Unwanted Spotlight
1176 Words
I should have left that night in the club where it belonged—buried under neon lights, thudding bass, and Nina’s relentless insistence that I “live a little.”
It should have been nothing more than a story for her to laugh about later.
But it wasn’t.
Because Alex Kingston didn’t stay at the club.
He followed me into my Monday.
The office was my safe place, the one part of my life I could control. Deadlines, spreadsheets, memos—numbers didn’t judge, and emails didn’t gossip. But the second I walked in that morning, I knew something was off.
People stared.
Not the quick, polite kind of glance that says good morning. No—these were sticky, lingering stares. They clung to me like static. My co-workers leaned into each other, whispering behind half-hidden hands. The hum of the office was sharper, charged, like the air before a storm.
I gripped my coffee tighter, pretending not to notice. Pretending I wasn’t trembling inside.
Then the email came.
Subject line: Is this you?
I clicked, and the world tilted.
A grainy photo filled my screen—me in the club, head tipped toward Alex Kingston. His face, unmistakable even in bad lighting, angled down at me like I was the only person in the room.
The caption underneath made my stomach lurch:
“Mystery Woman Spotted with Billionaire Alex Kingston.”
Billionaire.
The word was absurd, too heavy for my brain to process at eight in the morning. I snapped my laptop shut as though that could erase the image, erase the story, erase him. But it was already too late.
By noon, the whispers had a rhythm.
Half the office thought I was secretly rich.
The other half decided I was a gold-digger.
Not one person cared about the truth: that I had no idea who Alex Kingston really was, that I hadn’t even given him my number, that I had walked into that club for one night of fun and walked out branded with a headline.
Work was supposed to be my escape.
Deadlines, paperwork, endless schedules—safe, predictable. No cameras. No gossip. No strangers whispering about things they couldn’t possibly understand.
But after that photo hit the internet, nothing felt safe anymore. Not even the office.
The stares were constant. People glanced at me over cubicle walls, eyes sharp with speculation, mouths curving with rumors they didn’t bother to hide. I walked with my coffee clutched like armor, shoulders stiff, praying I could disappear into my computer screen.
Of course, the universe wasn’t that kind.
By mid-morning, the elevator chimed, and everything shifted. Claire Westwood swept in like she owned the building. Elegant, poised, her heels clicking against the marble with a sound that demanded attention.
I’d seen her before, in the tabloids, always on Alex’s arm. Ex-fiancée. Socialite. The kind of woman who could ruin another with a single smile.
And that smile was aimed at me.
“Well,” she purred, stopping right by my desk, her gaze trailing over me like I was a bug under glass. “So this is the girl.”
Heat rushed to my face, but before I could respond, Alex appeared from his office. His presence hit the room like a storm front—tall, commanding, every eye snapping to him.
“Claire.” His voice was cool, polite, but threaded with steel. “This isn’t your arena.”
She ignored him. Her eyes stayed on me, sharp and bright. “You’re the secretary, aren’t you? Cute, in a…temporary sort of way. But Alex, really?” She turned to him with mock laughter. “This is who you’re making headlines with?”
I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
Alex’s jaw tightened. “Enough.”
Claire arched a brow, the very picture of amused disbelief. “You can’t be serious about this, Alex. You and I both know what’s at stake. Your reputation. Your company. You can’t afford to play games with someone like her.”
Her words sliced deeper than I wanted them to. Someone like her. As if I were nothing more than background noise.
I gripped the edge of my desk, determined not to show how much it hurt.
But Alex—he moved. In one smooth stride, he closed the distance between us, his hand resting lightly on the corner of my desk. His body angled toward mine, shielding me from Claire’s scrutiny.
“She’s not a game,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “And you will not speak about her that way.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. “Then what is she?”
The silence stretched, electric. My pulse hammered in my ears. Alex’s gaze dropped briefly to mine, and in that split second, I knew something dangerous was about to happen.
He turned back to Claire, his expression unreadable. “She’s my fiancée.”
The room froze.
My heart stopped. My breath caught.
Claire actually laughed, the sound sharp as glass. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” Alex said smoothly. “We’ll be announcing it soon. A contract has already been discussed.”
Contract. The word hit me like a punch. My stomach flipped, my hands went clammy. What was he doing?
Claire’s smile faltered. For the first time, she looked uncertain.
Alex pressed on. “You wanted history, Claire. You wanted investment. Well, I’ve made mine. With her.”
She bristled, eyes flashing, but she wasn’t winning this battle—and she knew it. With a tight smile, she gathered her bag, threw me one last look of icy disdain, and stalked toward the elevator.
The doors closed behind her with a merciful ding.
The office buzz slowly returned, whispers swelling around us like bees. My body trembled, but Alex didn’t move.
Finally, I found my voice. “What was that?”
He looked at me, calm as stone. “A solution.”
I stared at him, utterly lost. “You told her we were engaged. Engaged, Alex! That’s not a solution, that’s—”
“Protection.” His eyes burned into mine, fierce, unyielding. “You’ve seen what the press is doing already. Claire won’t stop. The only way to shield you is to make this official.”
“Official?” My voice cracked. “You’re talking about a marriage contract like it’s a line item on your balance sheet.”
His expression softened for a fleeting second. “Because that’s what I know. Contracts. Deals. Control. And right now, Zara, this is the only way I can control the chaos before it destroys you.”
I shook my head, heat prickling behind my eyes. “You can’t just decide my life for me.”
“I already did,” he said quietly. “And I’d do it again.”
The weight of his words pressed down on me, terrifying and intoxicating all at once.
Because somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the outrage and confusion, a part of me wanted to believe him.
Wanted to believe I was worth protecting.
- Writer
