The Playboy’s Fake Bride

Chapter 2: The Penthouse Deal

The car that picked me up was longer than my entire apartment.

A black Rolls Royce. With a driver in a suit.

I clutched my one duffle bag to my chest and tried not to look like a girl who’d never been inside a building taller than 3 floors.

“Miss Carter,” the driver said, opening the door. “Mr. Sterling is waiting.”

Waiting. For his fake wife.

The Sterling Tower penthouse was on the 80th floor.

When the elevator doors opened, I forgot how to breathe.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble floors. A piano I couldn’t play.

And him.

Jay Sterling stood by the window in a black suit, no tie, sleeves rolled up.

Like he’d just stepped out of a magazine. And like he owned the entire city below us.

“Welcome home, wife,” he said. No smile.

Home. For 6 months.

He walked toward me and took my duffle bag. His eyes flicked over it.

“That’s all you own?”

“It’s all I need,” I said, lifting my chin. I wouldn’t beg. Not even for him.

He nodded once. “Rules.”

Of course there were rules.

“Rule 1: We are married in public. Galas, meetings, photos. You smile.”

“Rule 2: We are strangers in private. Separate rooms. No touching.”

“Rule 3: The contract ends in 6 months. $100,000 hits your account the day we divorce. No extensions. No feelings.”

No feelings. Right.

“Where’s my room?” I asked, voice steady.

He gestured down a hallway. “East wing. Your closet is already stocked. My assistant picked things in your size.”

My size? He didn’t even know me.

I walked past him. The smell of his cologne hit me - cedar and money.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said behind me. “Tonight is our first event. The Sterling Charity Gala. 8 PM. Dress will be sent up at 6.”

I turned. “I don’t know how to act like a billionaire’s wife.”

For the first time, his cold mask cracked. Just a little.

“Then act like mine.”

6:00 PM

The dress was red. Silk. It cost more than my mom’s hospital bill.

Stilettos. Diamond earrings. Hair and makeup team in my bathroom.

I barely recognized the girl in the mirror.

She looked like she belonged next to Jay Sterling.

The car ride was silent. His thigh was 2 inches from mine.

I could feel the heat of him.

“Smile,” he said quietly as we pulled up to the gala. Cameras flashed.

“Remember rule 2?” I whispered back.

His hand found mine. Interlaced our fingers.

“In public, we’re married,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips.

His kiss on my knuckles burned.

The cameras went crazy.

Inside, everyone wanted to meet “the new Mrs. Sterling.”

I played the part. Laughed at jokes I didn’t get. Drank champagne I couldn’t taste.

Then his ex showed up.

Victoria Vale. Blonde. Model. And fury in her eyes.

“Jay? Since when do you do girlfriends, let alone wives?”

Jay pulled me closer. His arm around my waist felt too natural.

“Since I met the right one,” he said. His eyes on me.

Victoria’s smile was sharp. “We’ll see how long this one lasts.”

The night ended with more photos, more lies, more of his hand on the small of my back.

Back in the penthouse at 1 AM, we stood in the elevator in silence.

“Did I do okay?” I asked.

He looked at me. Really looked. At the dress, at my face, at me.

“You were perfect,” he said softly.

The elevator dinged. Our floors. Opposite wings.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Sterling,” he said.

“Goodnight, Mr. Sterling,” I replied.

I closed my door. Leaned against it.

My heart was racing.

Rule 2: No touching.

His hand on my back all night didn’t count, right?

Rule 1: No falling in love.

That was going to be harder.

Because for 3 seconds at that gala, when he called me “the right one”…

I believed it.