Hired As His Fake Girlfriend

Chapter 11: Promotions

I stayed outside my mom’s house, looking at the front door as if it held a memory I wanted to forget. She sent me a message insisting on the need for us to talk “ASAP.” I could feel my heart beating rapidly, every nerve tense. This doesn’t seem promising.

After I knocked, she quickly opened the door in under five seconds. Standing there, she felt an unsettling tranquility as a saccharine smile concealed something sinister beneath.

“Lila,” she stated, moving out of the way for me to enter. “I’m delighted that you showed up.”

I walked inside, my feet heavy. The scent of cinnamon and nostalgia filled the house. She guided me to the living room, where I settled on the couch, preparing myself for what was about to happen.

“Darling, you appear lovely,” she started, taking a seat in front of me with her legs crossed, looking perfectly put together. “It appears that being with Evan agrees with you.”

I felt unsure of how to reply as I swallowed. “Mom, what is on your mind?”

Her smile slightly diminished as she leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. “Lila, I only want to ensure that you are making the correct choices.”

“What are you trying to say?”

She sighed, her expression turning almost pitying. “You have a golden opportunity here, sweetheart. Evan Sterling. Do you even realize how lucky you are?”

I stiffened. This conversation was going exactly where I feared it would. “Mom, it’s not like that.”

“Oh, but it could be,” she insisted, her voice dripping with manipulation. “If you play your cards right, Lila, you could secure your future. Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?”

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the familiar frustration building up. “I’m not trying to ‘secure my future’ by pretending to be with someone I don’t even—”

Her smile disappeared, replaced by a sharp, cutting look. “Don’t be so naive. You’re playing a dangerous game, Lila. If you don’t keep things going smoothly with Evan, there will be consequences.”

My heart dropped. “Are you threatening me?”

She stood up, towering over me, her voice cold now. “I’m telling you the truth. Evan’s family has power. Influence. They can make or break you. And if you’re stupid enough to ruin this for yourself, don’t expect me to pick up the pieces.”

I stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. She wasn’t just being manipulative—she was warning me. And worse, I could tell she meant every word.

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” I whispered, feeling my throat tighten.

“Oh, grow up, Lila,” she snapped. “This world isn’t about love and fairy tales. It’s about power and survival. And if you don’t understand that, you’ll be crushed.”

I stood up, suddenly needing to get out of there, away from her poison. “I need to go.”

As I headed toward the door, she called after me, “Think about what I said, Lila. This is your chance, don’t be stupid.”

I shut the door forcefully, feeling my hands tremble. I was filled with so much anger that it was difficult for me to think clearly. How could she utter such words to her own child? I required some fresh air, room, anything to help me declutter my thoughts.

I took out my phone and attempted to contact my father, seeking solace. However, after his voicemail answered for the third time, it dawned on me: he wouldn’t be responding.

When I arrived at campus, it was already 11 a.m. I hurriedly entered the classroom, hoping to simply blend in and avoid standing out. However, my thoughts were focused on something different. I couldn’t get rid of my mother’s words, the poison in her voice. And the silence of my father only exacerbated the situation. I felt like the walls were closing in on me.

The class felt like it would never finish, as hours went by and I only half-listened to the lectures. At 3 p.m., I felt exhausted and stressed, my thoughts spinning from everything that had happened. Immediately after the class ended, I hastily exited the room, eager to not linger there.

Mr. Thompson was waiting for me outside, his usual stoic expression giving me nothing to work with. “Miss Weston,” he greeted, opening the door to the sleek black car.

I got into the back seat, appreciating the quietness as we navigated through the city. Before long, we arrived at Marchesa, a high-end boutique that I had only previously encountered in luxurious magazines, serving the wealthiest clientele. I hesitated upon stepping out, completely feeling like I didn’t belong.

Inside, the atmosphere was hushed, luxurious. Everything was pristine, from the marble floors to the perfectly arranged couture dresses. Evan was waiting for me near the back, casually browsing through racks of evening gowns that probably cost more than my entire college tuition.

“There you are,” he said, barely looking up as I approached.

“What is this?” I asked, gesturing to the racks of clothes.

“We’re getting you something to wear for tonight,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I’m attending an event, and you’ll be going with me.”

I frowned. “What event?”

“It’s a private party. Very exclusive. And you’re coming.”

I was about to protest when he shoved three gowns into my arms. “Try these on.”

