CHAPTER 4 — Training the Fiancée
1504 Words
Sebastian Devereux — POV
Sebastian didn’t like rehearsal rooms.
They implied imperfection.
And imperfection, in his world, was usually the first step toward exposure.
Yet that was exactly where he found himself—standing in one of the private reception lounges on the executive floor, watching Anastasia Laurent sit across from him like she belonged in a scenario that had never existed yesterday.
The communications team had cleared the space.
No interruptions.
No staff rotations.
No noise beyond what they needed.
Which meant the silence between them was now part of the process.
Anastasia glanced at him. “You’re staring.”
“I’m evaluating,” he corrected.
“That’s the same thing with better branding.”
A faint pause flickered across his expression—almost amusement, quickly restrained.
“Start,” he said.
Anastasia straightened slightly. “Start what?”
“Your performance.”
She didn’t move.
“That’s not how this works,” she said.
Sebastian tilted his head slightly. “Explain.”
“I don’t perform first,” she replied. “You introduce context. I adapt.”
A pause.
Then she added, “Otherwise, I’m guessing your expectations.”
Sebastian studied her for a moment.
That was new.
Not resistance.
Structure.
He exhaled once, then leaned back slightly.
“Fine,” he said. “Context.”
He tapped the table lightly.
“My mother believes I’m engaged to you,” he said. “She will evaluate you for stability, compatibility, and long-term value.”
Anastasia blinked once.
“Long-term value,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“That sounds like a merger again.”
“It is,” he said without hesitation.
That earned him a quiet look.
He continued.
“She will ask questions indirectly. She will observe before she speaks. If she speaks directly, it means she already knows the answer and is testing your reaction.”
Anastasia nodded slowly.
“So she doesn’t interrogate,” she said. “She triangulates.”
Sebastian looked at her more closely.
“Yes.”
That was exactly right.
She absorbed that without reaction.
Then: “And the rest of your family?”
A pause.
Sebastian’s gaze shifted slightly.
“That depends,” he said.
“On?”
“On whether they believe you.”
Anastasia studied him.
“And do they?”
Silence.
Sebastian didn’t answer immediately.
Because the honest answer was irrelevant.
What mattered was perception.
So he said instead, “They will if you are consistent.”
A beat.
Then he added, “Which is why we are here.”
He stood.
“Stand up.”
Anastasia didn’t move immediately. “Why.”
“Because couples don’t sit like this when they enter a room together.”
She exhaled softly, like she was already recalculating constraints.
Then she stood.
Efficient.
Controlled.
Sebastian stepped closer.
“Position,” he said.
Her gaze narrowed slightly. “Position.”
“Yes.”
“This is still a fake relationship, not choreography.”
“It is choreography,” he corrected. “If it is witnessed.”
That silenced her for a moment.
Then she adjusted her stance slightly.
Not dramatic.
Just aligned.
Sebastian nodded once.
“Good.”
A pause.
“Now,” he said, “eye contact.”
Anastasia looked at him directly.
Unflinching.
He didn’t look away.
“Too neutral,” he said.
“I’m not smiling at you,” she replied.
“I didn’t ask for smiling.”
A faint tension built.
Then she said, “What do you want it to communicate?”
Sebastian paused.
That was a better question.
“Recognition,” he said.
“Of what?”
“That we’ve seen each other before this moment,” he said.
Anastasia held his gaze.
“That’s not true,” she said.
“It needs to look true.”
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she adjusted her expression—not a smile, not warmth, but something softer at the edges.
Like familiarity without intimacy.
Sebastian observed it carefully.
“Better,” he said.
Something about the way he said it made the air shift slightly.
Not warmer.
Just closer.
Anastasia Laurent — POV
Anastasia had managed executives.
Board members.
People who smiled while dismantling entire departments.
None of them had ever made her feel like she was being studied the way Sebastian Devereux did in moments like this.
Not evaluated.
Studied.
Like she was a system he was trying to understand before it failed.
“Turn,” he said.
She blinked. “Turn?”
