ChapterThree
778 Words
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the endless buzz of the JUX estate. For the first time since she’d stepped into this crazy charade, Andrelle could breathe.
Juma tossed his jacket over a chair, loosening his tie with a sigh. He looked so... normal like that — a guy in wrinkled clothes, hair a little tousled, the weight of expectation slipping briefly from his shoulders.
Andrelle didn’t trust it for a second.
She folded her arms. "Okay. What’s next in this elaborate fairy tale?"
Juma grinned, tossing her a bottle of sparkling water from the mini-fridge. "We prep. Grandmother's planning a massive engagement party, and trust me, she’s going to grill us separately. We need to get our story straight."
"Story?" Andrelle echoed. "You mean more lies?"
He gave a casual shrug. "Think of it as... creative storytelling."
Andrelle groaned, flopping onto the nearest armchair. "Fine. Where do we start?"
Juma grabbed a notebook and pen from the desk. His energy was different now — less charming heir, more determined strategist.
"We need details. Specifics. People believe what feels real."
He scribbled a quick list:
1. How we met
2. First date
3. What we love about each other
4. Embarrassing stories
5. Future plans
Andrelle’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or... something else.
Juma perched on the arm of her chair, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Alright, Miss Cab Girl. How did we meet?"
Andrelle narrowed her eyes playfully. "Obviously, you hailed my Uber."
He chuckled. "Romantic."
"Okay, okay." She thought for a second. "Maybe... I was reading a book while waiting for my next ride. You were impressed because no one reads anymore."
Juma's lips curved. "I like it. Intellectual attraction."
He scribbled it down.
"And our first date?" he prompted.
Andrelle smirked. "I guess you took me somewhere ridiculously fancy, and I spent the whole night trying not to touch anything."
Juma laughed — a rich, genuine sound that made her chest ache unexpectedly.
"Accurate," he said. "But let’s add that we snuck out halfway through and grabbed burgers instead."
Andrelle smiled despite herself. "You? Mr. Billionaire Fast Food?"
He winked. "I'm versatile."
Their laughter faded into a comfortable quiet. Juma tapped the pen against the notebook thoughtfully.
"And what do we love about each other?" he asked, voice softer now.
Andrelle hesitated. This wasn’t funny anymore. This felt dangerously close to... something real.
She looked at him — really looked — for the first time.
Juma was beautiful, sure: strong jawline, deep brown eyes, skin kissed by sun and wealth. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he smiled when he thought no one was watching. The quick wit, the surprising kindness.
Andrelle swallowed.
"I... love how you make people feel seen," she said quietly. "Even someone like me."
Juma's pen stilled.
He didn't speak for a moment. Then he said, just as softly, "I love your bravery. You jump into impossible things without flinching."
Their eyes locked.
The air between them grew thick, humming with something neither could name.
Juma cleared his throat, looking away first. "Right. Good answers."
Andrelle pressed her palms against her thighs, grounding herself. This was not real. This was a job. A performance.
And yet...
"Embarrassing story?" she prompted, forcing a light tone.
He grinned, grateful for the out. "Once, during a gala in Paris, I got stuck in the bathroom window trying to ditch an overly eager heiress."
Andrelle burst out laughing. "You? Mr. Suave?"
"Tragic, but true."
"And future plans?" she asked.
His smile faltered slightly.
There it was — the c***k in the armor.
"Family," he said eventually. "A real one. Not just for show."
Something tugged at Andrelle’s heart. Maybe she wasn’t the only one pretending, after all.
She nodded. "Me too."
The notebook slipped from Juma’s hands, forgotten on the carpet.
They were close — too close. His knee brushed hers. Neither moved away.
"Andrelle," he said, voice low, almost reverent.
She shivered.
This was dangerous territory.
This was not part of the plan.
Before either could say something they'd regret, there was a sharp knock at the door.
"Mr. Jux," a voice called. "Madame Clarisse requests your presence in the salon."
Andrelle jumped up like she’d been caught doing something illicit. Juma rose more slowly, studying her with unreadable eyes.
"Showtime," he said finally.
He offered his hand. Andrelle hesitated for half a second, then took it.
As they walked toward the door, fingers intertwined, hearts hammering, Andrelle realized something terrifying.
The lines between what was fake and what was real weren’t just blurring anymore.
They were disappearing entirely.
- Writer
