chapter 3
1080 Words
The air inside Liam Carter’s penthouse the next morning was heavy with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, polished steel, and a strange new tension that neither Ava nor Liam quite knew how to name.
Ava stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, barefoot, watching Manhattan awaken. The skyline stretched out like a glittering promise she didn’t trust. She wore a simple robe Liam’s assistant had delivered along with a note explaining that “Miss Morgan’s wardrobe will be updated as per the engagement narrative.”
Ava had rolled her eyes so hard she nearly sprained something.
Behind her, Liam’s voice cut through the stillness. “There’s breakfast in the dining room. You should eat before Elena gets here.”
“Who’s Elena?” Ava asked without turning around.
“Publicist. We’ll need to go over the narrative, key dates, background stories.” He paused. “She’s good. She’s handled a dozen corporate scandals and a few celebrity divorces. Our fake marriage is tame in comparison.”
Ava finally turned to face him. He was already dressed—tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, no tie, because Liam Carter didn’t need one to command attention. His hair was slicked back with his usual precision, and the only thing out of place was the faint bruise of sleep beneath his eyes.
“I haven’t even told my dad yet,” she said softly. “He thinks I just landed a new internship.”
Liam’s gaze flicked to her. “You’ll tell him when you’re ready.”
She hated how calm he was. Like this was just another transaction. Another deal.
“Do you even believe in marriage?” she asked, surprising even herself.
Liam didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he poured himself a glass of water, took a long sip, and stared out the window for a beat too long.
“I believe in strategy,” he said finally. “Marriage can be part of that—when it’s useful.”
Ava snorted. “Romantic.”
“Emotion clouds judgment. That’s not a luxury I can afford.”
“So we’re back to being tools in each other’s plans,” she said bitterly.
Liam met her gaze. “You wanted your father’s medical bills paid. I needed a bride on paper. No one forced you, Ava.”
She hated that he was right.
Before she could respond, the penthouse door opened and a tall woman with sleek blond hair and scarlet lipstick walked in like she owned the place. Elena Monroe.
“Ah,” she said brightly. “The happy couple. And no one strangled each other yet. That’s a win.”
Ava didn’t smile. Liam nodded once. “Elena, Ava. Ava, Elena.”
“Charmed,” Elena said, sitting at the dining table and immediately opening a leather portfolio. “Now, let’s get started. We’ve got six weeks until the wedding, and the media machine waits for no one.”
“Six weeks?” Ava blinked.
“Too soon?” Elena asked sweetly. “Your fiancé insisted on a short engagement. Said it fits your whirlwind love story.”
Ava shot Liam a look, but he was unreadable.
“Here’s the narrative,” Elena continued. “You met three months ago at a charity fundraiser in SoHo. Instant connection. You kept it private until the rumors leaked last week. Now, you’re ready to go public. We’ll do a photoshoot, secure a Vogue digital exclusive, announce the wedding venue, and host an engagement party at The Vesper Club next Friday. Cameras will be invited. Rehearse your smiles.”
“I don’t even like parties,” Ava muttered.
“Then fake it,” Elena said, not unkindly. “Welcome to the Carter brand.”
By the end of the day, Ava felt like she had been steamrolled by a public relations tank. There were wardrobe fittings, hair consultations, mock interviews. She had her photo taken more times in one afternoon than in her entire life combined.
That night, she collapsed onto the plush bed in one of the guest suites and stared at the ceiling. The world was moving too fast. Her father was still in a hospital bed in Brooklyn, and here she was pretending to be madly in love with a man she barely knew—and barely liked.
A knock at the door pulled her out of her daze.
“Come in,” she called.
Liam stepped in, his jacket removed, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He held two mugs of tea. “Thought you might need this.”
Ava sat up slowly, cautious. “Is this poisoned?”
He offered a faint smirk. “Only if you ask rude questions.”
She took the mug, fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”
He didn’t sit, just lingered in the doorway. “You did well today.”
“You mean I didn’t puke in front of the camera?”
“You didn’t scream at Elena either. That’s impressive.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
“Why me?” she asked suddenly. “You could’ve paid any model to do this. Why choose someone like me?”
Liam’s jaw tightened. He looked away. “Because you didn’t ask for it. You weren’t interested in my money, not even when you needed it most.”
“That’s not a romantic reason,” she murmured.
“No,” he agreed. “But it’s an honest one.”
Another pause.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” she said.
“You’re not supposed to. It’s not real.”
Ava laughed bitterly. “You keep saying that like it makes it easier.”
“It does, eventually.”
She looked at him, really looked. The cool armor, the businesslike tone—it all felt like a mask too practiced to be accidental. There was a story behind those walls. A scar that kept him from believing in anything real.
“You okay?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He stared at her for a moment. Then gave the barest shrug.
“You always this reassuring with your real girlfriends?” she teased.
“You’re not real. That’s the point.”
The words stung. More than she expected.
Before she could reply, her phone buzzed.
Liam: Still. If you want to talk—really talk—come by tomorrow. No cameras. Just us.
Ava stared at the screen.
She didn’t respond.
But she didn’t delete the message either.
- Writer