“Walk with me.”
“That’s not a turn.”
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he stepped beside her.
Close enough that the space between them stopped being neutral.
“Walk,” he said.
So she did.
Two steps.
Then three.
The lounge suddenly felt smaller than it had five minutes ago.
Sebastian adjusted pace slightly.
“You’re too fast,” he said.
“I walk normally.”
“You walk independently.”
A pause.
“That’s a problem?”
“In this context, yes.”
She glanced at him briefly. “Because couples synchronize.”
“Because couples signal unity without speaking.”
That phrase stayed with her for half a second longer than expected.
Unity.
Not affection.
Not emotion.
Just alignment.
She slowed slightly.
Matching him.
“Like this?” she asked.
“Yes.”
A beat.
Then Sebastian said, “Now speak.”
“About what.”
“Anything natural.”
Anastasia hesitated.
Then: “This feels unnecessary.”
A faint pause.
Sebastian looked at her.
“That’s natural,” he said.
That almost made her stop walking.
Almost.
She continued instead.
“So your strategy is to make me uncomfortable until I look believable,” she said.
“I’m making you predictable,” he corrected.
“That’s worse.”
“It’s safer.”
A silence stretched between them as they walked.
The room felt less like rehearsal now and more like containment.
Controlled proximity.
Measured distance.
Then Anastasia said, “Your family will notice more than posture.”
Sebastian glanced at her.
“Explain.”
“They will notice response timing,” she said. “Who reacts first in conversation. Who defers. Who interrupts. Small things.”
Sebastian’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“You’re anticipating behavioral analysis.”
“I’m anticipating your mother.”
That earned a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his expression.
Approval.
Or recognition.
She couldn’t tell which.
They reached the end of the room and turned back.
Sebastian slowed.
“Good,” he said.
Anastasia exhaled softly. “That sounded like praise.”
“It was calibration,” he replied.
“Less flattering.”
“More accurate.”
That, she thought, was very him.
Sebastian Devereux — POV
They stopped walking.
Sebastian noticed something he hadn’t expected.
The distance between them felt different now.
Not smaller.
But defined.
As if the space itself had been negotiated into existence.
He looked at Anastasia.
“You adapt quickly,” he said.
“I don’t have the luxury of not adapting,” she replied.
A pause.
Then Sebastian said, “You’re not what I expected.”
Anastasia raised an eyebrow slightly. “And what did you expect?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Because the honest answer was irrelevant again.
What he said instead was, “Less precise.”
That made her pause briefly.
Then she said, “Precision is what prevents failure.”
Sebastian studied her.
“You speak like failure is inevitable.”
“I speak like it’s common,” she corrected.
That was not pessimism.
It was statistical honesty.
And somehow, that made her more reliable than most people he worked with.
He turned slightly.
“Sit,” he said.
She sat.
He followed.
The rehearsal was technically over.
But neither of them moved to leave.
A silence settled again.
Not uncomfortable this time.
Just present.
Sebastian spoke first.
“When we arrive at the villa,” he said, “do not react to anything immediately.”
Anastasia nodded. “Delay response.”
“Yes.”
“And if I don’t know the answer to something?”
He looked at her.
“Don’t fill silence,” he said.
She nodded once.
A pause.
Then she added, “And if they try to destabilize me?”
Sebastian didn’t hesitate this time.
“They will,” he said.
“And your instruction?”
He met her gaze.
“Stay with me,” he said.
It wasn’t phrased like affection.
It wasn’t even phrased like protection.
It was operational.
But Anastasia understood it anyway.
And for reasons she didn’t immediately categorize, she didn’t challenge it.
Instead, she nodded.
“Understood.”
Sebastian stood.
“Sunday is not practice,” he said.
Anastasia rose as well.
“I’m aware,” she replied.
He looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.
Then turned toward the door.
Behind him, she followed.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Exactly as instructed.
And that, Sebastian realized as they left the room, was the most dangerous part of all:
She was learning the shape of the lie too well.
- Writer
