Diamonds and Deceptions

Sebastian Devereux — POV Sebastian Devereux did not make mistakes in public. Mistakes were for companies that lacked structure, for executives who confused emotion with strategy, for people who thought reputation was something you had instead of something you engineered. And yet, standing in his office overlooking Paris, he had done something dangerously close to one. “I’m engaged.” The words still echoed in his mind like they belonged to someone else. He hadn’t planned it. It hadn’t been modeled, tested, or risk-assessed. It had simply come out—clean, absolute, irreversible. And worse than that, it had satisfied his mother. Evangeline Devereux didn’t ask questions when she was pleased. She announced consequences when she wasn’t. Sebastian turned away from the window. The city below glittered in soft gold and steel, indifferent to the collapse of his personal logic. His phone rested on the desk. No new messages. That was never a good sign in a Devereux household. The door opened. “Sir, your twelve-thirty is waiting—” “Cancel it,” Sebastian said without looking up. The assistant hesitated. “It’s the board financial review.” “Then reschedule it.” There was a pause. “Yes, sir.” The door closed again. Silence returned, but it didn’t stay quiet for long. Because Anastasia Laurent was still in the room. She always moved differently from everyone else in his orbit. Not louder, not softer—just… precise. Like she occupied only the space she needed and refused the rest. She stood beside his desk with a tablet in hand, waiting for instructions that hadn’t been spoken yet. She had already noticed something was wrong. She always did. “You said you’re engaged,” she said. Not a question. A confirmation of damage assessment. “Yes.” “To whom?” Sebastian looked at her then. Directly. “That’s the problem.” Something flickered in her expression—quick, contained. Not shock. Not disbelief. Calculation. “You don’t have a fiancée,” she said. “No.” A pause. Then, very carefully: “And your mother believes you do.” “Yes.” Anastasia exhaled slowly through her nose. “That’s not a small lie.” “No,” Sebastian agreed. “It’s a structural one.” That earned him a look. “You’re speaking like this is a merger.” “It functions like one,” he said. Silence stretched between them. Then she lowered the tablet slightly. “Why me?” It was the correct question. Sebastian had already asked himself the same thing. He could have chosen an actress. A model. Someone paid to smile in photographs and disappear afterward. But those options had risk. Exposure. Instability. Anastasia Laurent had none of those weaknesses. She was consistent. She was observant. And most importantly— She knew him. “You won’t break character,” he said. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s your reason?” “It’s a practical one.” “And the personal reason?” He didn’t answer immediately. That delay was enough of an answer on its own. Sebastian turned slightly, opening a drawer in his desk. Inside was a small velvet box. He placed it between them. The sound was quiet. Final. Anastasia didn’t touch it. “I need you to attend a family dinner with me on Sunday,” he said. “At the villa.” Her gaze moved from the box back to him. “As your assistant.” “As my fiancée.” There it was. The moment the room changed temperature. Not dramatically. But permanently. Anastasia didn’t speak for several seconds. When she finally did, her voice was steady. “You understand what you’re asking.” “Yes.” “You’re asking me to lie to Evangeline Devereux in her own home.” “Yes.” A faint pause. “And you think she won’t see through it.” “I think she will try.” “That’s not reassuring.” Sebastian almost smiled at that. Almost. He pushed the velvet box slightly forward. “Then don’t be caught lying,” he said. Anastasia finally looked at it fully. “What’s inside?” “Insurance.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s a diamond ring,” he said simply. That made her go still. Not impressed. Not flattered. Just aware. “You bought a ring for a lie,” she said. “I acquired one,” he corrected. A faint tension tightened in her jaw. “There’s a difference?” “In intent.” That got a quiet, almost humorless breath from her. “You’re insane,” she said. “I prefer structured.” “That’s not better.” Sebastian leaned back slightly, studying her. “You’re the only person in this building who doesn’t treat me like I’m either a title or a threat,” he said. “That makes this easier.” “It doesn’t make it right.” “No,” he agreed. “It makes it necessary.” Silence again. Outside the glass, Paris continued to exist without concern for Devereux family crises. Anastasia finally reached forward—not for the ring, but to close the box. Click. Controlled. Contained. “I’ll need terms,” she said. “Name them.” “No emotional improvisation without agreement.” “Agreed.” “No physical affection beyond what is necessary for public credibility.” Sebastian hesitated. Then: “Agreed.” A brief pause. “And after Sunday?” she asked. That question landed differently. Not logistical. Not corporate. Something else hiding underneath it. “We reassess,” he said. “That’s not an answer either.” “It’s the only one I have that doesn’t lock either of us into a future we haven’t evaluated.” Anastasia studied him for a moment longer than comfortable. Then she nodded once. “I’ll do it,” she said. No hesitation after that. No softness. Just acceptance of risk. Sebastian didn’t show relief. He simply exhaled once, controlled. “Good.” But the word sounded heavier than intended. Anastasia Laurent — POV There were many ways to define bad decisions. Most of them involved alcohol, impulse, or men who underestimated consequences. Anastasia Laurent had avoided all three. Until now. She stood in Sebastian Devereux’s office watching him close the drawer where the ring had been placed like it was just another asset allocation. He had already moved on internally. That was his nature. But she hadn’t. “Do you understand your family?” she asked. Sebastian looked up. “I grew up in it.” “That’s not what I asked.” A pause. Then, quieter: “Yes.” That wasn’t comforting. Because people who said yes too quickly usually meant no, but I’ve survived it. She opened her tablet again, already restructuring her calendar. If she was going to do this, it had to be controlled. Contained. Predictable. The problem was, nothing about the Devereux name was predictable. She began typing notes. Sebastian watched her for a moment. “You’re planning already,” he said. “I don’t survive situations by improvising.” A faint pause. “Neither do I,” he said. She almost looked at him at that. Almost. Instead, she said, “Then we should agree on one more thing.” He waited. “This doesn’t become real.” Silence. It was the first time the word real had entered the conversation. Sebastian’s expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpened slightly. “It isn’t real,” he said. “Good,” she replied. But neither of them sounded convinced. And that, Anastasia realized, was the first real problem. Not the lie. Not the ring. Not Evangeline Devereux. It was the fact that Sebastian Devereux didn’t sound like he was entirely sure what was real anymore. She closed her tablet. “Sunday,” she said. “Yes.” She turned toward the door. Behind her, Sebastian added— “Anastasia.” She stopped. Not looking back yet. “If my mother asks you something you don’t have an answer for,” he said, “don’t guess.” A pause. “Just survive it.” That should have sounded cold. It didn’t. It sounded like experience. And experience, Anastasia suspected, was the most dangerous thing in that family. She opened the door. “I intend to,” she said. And left.