Episode Seventeen: Performance
1137 Words
The transformation started immediately.
Apparently becoming a billionaire’s fake girlfriend required an entire professional team.
Hair stylist.
Makeup artist.
Wardrobe consultant.
At one point, three different people argued over earrings while I sat silently questioning every life decision that led me here.
“This one softens her features.”
“She doesn’t need softening.”
“The silver works better with the dress.”
“I still think diamonds—”
“I think I need a medically induced coma,” I muttered.
Nobody listened.
Of course.
Mrs. Greene hid a smile from the doorway while chaos unfolded around me.
The bedroom looked like a luxury store exploded inside it.
Dresses covered every surface.
Shoes lined the floor.
Jewelry sparkled beneath soft lighting.
I genuinely didn’t understand how rich people survived this much effort daily.
One of the stylists stepped back dramatically.
“Perfect.”
I stared at myself in the mirror.
And honestly—
I barely recognized the woman looking back.
The dark blue gown fit perfectly against my skin.
Elegant without being excessive.
My hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders.
The makeup looked natural enough that I still resembled myself.
Just… upgraded.
Expensively upgraded.
It felt strange.
Like wearing someone else’s life temporarily.
“You look beautiful.”
I turned automatically.
Mom stood near the doorway smiling softly.
Real warmth in her eyes.
And suddenly my chest tightened.
Because she looked healthier tonight.
Still tired.
Still fragile.
But lighter somehow.
I walked toward her carefully.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I rested.” She waved dismissively. “Now let me admire my daughter.”
I rolled my eyes weakly.
“This entire situation is ridiculous.”
“Yes,” Mom agreed immediately. “But you still look beautiful.”
That nearly destroyed my emotional stability.
I hugged her carefully instead.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then quietly—
“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for us.”
I pulled back immediately.
“That’s not what this is.”
Mom gave me a look mothers invented specifically to expose lies.
“Elena.”
I sighed heavily.
“I’m trying to protect everyone.”
“I know.”
“And maybe this helps.”
“Maybe.”
Not agreement.
Not disagreement either.
Just worry.
Fair.
Very fair.
A soft knock interrupted us.
Then Damian entered.
And every functioning thought immediately left my brain.
Black suit.
Dark tie.
Hair perfectly styled again.
Back to billionaire mode.
Except tonight he somehow looked even more dangerous.
More polished.
More unfairly attractive.
Wonderful.
His footsteps slowed slightly the second he saw me.
And for the first time since meeting him—
Damian Vale completely lost his composure.
Tiny reaction.
Barely visible.
But there.
His eyes lingered a second too long.
His expression shifted.
And suddenly the room felt too warm.
Mom noticed instantly.
Traitor.
Absolute traitor.
“I’ll give you two a moment,” she announced with suspicious innocence before leaving.
Cowardice clearly ran in my family.
The door closed behind her softly.
Silence.
Again.
Always silence with him.
But tonight it felt different.
Heavier somehow.
More aware.
Damian cleared his throat lightly.
“You look…”
He stopped.
Which shocked me enough to blink.
“The billionaire vocabulary failed?”
A faint breath of laughter escaped him.
Actual laughter.
Small.
Still shocking.
“You look beautiful,” he said finally.
And somehow that sounded worse when he said it quietly.
Heat crawled embarrassingly into my face.
Absolutely unacceptable.
“You clean up okay too,” I muttered.
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Then his expression turned more serious.
“The gala will be crowded.”
“There’s a sentence guaranteed to ruin my evening.”
“The press already knows we’re attending.”
Of course they did.
Nothing stayed private around these people.
I looked toward the mirror again nervously.
“I still think this is a terrible idea.”
“It probably is.”
“You agreeing with me constantly is becoming emotionally confusing.”
That almost made him smile again.
Almost.
He stepped slightly closer then.
Not enough to touch.
Just closer.
“The rules still stand,” he said quietly.
Separate bedrooms.
Boundaries.
No emotional complications.
Right.
Good.
Important.
Then why did the reminder suddenly feel disappointing?
I ignored that immediately.
Because absolutely not.
Damian reached into his jacket slowly.
“For tonight.”
He held out a small velvet box.
I stared at it suspiciously.
“No.”
“It’s not an engagement ring.”
“That response came too fast.”
“It’s jewelry.”
I hesitated before taking the box carefully.
Inside rested a delicate silver bracelet.
Simple.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Definitely expensive enough to pay off my student loans.
“You expect me to wear this casually?”
“It belonged to Isabelle.”
Everything inside me stopped.
I looked up sharply.
Damian’s expression had changed again.
Quieter now.
More vulnerable.
“She wore it to her first public event after joining the company board,” he explained softly. “The media tore her apart that night.”
The room felt suddenly fragile.
Like speaking too loudly might break something.
“Why give it to me?” I asked carefully.
His gaze held mine steadily.
“Because she would’ve hated what they’re doing to you.”
Emotion tightened unexpectedly in my chest.
God.
Isabelle again.
Always somehow present between us.
Not as a ghost exactly.
More like unfinished pain.
I looked back down at the bracelet carefully.
Then slipped it onto my wrist.
Damian watched the movement silently.
And something shifted again.
Subtle.
Dangerous.
Too intimate for people pretending.
I cleared my throat quickly.
“So,” I said weakly, “how exactly do fake couples behave at billionaire events?”
A flicker of amusement returned briefly.
“Confidently.”
“That sounds unrealistic.”
“You’ll survive.”
Bold assumption.
He offered his arm then.
Formal.
Elegant.
Like something out of an old movie.
I stared at it suspiciously.
“This feels legally binding.”
“It’s just an entrance.”
“People died in movies after saying things like that.”
Damian’s expression softened despite himself.
“You overthink everything.”
“I’m entering a media circus wearing borrowed diamonds. Overthinking feels appropriate.”
Fair.
I finally placed my hand lightly against his arm.
The contact shouldn’t have mattered.
It absolutely mattered.
Warmth spread instantly through my chest in the most inconvenient way possible.
Damian went still for half a second too.
Which somehow made it worse.
Then quietly—
“Ready?”
No.
Absolutely not.
But the cameras were waiting.
The board was watching.
And somewhere beneath all of it—
The truth about Isabelle was still buried.
I lifted my chin slightly.
“Let’s survive this.”
- Writer
