years ago, someone who could wear a ring and smile for the cameras without knowing the history behind his name.

But he had chosen me.

The same woman who had once begged him to help save her father.

The same woman he had turned away without looking back.

I would never become his fiancée. Not for his company, not for his reputation, and certainly not for the man who had once made me believe he would never let me fall.

Adrian Blackwell wanted a fiancée.

He had chosen the one woman who would rather walk away than wear his ring.

And I intended to make sure he regretted choosing me.