CHAPTER ONE : The Arrangements
Savannah Rose hated stilettos almost as much as she hated being broke.
She adjusted the borrowed designer heels that pinched her toes and tried not to look too lost in the gilded lobby of the Avalon Hotel. Crystal chandeliers hung like royalty from the ceiling. The walls gleamed with gold leaf, and polished marble reflected back a version of herself that felt painfully out of place. Her vintage floral dress, cinched at the waist with a ribbon she’d tied by hand, looked charming in her flower shop, but here, it whispered, "She doesn’t belong."
Still, Savannah lifted her chin.
She didn’t come here to blend in.
She came here to save Coastal Blooms—her mother’s legacy and the only thing keeping her from a future of mounting debt and shuttered windows.
The hostess behind the reception desk smiled, all porcelain teeth and practiced cheer.
“Miss Rose?”
“Yes,” Savannah replied, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.
“Mr. Knight is expecting you. Top floor, penthouse lounge.”
Of course he was. Adrian Knight expected everything.
The elevator ride was smooth and soundless, and yet her heart thudded like thunder. She had no idea what to expect from the man who had coldly offered her a deal wrapped in charm and delivered through a sleek assistant.
Be my fake fiancée for six months. In return, I'll buy out your debts and rebrand your flower shop. No strings. No scandals. Just business.
It sounded ridiculous at first—until her accountant spelled out the reality. Bankruptcy. Foreclosure. Disgrace.
So here she was.
The doors opened with a quiet ding. The penthouse lounge stretched out in front of her like something from a movie. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering skyline. Velvet couches, a fireplace that flickered without smoke, and in the center of it all stood Adrian Knight.
He didn’t look up immediately.
He was tall and lean, in a gray suit tailored to perfection, scrolling through his phone as if the world could wait. Savannah crossed the room on heels that made her wobble and cleared her throat.
His gaze lifted.
Sharp. Assessing. Cold as polished steel.
“Miss Rose.”
“Mr. Knight.”
“You’re punctual. That’s a good start.”
She bristled. “I take business seriously.”
A smile ghosted across his lips—not warm, not kind, but amused.
He gestured to the seat across from him at the small table set with chilled water, untouched coffee, and a folder.
“The contract,” he said. “Standard terms. Six months. Public appearances. No romantic involvement beyond what’s needed for media. You’ll be compensated in monthly installments. Upon successful completion, your debt will be cleared, and Coastal Blooms will receive full funding for expansion.”
Savannah’s fingers hovered over the folder.
“And what do you get?” she asked.
Adrian leaned back.
“Stability. My company’s about to merge with Greenfall Industries. Their board wants a CEO with roots, not playboy scandals. A steady relationship boosts my image. I need someone believable. You’re charming, hardworking, and not from my world.”
“So I’m... what? Wholesome window dressing?”
“Authenticity,” he corrected. “And mutually beneficial deception.”
Savannah swallowed. It was madness. But madness wrapped in reason.
She opened the folder, skimmed the bullet points, and paused at one clause:
Clause 7: No real romantic entanglements. No emotional dependencies. This is a simulation of a relationship only.
She raised a brow. “Afraid your fake fiancée might fall for you?”
Adrian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve learned to keep things clear.”
She tapped the table. “Add a clause for me: no real kissing.”
He blinked. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. “Fine. But the press might be disappointed.”
“Let them be.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Savannah took the pen and signed.
The air shifted.
Adrian stood and extended his hand. “Welcome to the performance of a lifetime, Miss Rose.”
She shook it, his grip firm and warm. “Let’s just hope we don’t forget it’s only an act.”
But something in his eyes suggested they already had.
Later that evening, Savannah returned to her tiny apartment, clutching a check with too many zeroes to be real. Her phone buzzed with an incoming email: an itinerary for the next month—galas, charity dinners, press interviews.
The performance had begun.
But as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan, a question tugged at her chest.
What happens when you pretend long enough?
Do the lies stay lies?
Or do they start to bloom into something dangerously close to truth?
Savannah didn’t know yet.
But the stage was set.
And Adrian Knight was more than just a partner in pretense.
He was a storm in a tailored suit.
And she, a girl with dirt under her nails and petals in her hair, had just walked straight into his world
