Only You

ChapterFour: “The Condition”

A week later...

Olivia’s hands trembled as she held her phone to her ear, her back pressed against the cold tile wall in the office corridor.

“Yes, Doctor. I understand,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“The surgery can’t wait any longer, Miss Benson,” the voice on the other end was calm but firm. “The tumor is growing faster than we expected. If we delay it, the risk—”

“I’ll get the money,” she interrupted quickly. “I-I’ll find a way.”

She hung up.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, biting her lower lip hard enough to nearly break the skin. She couldn’t cry. Not here.

But her father was dying.

And she was broke.

There was only one person who could help her. The one person she hated to ask.

Karl Johnson.

Her arrogant, playboy, filthy-rich boss.

The thought made her stomach twist. She hated the idea. Hated it. But her dad…

He comes first.

Straightening her blouse and forcing herself to breathe, she marched toward the executive floor, every step heavier than the last.

When she opened the tall glass door to Karl’s office, he was behind his sleek black desk, legs crossed, flipping through a file.

He glanced up and blinked in surprise. “Didn’t expect you. Finally miss me calling your name every five minutes?”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t roll her eyes like usual.

“Can I talk to you? Privately?” she said stiffly.

His brow arched. He waved toward the chair across from his desk. “You’re already in my private office. Sit.”

She didn’t sit. She stood, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

He tilted his head. “You look like you’re about to throw up. Something wrong?”

“I need to borrow money,” she blurted out.

He froze, blinking once.

“For my dad. He needs emergency surgery. I don’t have enough, and I’ve tried everything. Loans, side jobs, selling things—I…” Her voice cracked but she quickly looked away, regaining her composure. “I’ll pay it back. I promise. Every cent.”

Karl slowly leaned back in his leather chair, studying her with unreadable eyes.

For once, he didn’t smirk. He didn’t tease. His silence made her heart pound harder.

“How much?” he asked finally.

“Seventy thousand,” she whispered.

Karl whistled low. “That’s not a small favor.”

“I know.”

He stood, buttoning his suit jacket with calm precision before circling his desk. She swallowed hard as he came to a stop directly in front of her, towering with that same intimidating presence he always carried.

His voice dropped to a murmur. “I’ll give it to you.”

She gasped. “You will?”

He nodded slowly. “But under one condition.”

She stiffened.

Karl’s lips curled into that cocky, devastating smirk—the one that meant trouble.

“Be my fiancée.”

Her heart dropped. “What?”

“Five months. Just pretend. Be my fake fiancée for a few events, some family crap, company parties... No one has to know the truth.” He paused, stepping a little closer. “Easy trade. Your dad gets the surgery. I get rid of my matchmaking grandmother.”

“You’re insane,” Olivia snapped, taking a step back. “No.”

“You sure?” he said, folding his arms. “Because I wasn’t planning to help anyone today, but I guess I’m feeling a little... charitable.”

“This isn’t charity,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s manipulation.”

Karl only shrugged. “Call it what you want. But the offer’s on the table. And I don’t make it twice.”

Olivia stared at him, furious, heartbroken, humiliated. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Keep your money,” she bit out. “And your stupid offer.”

She spun on her heel and stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

Karl watched the door for a long moment... and smirked again.

“She’ll be back,” he muttered to himself, walking back to his desk.

But deep inside, something stirred in his chest he couldn’t quite explain.

And he wasn’t smiling because he was being cruel.

He was smiling...

Because maybe, just maybe, he wanted her to come back.

That night, Olivia sat on the couch in Mia’s small apartment, her damp hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders after a hot shower. The scent of lavender still clung to her skin, but the warmth hadn’t reached the ache in her chest.

Mia came out of the kitchen, two mugs of tea in hand, and settled beside her. She handed one over and smiled gently. “Chamomile. For your nerves.”

Olivia took the mug with a quiet, “Thanks.”

The silence stretched between them before Mia finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Liv. I really wish I could help with your dad’s surgery. If I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t even think twice.”

Olivia looked at her, heart swelling with gratitude. “Mia… you already helped me more than anyone. You gave me a place to stay when I had nothing, helped me get that job—without you, I’d still be sleeping at that cheap inn with a broken heater.”

Mia smiled but still looked guilty. “Still…”

“I mean it,” Olivia said firmly. “You’ve been my only family here. I’ll never forget that.”

Mia took a deep breath, then leaned her head back on the couch. “So… what did Karl say? Did he help?”

Olivia went quiet.

Mia turned to her, eyes narrowing. “Liv?”

With a sigh, Olivia finally spoke. “He said he’ll give me the money.”

