CHAPTER TWO: Learning the script
1674 Words
Savannah Rose had never worn silk pajamas before.
She stood in the middle of the guest suite Adrian had assigned her inside his sprawling penthouse apartment, fingers brushing the ivory fabric at her waist, stunned at how something so soft could make her feel so stiff. The room around her was a modern marvel—floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a wraparound balcony, and a fireplace flickered low in the corner, casting warm shadows across slate walls and silver-framed photographs of places she didn’t recognize.
Paris. Dubai. Tokyo.
This wasn’t her world.
And yet, here she was, wrapped in silk and playing fiancée to a man who negotiated mergers before breakfast and dismissed luxury like it was tap water.
Adrian Knight.
He was an enigma wrapped in Armani.
Their first photo op had gone viral overnight.
Billionaire bachelor no more? Adrian Knight debuts mystery florist fiancée.
The headline screamed across every gossip site from coast to coast. The pictures showed her tucked into his side at the rooftop charity auction, laughing into his shoulder while he looked down at her with the faintest curve of a smile. She remembered the moment he’d whispered something sarcastic about the mayor’s toupee.
The laugh was real. The rest? All performances.
And yet…
There was something about the way he looked at her in those images. As though she weren’t just a pawn in a game but something softer. Something he wanted.
It unsettled her.
She slipped under the duvet and tried not to think too hard about any of it. But as sleep crept in, so did questions.
What had she really agreed to?
And what would it cost her?
---
By the end of their first official week as a “couple,” Savannah had been coached on media posture, high-end etiquette, and how to navigate a gala buffet without staining satin.
She also learned that Adrian had no intention of slowing down.
“Charity breakfast tomorrow,” he said, sliding into the leather seat beside her in the car. “You’ll need to be at the press table.”
Savannah blinked. “Don’t they usually put guests of honor up front?”
“You’re not a guest,” he replied. “You’re my anchor.”
She frowned. “That sounds heavy.”
Adrian’s jaw twitched. “It’s meant to be. I can’t afford to look like I’m drifting.”
That night, over salmon tartare and champagne with lemon foam, Savannah watched him charm a dozen politicians and socialites without blinking. His laughter was quiet, rehearsed. His hand never left the small of her back.
But the moment they got back into the car, the mask slipped.
He rubbed his temples and sighed.
“Long day?” she asked.
Adrian didn’t answer for a beat. Then, “Sometimes I wish I could turn it all off.”
Savannah hesitated, watching him. “Then why don’t you?”
He looked at her. “Because everything I’ve built is balanced on perception. If I stop, the image cracks. And if it cracks…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
---
The following weekend, Adrian invited her to spend the day at the countryside estate his family kept in Connecticut. She didn’t ask why—they both knew the board of Greenfall Industries needed more than press photos. They wanted legacy. History. Stability.
What better way to sell that than a weekend at the family esta
Chapter One: The Arrangement
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 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 the 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 diBut for the first time, Savannah realized there were cracks in Adrian’s armor. He wasn’t just cold and composed; he was layered, complicated, and haunted by things he didn’t speak of.
She didn’t push.
But that night, when he walked her to her car, he touched her hand before she got in.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“For what?”
“For not asking.”
---
Three days later, Savannah caught a cold.
She wasn’t sure if it was the late nights, the endless outfits, or the emotional whiplash of pretending to be something she wasn’t, but by Saturday, she was coughing and curled under a blanket in Adrian’s penthouse with tissues scattered like snow.
She expected him to vanish for the weekend.
Instead, he appeared at the door with soup and tea.
“Your assistant ratted you out,” he said. “Apparently, you refused to go home.”
Savannah sniffled. “There were three deliveries due. I couldn’t leave Lily with all of it.”
Adrian set the tray down and sat beside her.
“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered.
But his voice was soft.
She leaned against his shoulder without thinking.
He didn’t move away.
---
The next morning, she woke to find him asleep in the armchair, book resting on his chest.
She stared at him for a long time.
This wasn’t part of the script.
None of it was.
And that terrified her.
Because slowly, quietly, what started as a performance was beginning to feel dangerously close to something real.
Something she might not be able to walk away from.
And something Adrian might never be able to admit he wanted
- Writer
