Chapter Four
1579 Words
Elena’s POV
I didn’t sleep.
How could I? I’d just agreed to marry the most insufferable man I’d ever met.
Fake or not, the word echoed through my skull like a bad joke with real consequences.
Wife.
I sat on the edge of the guest bedroom bed, still fully dressed, staring at the diamond-studded contract lying on the nightstand like it might bite me. My signature gleamed in black ink at the bottom.
Four months.
That’s all I needed to survive.
I stood and paced the length of the room. The silence in the estate was unnerving, like the house was holding its breath. Maybe it was waiting for one of us to c***k.
A knock came on the door. Three sharp taps. No patience. It had to be him.
I opened it and, sure enough, there he was—shirtless, wearing grey sweats and arrogance like a second skin.
“Morning, wifey,” Ethan said, his smirk almost as obnoxious as the way he leaned against the frame like this was just another Monday morning.
I crossed my arms. “Try that again and I’ll file for divorce before breakfast.”
He chuckled and pushed past me, uninvited as always. “Relax. We’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Like what? Picking out monogrammed towels and designing our wedding hashtag?”
“No,” he said, suddenly serious. “Like convincing one of the most powerful businessmen in the world that we’re madly in love and stable enough to build an empire together.”
I blinked. “Do I get paid extra for pretending to find you tolerable?”
He grinned. “You get revenge, remember?”
Right. Revenge.
But somehow, standing in the same room with him, watching him rattle off plans and schedules like we were some power couple, made it all feel... dangerous. Not because I was afraid of losing. But because, for a moment, I almost believed we could pull it off.
Almost.
He handed me a sleek, leather-bound folder. Inside were dozens of pages: fake IDs, a shared backstory, photographs of our “relationship,” even a timeline of our so-called whirlwind romance. It was terrifying how quickly Ethan had mobilized this.
“You’ve had all this ready,” I said, flipping through a photo of us on some fake beach vacation—me laughing, him grinning like a man who knew he was winning. Photoshop. Definitely.
“Of course. I always plan ahead. Contingencies are the backbone of success,” he said, pouring himself a glass of water like this was just another day at the office.
I narrowed my eyes. “So I was what? Your plan B?”
He didn’t answer, and that silence told me everything I needed to know.
I hated that it stung.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I muttered, tossing the folder on the bed.
Ethan’s tone shifted, losing its usual edge. “We have to move fast. The host is flying out next week to finalize meetings, and before that, we need a convincing engagement.”
My stomach twisted. “Engagement?”
He nodded. “Public. Paparazzi. Flashbulbs. The works.”
I swallowed hard. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. We’ll hit the city tomorrow. Do a little ring shopping, grab brunch somewhere photogenic, maybe take a stroll through Central Park while looking ‘madly in love. You’ll need to get a dress—something white. Elegant. Traditional enough for the host to respect it, dramatic enough for the media to eat it up.”
“And what about your personality?” I shot back. “Can we buy you one that isn’t made of smug and stone?”
He smirked, unbothered. “I’m growing on you already.”
I rolled my eyes and turned away before he saw the corner of my mouth twitch.
I hated him.
But I also hated how part of me admired how unflinching he was. The man knew what he wanted and went after it with terrifying precision.
And I wasn’t the same Elena I was before. I didn’t want to be safe. I wanted war.
And he? He was the perfect weapon.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of appointments. A stylist was brought in—some breathy woman named Mara who practically drooled over Ethan and regarded me like a pile of laundry.
“You have great bone structure,” she said, circling me like a vulture. “But the wardrobe needs a serious update. Too much anger in your silhouette.”
“Is that even a real sentence?” I muttered.
She ignored me and held up a cream-colored dress that was all lace and purity. I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not trying to be a saint. I just need to look like I tolerate him,” I said.
Ethan chuckled from the corner. “You’ll wear what she recommends. You want this to work, don’t you?”
I yanked the dress out of Mara’s hand and stormed into the dressing room.
Inside, I stared at myself in the mirror. The girl looking back wasn’t me—not exactly. She was tired. Hardened. But beneath all that… was steel.
Lucas had underestimated me. So had everyone else.
Let them watch now.
Let them see what happens when you corner a woman who’s lost everything.
By afternoon, we were standing outside a private jeweler’s in Manhattan, cameras already trailing behind us. Ethan’s hand slipped around my waist like it belonged there, and I stiffened.
“Relax,” he murmured, low enough so the paparazzi wouldn’t hear. “You’re supposed to be in love.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Touch me again without warning and I’ll stab you with a cocktail fork.”
His smile never wavered. “You’ll make an excellent wife.”
Inside, a security guard led us to a velvet-seated private room filled with soft lighting and champagne. The jeweler—a thin man with slicked-back hair and a British accent so thick it sounded fake—greeted Ethan like royalty.
“Mr. Cole. A pleasure as always. And this must be your… bride?”
“Future wife,” Ethan corrected. “We’re looking for something… eternal.”
I nearly choked on the champagne.
Rings were placed before us. Row after row of them—emerald cuts, ovals, halos, solitaires that probably cost more than my restaurant. Ethan picked up one with a large pear-shaped diamond surrounded by smaller stones and slipped it on my finger before I could protest.
It fit perfectly.
I looked at him, brows furrowed. “How did you know my size?”
He shrugged. “Contingencies.”
I blinked down at the ring. It glittered like a lie on my hand.
“You like it?” he asked.
“I’ll sell it the second this contract burns,” I replied, but my voice came out quieter than I intended.
Something flashed in his eyes. “You’re good at this.”
“Faking it?” I asked.
He nodded. “Almost too good.”
I met his gaze. “Maybe I’ve had practice.”
There it was again—that flicker of interest. Or maybe it was suspicion. Either way, I turned away before he could read me deeper.
Because I had secrets.
And they didn’t belong to him.
The day went by faster or maybe too quick.
Later that evening, we returned to the estate. Our phones were already buzzing with notifications—our engagement photos had hit the press.
Headlines screamed:
“Billionaire Ethan Cole Is Officially Off the Market”
“Mystery Woman Snags NYC’s Most Eligible CEO”
“Romance or Business? The Love Story Raising Eyebrows”
I tossed my phone onto the bed and sank into a chair.
“You okay?” Ethan asked from the doorway, for once sounding… almost genuine.
I looked up at him. “Are you?”
He hesitated. “I’ve built everything I have on logic, on control. And now I’ve handed a piece of that to someone I barely know.”
I snorted. “Welcome to the club.”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You know what’s strange? I trust you more than I trust half the people who’ve worked for me for years.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
“Because you don’t care who I am. You don’t want my money or status. You want something else—something real. Even if it’s vengeance.”
I swallowed hard, caught off guard.
Maybe this was more dangerous than I thought.
Not because of the deal. But because he wasn’t as heartless as I’d believed.
And because I’d been so sure I was immune to men like him.
“I’m going to bed,” I said, standing abruptly.
He nodded but didn’t move. “Sweet dreams, Mrs. Cole.”
I turned back just long enough to say, “Keep dreaming.”
Then I shut the door in his face.
And leaned against it with my heart racing.
Because despite everything—despite the contract, the ring, the lies—I wasn’t sure who was faking it anymore.
But I’d made my choice.
Lucas Dawson would fall.
And Ethan Cole was my best weapon.
Even if, one day, I might become the thing I feared most:
The woman who started pretending… and forgot where the act ended.
- Writer
