Chapter 5
719 Words
Chapter 5: The Dress Code
The next morning, Amara woke to the sound of her phone buzzing non-stop.
Seven missed calls.
Three messages.
All from a number she had saved under one word: Wolfe.
> Celine will be arriving with your gown by noon. Be ready by six. — L
> Hair up. Minimal makeup. No red lipstick.
> Don’t be late.
Amara stared at the messages, blinking. No "good morning." No "please." Just orders — straight from the CEO handbook on how to micromanage a fake relationship.
She groaned, dragging herself out of bed. “This man really thinks he owns the world,” she muttered.
But when Celine arrived — punctual as ever — with a rolling rack of designer gowns, Amara’s jaw dropped.
“These are all… for me?” she asked, wide-eyed.
Celine didn’t smile. “Leon said to let you choose, but he prefers the black one.”
Of course he does.
Amara ran her hand over the sleek black satin. It was gorgeous, backless, and bold — a dress that belonged on magazine covers, not worn by broke college students playing pretend.
Still, she picked it. And when she looked in the mirror after slipping it on, she barely recognized herself.
---
At 6:01 PM, Leon’s car pulled up outside her building.
He didn’t text.
He didn’t call.
He just waited.
Amara climbed in and found him on his phone, dressed in another flawless tux, smelling like expensive wood and clean ambition.
He glanced at her once — eyes flicking from her heels to her pinned-up hair — and said simply:
> “You’ll do.”
Amara rolled her eyes. “Wow. Try not to drown me in compliments.”
Leon didn’t smile, but she saw a twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
---
The gala was in full swing by the time they arrived — a massive ballroom lit by gold chandeliers and flashing camera bulbs.
Leon slipped effortlessly into his role: cool, poised, untouchable.
Amara clung to his arm, nodding politely at strangers with cold eyes and champagne flutes.
She whispered through her fake smile, “Do they all look like Bond villains, or is that just me?”
Leon’s lips barely moved. “They are villains. Be polite.”
Halfway through the evening, an older woman with perfect hair and sharper eyes approached them.
> “Leon, darling. And this must be… the fiancée.”
Amara straightened her spine. This was it — her first real test.
> “Amara,” she said, offering her hand with confidence. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
The woman narrowed her eyes, evaluating every inch of her.
> “Leon doesn’t usually date. Let alone get engaged.”
Leon stepped in smoothly, his hand resting lightly at Amara’s back. “I’ve learned to make exceptions.”
The woman hummed, unconvinced. “Well, I do hope this one lasts.”
She walked away with a smile that could slice glass.
Amara exhaled. “Who was that?”
> “A problem,” Leon muttered. “She sits on the board of a company I’m trying to acquire.”
> “Did I pass?”
Leon looked at her — really looked — and said, “Better than I expected.”
Amara couldn’t help but smirk. “Careful, Wolfe. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
He offered his arm again. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
But as the night went on, and Leon’s hand stayed on her back longer than necessary, Amara started to wonder:
Was this all really pretend anymore?
- Writer