“What?” Mia blinked in surprise. “Just like that?”

Olivia shook her head. “Not exactly.”

Mia leaned in. “What’s the catch?”

A bitter smile touched Olivia’s lips. “He wants me to be his fiancée.”

Mia’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!”

“For five months,” Olivia added quickly. “Fake. Just for show—his family, events, whatever.”

Mia sat up straighter, completely stunned. “That man is crazy! You’re not seriously considering it, right?”

Olivia didn’t answer right away.

“Liv?” Mia pressed.

“I don’t want to,” she said softly. “I hate the idea. I hate him. He’s arrogant, smug, manipulative—”

“And hot,” Mia added, eyes wide. “You forgot hot.”

Olivia shot her a glare. “That’s not the point.”

Mia held up her hands. “Okay, okay. But… are you really gonna do it?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia whispered, clutching the warm mug tighter. “My dad needs the surgery. I don’t have any other option. And I’m scared if I wait too long…”

Her voice broke, and Mia immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug.

“You’re the bravest girl I know,” she murmured. “You’ll figure this out. And if that jackass Karl Johnson steps one inch out of line, I swear I’ll fly-kick him in the face in front of his whole boardroom.”

That made Olivia laugh through her tears.

Mia pulled back and looked at her seriously. “But if you’re going to agree, Liv… do it on your terms. Don’t let him push you around. Make him work for that fake ring.”

Olivia nodded slowly, the idea starting to settle in her chest like a stone.

She still hated it.

Still hated him.

But for her father, she could do anything.

Even marry a devil in a designer suit.

Three days had passed. Olivia tried to be strong—tried to think of other ways to raise the money. She called every contact she could think of, even distant relatives. Nothing. The clock was ticking.

And then, the call came.

“Ms. Benson, your father’s condition has worsened,” the hospital receptionist said gently. “He needs surgery immediately. We can’t wait any longer.”

Olivia’s throat tightened. Her fingers trembled around the phone. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself not to cry.

“I’ll... I’ll pay for it. Tomorrow,” she said, her voice breaking. “Please... wait just a little longer.”

She hung up. Her eyes were wet, but she wiped them quickly.

Then her gaze shifted—straight to Karl’s office door.

Her heart pounded.

She stood, inhaled deeply, and walked with slow, heavy steps down the hallway. When she knocked once and entered, Karl was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The golden afternoon sun poured into the room.

He didn’t turn around.

“What?” he asked flatly.

Olivia swallowed and stepped closer. “I accept your condition.”

Karl turned at once.

His brows raised, surprised—and almost amused. “You do?”

He tried to mask his reaction, but the little smirk tugging at the edge of his lips betrayed him. “Didn’t think the proud little country girl would give in so fast.”

“I’m doing this for my dad,” she said, staring him down. “Not for you.”

Karl chuckled and set his glass down on his desk. “Still feisty. I like that.”

“But,” she added firmly, her voice sharp. “I have my own condition.”

“Oh?” Karl c****d his head. “This should be fun. Go on.”

“For the five months I’m your fiancée,” she said clearly, “there will be no physical touch. No kissing. No s*x. This is a business agreement. Cross that line, and it’s over.”

Karl’s brows arched in genuine surprise.

Then slowly… that arrogant smile returned. “You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you agree or not?”

He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her, towering slightly. His eyes flicked to her lips for a second, then back to her gaze.

“Deal,” he said smoothly. “But I have one more condition before I wire the money.”

Olivia’s patience snapped. She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. What now?”

Karl’s smirk deepened. “You move in with me.”

She blinked. “What?!”

“You heard me.” He shrugged casually. “We’re engaged, remember? People will talk. Paparazzi will notice. We need to look convincing.”

“But—”

“My place is bigger,” he said, stepping closer. “More secure. Closer to work. Besides... I’d rather not have my fake fiancée living in some cramped apartment with a roommate who might accidentally spill the truth.”

Olivia opened her mouth, then closed it again.

It wasn’t fair. He was pushing her.

But her father…

She clenched her fists. “Fine.”

Karl grinned. “Good girl.”

That evening, he sent the transfer. No hesitation, no delay.

And Olivia paid for the surgery.

It went smoothly.

As she sat in the hospital corridor hours later, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion and relief, she finally let a single tear slip down her cheek.

Her dad was safe.

But her life was about to change forever.

Olivia folded the last of her clothes in silence. Her small suitcase was almost full, though it barely held her life in the city. She paused, staring at the faded photo of her and her dad tucked into the side pocket of her bag. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment before zipping the suitcase shut.