With a deep breath, I made my way to the fitting room. I gazed at the dresses on display in the dressing room, sensing the significance of the upcoming evening. The fabric was luxurious, costly, the type of material that I had only encountered in magazines or movies. I should not have been dressed like this, but I found myself immersed in Evan’s world.

After some time weighing which dress to try first, I chose a stylish black one that had caught my attention. The dress was classy but not over-the-top, making me feel nearly invincible.

However, once I put it on, I quickly discovered that I couldn’t reach the zipper no matter what. It was trapped so close yet out of grasp, and all efforts to twist or stretch were futile. I attempted again in frustration, my fingertips barely touching the zipper pull before the door creaked open behind me.

I stopped suddenly, holding the dress close to me while looking back. Evan stood casually leaning against the doorframe as if he had ownership of the place, which he likely did due to his family’s status.

“Would you like assistance with that?” he inquired, his tone impossible to interpret.

I hesitated, wanting to refuse him, but the zipper was resistant and I realized I couldn’t overcome this challenge by myself. “Okay,” I mumbled, facing the mirror again and attempting to pretend that this wasn’t a significant issue.

Evan moved nearer, his footsteps soft on the thick carpet. I sensed his presence behind me, feeling the heat of his proximity unsettling. He glided effortlessly, as if he had practiced this countless times, intensifying my self-awareness.

His fingers brushed my back as he grabbed the zipper, and I tensed involuntarily. He moved slowly, deliberately, pulling it up in one smooth motion. His touch was careful, but there was something in the air that made my skin prickle. I could feel his breath, warm against the nape of my neck, as he leaned in ever so slightly to make sure the zipper was all the way up.

Our eyes met in the mirror, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The atmosphere shifted, growing heavier, like the space between us had condensed into something more than just proximity. His gaze flickered, darkening as he stared at me, and I found myself holding my breath, caught in the strange pull between us.

I cleared my throat, trying to break the spell. “Thanks,” I muttered, stepping away from him quickly.

He blinked, like he had just realized what had happened, and the moment was over. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice tight, as he stepped back too, creating space between us once more. “You look… good.”

His way of saying it felt unlike his usual clinical manner. Before I had a chance to process it, he quickly turned around and walked out of the changing room, with the door closing softly behind him.

I released a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding. I felt shaken by the whole interaction, it had been too close and intense. I had to shake off the strange tension that had just occurred because tonight was going to be difficult without getting involved in whatever was going on between us.

The event was a sight to behold - extravagant and oozing wealth. Crystal chandeliers glittered above, while the atmosphere buzzed with merriment and the sound of trendy drinks being served. I loitered uncomfortably by the doorway, sensing I had intruded on a red carpet event.

Evan moved closer, his breath feeling warm against my ear. “Remember, you’re my date tonight. Just smile and nod.”

I rolled my eyes. “Got it. Be charming and pretend I belong here.”

He smirked. “Exactly. And if anyone asks, you’re a student at the university studying… what was it again?”

“Creative writing,” I replied sarcasticlly. “The kind of stuff that gets me into these kinds of parties.”

“Perfect,” he said, straightening his tie. “Just follow my lead.”

As we made our way through the crowd, Evan greeted important guests like he was shaking hands with old friends. He introduced me as “a very special friend” each time, and I could feel the curious glances directed my way. I smiled back, trying not to let the pressure get to me.

“Do I really look like I belong here?” I whispered to him after we talked to a particularly intimidating couple who seemed more interested in their designer outfits than in our conversation.

“Absolutely,” he said, his eyes scanning the room. “You’re pulling off the look. Just don’t mention the whole fake girlfriend thing.”

“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Because that wouldn’t be awkward at all.”

As time went on, I began to relax more, participating in the laughter with Evan and the other attendees, and even managing to compliment some of the elaborate outfits. But as I started to become intrigued, Evan was called to the front of the room.

As the night went on, Evan was called to the front of the room. I watched as he made his way to the stage, while everyone in the room watched his every move. He seemed calm and relaxed, as though he belonged among the billionaires and powerful figures of the world.

Just as he was about to make a declaration, his phone suddenly started vibrating. Glancing at the screen, he displayed a slight change in expression before refocusing on the crowd.

“I want to introduce you all to a very special person,” he confidently said with a smooth voice. His gaze met mine as he looked at me from across the room.

I held my breath.

“This is Lila Weston,” he said, the words coming out slower than they should have. “My fiancée.”

The room went still. My heart stopped.

Fiancée?

What the hell had he just done?