The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend

3

Chapter 3: The Red Carpet Bloodsport

(Ava’s POV)

The blinding flash of a hundred camera lenses hit my eyes the exact second the heavy velvet curtain parted.

The sheer force of the sound from the media line felt like a physical wall, threatening to knock me off balance on my high heels. I felt completely exposed in my rented black silk evening gown, a middle-class intruder standing in the golden heart of high society.

"Keep walking, Ava," Ethan murmured beside me, his voice a low baritone that*** my crumbling composure. "Do not look down at the floorboards, and do not blink when the flashes hit your face."

His fingers stayed locked firmly around the curve of my waist, warm and entirely unyielding through the thin fabric of my dress. To the cameras, his touch was an expression of deep, wealthy possession. To me, it was a physical reminder of the strict contract hidden securely inside my work folder at home. I had traded six months of my life to wipe out my father's predatory debt, selling my freedom to the devil in an impeccably tailored black suit.

"They are hunting for a c***k in your smile," Ethan added, his jaw tight as he angled his sharp profile toward the primary press row. "Give them absolutely nothing to print."

"I am an event planner, Mr. Blackwood," I whispered back, forcing my lips into a flawless, serene curve. "I am highly accustomed to managing chaotic rooms filled with superficial monsters."

"Good," he muttered. "Because the worst one is standing exactly ten feet in front of our line."

The crowd parted smoothly to reveal Isabella Sinclair. She stood near the main VIP lounge area, looking completely flawless in an emerald haute couture gown that radiated pure, old-money pedigree. She had held the position of Ethan's perfect, strategic fiancée for most of her adult life, and her almond-shaped eyes locked onto me with a calculating, lethal intensity.

"Ethan, darling," Isabella purred, stepping forward into our path and completely blocking the entrance to the main ballroom. Her rehearsed smile didn't reach her sharp eyes. "The board of directors is completely shocked by your sudden lack of taste. I honestly believed the corporate scandal would make you smarter, not lead you to drag an ordinary, debt-ridden street planner onto a Vanguard red carpet."

The surrounding reporters immediately went dead silent, their microphones angling closer to capture the corporate blood in the water. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, my old insecurities screaming that she was right, that I didn't belong in this rarefied world of gold and glass.

But before the panic could control my expression, Ethan's grip tightened around my waist. He didn't offer Isabella a single glance, completely bypassing her presence as if she were a ghost in the corridor.

Instead, he pulled my body directly against his broad chest, leaning down to press his lips softly against my temple in front of the entire press line. The sudden, raw physical contact sent a jolt of pure electricity straight through my skin, shattering the boundary of rule number one.

"My choices do not require authorization from a former fiancée, Isabella," Ethan spoke smoothly, his commanding voice echoing clearly across the microphone rigs. "Ava is the single most important asset in my life, and anyone who invalidates her position faces an immediate exit from my inner circle."

Isabella's porcelain face turned completely pale with rage as the cameras captured her public humiliation. Ethan didn't wait for her to recover, steering me firmly through the heavy mahogany doors leading into the main ballroom layout. The heavy air of the grand space smelled of expensive champagne and cold corporate power, but my mind was still spinning from the warmth of his lips against my skin.

We moved toward a quiet balcony alcove near the north wing to escape the secondary media sweep. The moment the glass doors shut behind us, cutting off the noise of the elite crowd, I wrenched myself out of his grip, my chest heaving as I looked up into his intense brown eyes.

"That was completely outside the written parameters of our agreement, Ethan!" I snapped, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and dangerous, hidden adrenaline. "Rule number one explicitly states that we project a standard public alignment, not raw physical intimacy!"

Ethan stepped closer, his imposing silhouette completely trapping me against the stone balcony railing. The faint scent of expensive sandalwood and rich ink washed over my senses as he leaned down, invading my personal space.

"The parameters changed the second a sniper round shattered our vehicle windshield yesterday, Ava," he stated flatly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Isabella isn't just a bitter ex-fiancée throwing gossip, she is actively coordinating with my stepmother Victoria to track your father's missing voting shares. If I do not make high society believe I am completely obsessed with protecting you, they will abduct you before the weekend trading window opens."

"I can protect myself," I argued, tilting my chin upward to match his freezing intensity. "I am not a fragile piece of your corporate inventory."

"You are the hidden anchor holding the survival of my entire empire together," Ethan hissed, his fingers gently gripping my chin to force my gaze to remain locked onto his. "And right now, you are the only variable I cannot afford to lose."

Our eyes locked in a suffocating moment of raw, hyper-charged tension. The distance between our lips vanished to mere inches, his rigid posture shifting as his clinical focus completely melted into a sudden, dangerous hunger that threatened to shatter every rule we had signed.

Before our lips could touch, my phone vibrated violently inside my silk clutch.

I pulled away with a sharp breath, my hands shaking as I snapped the device open. A new, untraceable multimedia message had landed on my terminal from an unknown number. My breath froze completely in my throat as the file automatically downloaded.

It was a real-time surveillance video. The camera was angled from inside a black vehicle parked directly outside my suburban office building, showing my younger brother, Noah, stepping onto the concrete porch while a red laser tracking dot painted a steady target directly in the center of his chest.

Beneath the video feed, a single line of text appeared: The contract is a very pretty lie, Ava. Return the Covenant legacy sheets to the dockside warehouse by midnight, or watch your brother bleed out on your father's doorstep.