LOVE WASN'T THE PLAN
1363 Words
Elena had never felt so exposed.
Sitting across from Jace Lennox at a marble kitchen island in his penthouse, sipping coffee from a cup that probably cost more than her rent six months ago, she was being interrogated—politely, but still interrogated.
“For the record,” Jace said, not looking up from his laptop, “you’ve told me your favorite flower is a sunflower, you hate eggs with runny yolk, and your favorite movie is...”
“‘Atonement,’” she supplied, sipping.
He glanced at her. “That’s the one where everyone ends up miserable and guilty, right?”
She smirked. “Exactly. It’s tragic and beautiful. My kind of movie.”
He typed something into a document.
“You’re actually keeping notes?” she asked, amused.
“I run a multimillion-dollar company, Elena. I don’t leave important things to chance. If a reporter corners me, I need to remember your dog’s name.”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“You do now,” he said without missing a beat. “His name is Muffin. You rescued him from a drain.”
Elena burst into laughter. “Muffin? Are you kidding?”
“Public likes soft stories,” he said flatly. “Makes us look human.”
She leaned in across the counter, eyes glittering. “And God forbid the great Jace Lennox looks human.”
He glanced at her then, something unreadable in his gaze. “People don’t invest in men who bleed.”
Her smile faded.
There it was again—that flicker beneath his calm surface. A shadow she couldn’t name.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Your turn. What’s your favorite food?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Ramen,” he finally said.
She blinked. “What?”
He shrugged. “Back in college, I lived on instant ramen for a year while trying to outbid my first competitor. It stuck.”
She grinned. “So, the mighty CEO has a weak spot for noodles.”
He looked away. “We all start somewhere.”
For the next two hours, they rehearsed their fake love story. How they met at a bookstore—her reaching for the last copy of a novel, him offering it with a charming smile. How he proposed on a rooftop under fairy lights. How they slow-danced in their living room after their courthouse wedding.
Every story was a lie. But the way he looked at her when he told it—calm, direct, like he almost believed it himself—made it feel dangerously real.
---
That afternoon, Jace’s driver dropped Elena off at an upscale boutique for a “media-ready” wardrobe fitting. The moment she stepped inside, stylists swarmed her like bees to a flower, draping dresses, comparing swatches, and muttering in French.
“Wife of Jace Lennox,” one of them whispered with awe. “C’est magnifique!”
Elena smiled stiffly. She hated this part.
The part where she pretended to be someone she wasn’t.
When she stepped out in a navy-blue cocktail dress—tailored to fit her curves, elegant but understated—one of the stylists clapped. “Perfect. You look like you belong in the papers.”
She looked at her reflection and barely recognized herself.
Behind the luxury, behind the gloss… she saw fear.
Fear that this lie was beginning to feel like her life.
She turned back to the dressing room and muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”
---
Back at the penthouse, Jace was on the phone, pacing by the window. His voice was low but sharp, laced with tension.
“I don’t care what the board says—Lennox Holdings is not pulling out of Tokyo… Yes, I know the projections. I made them. Just do your part.”
He turned as she entered, ending the call without saying goodbye.
“You’re early,” he said.
“You’re stressed,” she replied, walking toward the living room and dropping her shopping bags on the couch.
He said nothing.
Elena kicked off her heels and curled into a corner of the couch, watching him.
“Do you ever stop working?”
“No,” he said simply.
She looked at him for a long time. “What happened to you?”
He turned, one brow raised. “Excuse me?”
“You’re too... guarded. You smile with your mouth, but your eyes stay cold.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Maybe I just don’t see a reason to show people my warmth.”
“That’s sad.”
“That’s survival.”
She stood, walking toward him until they were just feet apart. “You know, when I said yes to this whole fake-marriage mess, I thought you were a controlling billionaire with no heart. But now…”
He waited.
“Now I think you used to have a heart. And someone broke it.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“You’re overstepping,” he said.
“I’m already in your house, your bed, your photos—might as well be in your head too,” she challenged.
For a moment, she thought he might snap.
Instead, he walked away.
---
Later that night, Jace brought her a mug of tea. Not coffee. Not wine. Tea.
Elena blinked.
“What’s this?”
“Chamomile. You said it helps you sleep.”
She took it, surprised. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything.”
They sat in silence on the balcony, the city lights shimmering below them.
Finally, she asked, “Did someone break your heart?”
He didn’t look at her.
“Yes.”
“Do you still love her?”
He exhaled slowly. “She was never mine to begin with.”
Elena didn’t press further.
But something inside her shifted.
She hadn’t expected to care. This was supposed to be transactional. Mechanical. But sitting next to Jace under the stars, sipping tea he made just for her—she felt something she wasn’t ready to name.
---
Days passed in a blur of rehearsals, photo shoots, and public appearances.
To the world, they were the perfect couple.
To themselves… they were learning each other.
Elena learned that Jace hated mint toothpaste but used it because it looked cleaner in the bathroom. That he played classical piano when no one was watching. That he read poetry but never admitted it.
Jace learned that Elena cried during sad commercials, slept with one leg outside the blanket, and danced barefoot when cooking pasta.
They learned each other like strangers who’d been blindfolded and asked to paint portraits of the soul.
And it scared Elena—how much she wanted it to be real.
---
One evening, she walked into the kitchen to find Jace trying to fry eggs.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, running forward as smoke poured from the pan.
“Cooking,” he said calmly.
“No, you’re committing a crime against breakfast.”
She grabbed the pan and turned off the stove.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he muttered.
She turned to him slowly. “You… were trying to cook for me?”
He nodded.
Something warm bloomed in her chest.
He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “There’s wine in the fridge. We can order in.”
She smiled.
“Let’s burn dinner together.”
---
That night, they sat cross-legged on the floor, eating burnt eggs and drinking wine, laughing like fools.
And then it happened.
The silence fell.
The air shifted.
Their eyes met.
She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly, they were inches apart.
“I thought you said no kissing unless agreed,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
His hand brushed her cheek, slow and tentative.
“Maybe I want to agree now,” he murmured.
Her heart thundered.
But just as their lips were about to meet—his phone rang.
The moment shattered.
Jace pulled away, face tightening. “It’s work.”
He stood, walking toward the study, not looking back.
Elena sat in the silence, heart aching.
Love wasn’t the plan.
But it was happening anyway.
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