At the doorway, Mia leaned against the frame, arms crossed, her eyes glassy.

“You don’t have to go,” Mia said softly. “Maybe... maybe there’s another way.”

Olivia looked up and gave her cousin a sad smile. “We’ve been over this, Mia. There isn’t.”

“But living with him? Faking an engagement? That’s crazy, Liv.”

“I know.” Olivia stood, brushing her hair out of her face. “But my dad’s alive because of him. I owe him this much.”

Mia’s shoulders dropped. She hated this. Hated how helpless she felt. “Karl Johnson isn’t known for being... gentle. He’s arrogant. Controlling. He’s not gonna make this easy.”

“I won’t let him break me,” Olivia said with quiet determination.

Mia stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. “Just… be careful, okay? If he does anything—anything—you call me. Don’t try to be strong alone.”

Olivia hugged her back, feeling the warmth and safety she’d come to rely on since she first arrived in the city. “I will. Thank you... for everything.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer before Olivia picked up her suitcase.

“I guess this is it,” she whispered.

Mia followed her down to the curb where the taxi waited. “Call me when you get there.”

Olivia nodded and got in.

The city blurred past the window as the cab weaved through traffic. Her hands fidgeted in her lap. The reality hit her harder with each passing block. She was really doing this. Moving in with him.

Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled up to an upscale building in the heart of the city. Tall glass windows, a grand lobby, and a doorman in a crisp black uniform. It screamed wealth, power—and coldness.

“Miss Benson?” the doorman greeted politely, already opening the door and helping with her bag. “Mr. Johnson is expecting you. Take the private elevator to the top floor.”

She nodded, heart pounding, and stepped inside.

When the elevator doors opened, she was met with the view of a penthouse bathed in warm amber light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline. Everything was sleek, modern, and utterly expensive.

And standing in the living room, in a fitted black shirt and holding a glass of whiskey, was him.

Karl Johnson.

He turned when he heard her steps, his gaze trailing slowly over her figure as she stepped in.

“You’re late,” he said lazily.

She rolled her eyes. “Traffic.”

His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Right. Traffic. Or maybe you were hoping I’d forget about our little deal.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she shot back.

Karl walked toward her with slow, measured steps. “You look nervous, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” she lied.

He stopped just a few inches in front of her, his cologne curling around her senses. “Relax. I’m not going to bite... unless you ask.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Remember the rules.”

He chuckled, walking past her to the bar. “How could I forget? No kissing, no touching, no fun. Got it.”

She followed him slowly, setting her bag down. “Where do I sleep?”

He raised a brow. “There’s a guest room down the hall. Clean sheets, fluffy pillows. But you’ll have to get used to paparazzi catching you leaving my bedroom.”

She crossed her arms. “Just because I’m living here doesn’t mean I have to play house.”

“Oh, we’re playing something, alright,” Karl said with a dark smile. “Just a matter of time.”

Olivia refused to rise to the bait.

“Dinner’s in the fridge,” he added with a shrug. “Unless you’re the type who cooks. Which could be... interesting.”

“I didn’t come here to cook for you.”

He winked. “Pity.”

Without another word, she turned and went down the hall to the guest room, her heart hammering in her chest. The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the city sounds and Karl’s smug presence.

She sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

Five months.

Just five months.

She could do this... right?

The apartment was unusually quiet that night. Olivia stood barefoot in the sleek kitchen, humming softly to herself as she stirred the sauce on the stove. The smell of garlic and herbs filled the air. She plated the pasta carefully, set her glass of water beside it, and sank into the dining chair with a tired sigh.

It wasn’t fancy, just something simple she learned back home—but it smelled like comfort. Like something real.

Just as she picked up her fork, the sound of a door opening echoed through the penthouse.

She froze.

Karl.

He strolled out of his room, shirtless, towel around his neck, clearly fresh from a shower. Water still clung to his skin, glistening slightly in the light. His toned torso didn’t go unnoticed—but Olivia quickly looked away, annoyed with herself for even noticing.

He paused when he saw her.

“Well, well. You can cook,” he said with a crooked grin, walking over with slow steps.

She didn’t bother looking up. “It’s for me.”

“Hmm,” Karl muttered, reaching over her shoulder and—without hesitation—grabbed her fork and took a bite right from her plate.

“Hey!” she snapped, jerking her fork away. “That’s mine!”

He chewed, lips curving into a lazy smirk. “Damn, country girl. This is good. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Her eyes flared. “I didn’t make it for you, Karl.”

“Relax. You live here now. Sharing is part of the deal.”

