Love For Sale

Chapter 3: Into the Lion's Den

Naomi stood in the middle of the fancy boutique, her arms crossed over her chest, trying not to feel completely out of place. Everything around her felt too polished, too perfect, like she had stepped into a world that wasn’t meant for someone like her. The racks of designer clothes seemed to taunt her.

“I’m not some doll for you to show off,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at Ethan. “I have boundaries, you know.”

Ethan just raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against one of the racks. A small smirk played on his lips, like he was enjoying this more than he should. “I wasn’t planning on treating you like one,” he said, completely unbothered by her tone.

“Good,” Naomi shot back, her voice firm. “But I’m not going to be some eye candy for your rich friends either.”

His smirk only deepened. “I didn’t think you were the type to mind attention.”

“I don’t mind attention,” she retorted, “but I’m not here to be your accessory.”

Ethan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, something flickering behind his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe something else. Whatever it was, Naomi hated the way it made her feel. She hated that she couldn’t shake the feeling of being under his scrutiny. Still, she refused to back down.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, pushing himself off the rack. “Now, let’s get you out of that secondhand dress and into something that fits the part.”

Naomi opened her mouth to protest, but Ethan raised a hand to stop her. “I’m paying for everything. All you need to do is look the part. I’ll handle the rest.”

She clenched her fists, muttering under her breath, “Fine. But don’t expect me to enjoy this.”

Thirty minutes later, Naomi was staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror of the boutique’s dressing room. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

She had never worn heels this high before—let alone ones this expensive. Each step felt like a risk, her feet aching in ways she didn’t know were possible. The black dress they’d picked for her was sleek, satin, and clung to her body in all the wrong ways. Her hair, which she had thrown into a simple knot earlier, now flowed in soft waves down her back.

She looked... polished. But it wasn’t her. It felt like she was wearing someone else’s skin.

“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath, eyeing herself in the mirror. “This isn’t me.”

Ethan’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped slightly, not realizing he had come in. “You’re pulling it off,” he said, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe, studying her.

Naomi didn’t look at him. “Are you trying to make me feel better, or are you just being a jerk?”

His lips quirked up into a grin. “A little of both.”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “These heels are going to be the death of me. Is this your plan? To kill me off before the six months are up?”

Ethan chuckled, low and knowing. “If you can’t handle heels, you won’t survive in my world.”

“Great,” she muttered, glaring down at the shoes. “I’ll just break my ankle, no big deal.”

He stepped closer, and for a moment, Naomi felt the heat of his gaze. It was too much. It made her heart stutter, her skin crawl in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She hated it. She hated the way he could look at her and make her feel like this.

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” he said quietly, his tone shifting. There was something... almost genuine there.

She raised an eyebrow but kept her eyes down. “Then why am I doing this at all?”

His fingers brushed her shoulder, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. “Because you need the money. And I need someone to keep my family off my back. So we’re both stuck here, yeah?”

“Right,” she said, her voice tight. “A mess.”

An hour later, Naomi’s heart was pounding in her chest as she stood beside Ethan at the entrance to the gala. The tall glass doors loomed ahead of them, the chatter of the crowd spilling out into the night, warm light spilling from within.

This was it. The moment she had agreed to—the moment she’d pretend to be Ethan Blackwell’s fiancée. Like it was some kind of fairy tale. Naomi’s stomach twisted, the weight of it all sinking in. She hadn’t expected it to feel so... fake.

“Smile,” Ethan murmured, his voice low, only for her ears. “Or they’ll eat you alive.”

Naomi glanced at him, and for the first time, she saw something different in his eyes. It wasn’t amusement. It was almost... kind? Naomi quickly shook the thought away. Kindness didn’t belong in Ethan Blackwell’s world. Maybe it was just pity.

“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile. “Like this?”

Ethan’s expression softened for a split second. “You’ll do fine.”

But Naomi wasn’t so sure. The moment they stepped into the grand ballroom, she could feel every single pair of eyes on her, the whispers rising around her like a thick fog.

“Who’s that?” someone asked behind her.

“She’s new. Blackwell’s fiancée, I hear.”

“Really?” another voice chimed in. “She doesn’t look like his type.”

Naomi’s stomach dropped. The whispers had already started. Her nerves flared up, her hands trembling. Ethan leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

“Smile,” he repeated, quieter this time, like a command.

Naomi forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. She could feel the weight of every eye on her, every breath of gossip hanging in the air.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

The sharp voice came from behind her, cutting through the tension. Naomi turned to see a platinum blonde woman with a calculating smile, her eyes glinting with something Naomi couldn’t quite place.

Ethan stiffened beside her, his hand tightening around hers just slightly. Naomi froze.

The woman raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between Naomi and Ethan. “You look... familiar,” she said slowly. “Have we met before?”

Naomi’s stomach sank, and she tried to keep her expression neutral. She could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on her.

With a forced smile, she replied, “I don’t think so.”

Victoria Monroe didn’t look convinced. “Interesting,” she said with a sly smile, her eyes lingering just a bit too long. “Very interesting...”