Chapter 3: The Fake Proposal
842 Words
Aria stood in front of the elevator in Blackwell Tower, clutching the manila folder that held her fate—also known as the contract that spelled out every detail of her new life as Dominic Blackwell’s fake fiancée.
A full year of pretending. A full year of rules.
Page seven alone listed everything from approved clothing brands to what kind of smile she should practice in public.
She was still trying to wrap her head around it all when the elevator dinged and opened into the penthouse suite.
And there he was.
Dominic stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the skyline like it owed him something. He didn’t turn when she stepped in. Didn’t even flinch.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I’m not your employee,” she snapped, stepping forward. “And this whole thing is weird enough without the dictator vibes.”
He finally turned, dressed in a charcoal vest over a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked like he belonged in a movie scene—one where the brooding billionaire destroys hearts and smiles while doing it.
“You read the contract?” he asked.
“Every last line,” she replied. “I even highlighted the parts where you basically own my soul.”
He smirked. “Just a rental.”
Aria crossed her arms. “So, what’s next? Do I have to take a lie detector test or something?”
“No,” Dominic said. “But you do need a ring.”
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small black box, flipping it open with one hand.
Aria’s jaw dropped.
The diamond was massive. Oval cut. Clear as water. It sparkled like it knew it was too expensive for real life.
“Is that even real?” she whispered.
“Of course,” he said simply, stepping closer. “I don’t do fakes, Miss Lane. Except you.”
Ouch.
Before she could respond, Dominic slid the ring onto her finger. His hand brushed hers—cool, steady, confident. Hers trembled slightly, not from nerves, but from the jarring sense of how real it all suddenly felt.
“You’re going to propose to me now?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “You proposed to me. This was your idea. You said you couldn’t imagine life without me.”
“I would never say that.”
He shrugged. “You just did.”
Aria narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“This is business. I don’t enjoy anything,” he said flatly. “Now smile.”
“Excuse me?”
He held up his phone. “We need a few photos for the press kit. Don’t worry—my team will handle the editing.”
Aria plastered on the fakest smile she could manage as Dominic leaned in and took a series of selfies that looked far more intimate than they felt.
“There. That should do it.” He glanced at the photos with a nod. “I’ll have them leaked to a gossip blog within the hour. The news will be everywhere by morning.”
She stared at him. “That’s it? No candlelit dinner, no getting down on one knee?”
“We’re not writing a romance novel, Aria.”
“I am,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He stepped away, rolling his sleeves back down and slipping on a watch that probably cost more than her student loans. “You’ll be introduced at the Blackwell Foundation Gala. That’s your debut.”
She hesitated. “Is there going to be press?”
“Yes.”
“Cameras?”
“Obviously.”
“And your real friends and family?”
Dominic turned sharply. “There is no ‘real’ anything in my world, Aria. Learn that quickly, and you’ll survive.”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t know what was worse—his constant emotional detachment or how easily she was beginning to understand it.
“Fine,” she said. “Then let’s get this over with.”
He gave her a once-over. “We’ll schedule a full makeover before the gala.”
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Nothing,” he said coolly. “But you’re about to become the future Mrs. Blackwell. You need to look the part.”
She glanced down at her paint-stained jeans and canvas tote. She suddenly felt ten years behind every woman who had probably fantasized about being in this position.
“Fake Mrs. Blackwell,” she corrected. “Let’s not forget that.”
He walked past her, heading toward the elevator. “We’ll have lunch tomorrow. My driver will pick you up at noon. Don’t be late.”
Aria turned to watch him go.
This was happening.
A fake ring. A fake relationship. A fake life.
She looked down at the diamond glinting on her finger.
It was beautiful.
It was heavy.
And it was the beginning of the biggest lie she’d ever told.
- Writer