“No. Being fake engaged is the deal. Not sharing my food,” she said, glaring at him. “If you’re so rich and powerful, why don’t you order yourself a thousand-dollar steak or something?”

Karl chuckled and leaned on the table, close enough to make her shift back slightly. “But yours smells better. Besides... I like seeing you get all worked up.”

She let out an annoyed huff, stood up, and grabbed the plate from under his hand.

“Fine,” she said coldly. “Enjoy it. I’ll make something else.”

He watched her walk to the kitchen, a smug grin still plastered on his face.

“You know,” he called after her, “in some countries, sharing food is considered intimate. Like a first date.”

“Too bad this isn’t a real date,” she shot back, grabbing a pack of instant noodles and tossing it on the counter.

Karl crossed his arms, watching her from the dining table. The way her eyes burned with fire. The way she moved—frustrated, sharp, determined. She was nothing like the women he’d known. No batting lashes, no fake giggles, no seductive poses.

Just Olivia. Honest. Stubborn. Real.

He liked it more than he cared to admit.

She slammed the pot on the stove and filled it with water. “Unbelievable,” she muttered to herself. “Who the hell steals someone’s dinner?”

Karl’s lips twitched. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Shut up, Karl.”

“I will. Right after you agree to cook for both of us next time.”

“Not a chance.”

He laughed under his breath, leaning back in the chair. The pasta was warm, creamy, and somehow comforting.

But the heat in his chest had little to do with the food.

When she finally sat again—with her bowl of noodles—he glanced at her from across the table.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t look at him. But the pink on her cheeks was still there.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, catching her off guard.

She blinked. “For what?”

“For this,” he nodded at the food. “You didn’t have to make it... but you did.”

Her grip on her chopsticks tightened slightly.

“It wasn’t for you,” she muttered.

Karl smiled. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of the penthouse, painting the floors with golden warmth. Olivia stood by the door, dressed in a simple white blouse tucked into a pencil skirt. Her hair was loosely tied, and she carried a small handbag clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes were tired, yet her expression was composed—calm, but distant.

Karl came out of his room buttoning the cuffs of his dark navy shirt, looking freshly shaven, sharp as ever. His cologne floated subtly in the air, intoxicating and expensive.

He glanced at her.

“You ready?” he asked, grabbing his keys from the counter.

She nodded. “Yes.”

They took the private elevator down in silence. She avoided his eyes, staring at the floor while he leaned back casually, sneaking glances at her profile.

When they reached the underground parking lot, he clicked the remote. His black sports car came to life with a soft growl.

Karl walked ahead and opened the front passenger door.

But Olivia didn’t move toward it.

Instead, she quietly opened the back door and slipped into the rear seat without a word.

Karl paused. He turned slightly, eyeing her through the open door. “Seriously?”

She buckled her seatbelt and looked straight ahead. “It’s just business, remember?”

He chuckled under his breath. “You really don’t make things easy.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

He shut the door and circled to the driver’s seat, sliding in and starting the engine. The drive out of the garage was smooth, but the silence between them wasn’t.

As they merged onto the main road, Karl glanced up at the rearview mirror.

She was sitting stiffly, looking out the window, her lips pursed and eyes distant—like she was a million miles away. Something about it bothered him.

“You’re quiet this morning,” he said, trying to sound casual.

She didn’t respond.

He tried again, more teasing this time. “What, mad I stole your dinner last night?”

Her lips twitched slightly. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

A pause.

She finally looked at him through the mirror. “Just tired. I barely slept.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Because of me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Johnson.”

That made him smirk.

But the smirk faded slowly as he kept glancing at her reflection. There was something different in her today. A heaviness.

Maybe it was the stress about her father’s recovery. Maybe the fact that she now had to play his fiancée and live under the same roof as a man she clearly hated.

Whatever it was, it made him feel... something.

He didn’t like it.

“You should’ve told me,” he muttered.

“About what?”

“Your dad. You didn’t have to go through all that alone.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” she said. “Especially not sympathy.”

Karl scoffed. “Right. Because I’m the arrogant asshole in your story.”

She didn’t reply to that.

He kept driving, speeding past the morning traffic like he always did. But the silence between them felt heavier now.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. Softer this time.

“You could’ve just said ‘thank you,’ you know.”

“I did,” she said quietly. “Just not to your face.”

Karl smiled faintly to himself. He didn’t know what was more surprising—that she admitted it... or that it made his chest feel a little too warm.

As soon as Karl’s sleek black car pulled into the company’s private parking lot, Olivia stepped out quickly, not waiting for him. The cold morning air brushed against her skin, and the tall glass tower of Johnson Corp stood above her like an intimidating giant—just like its owner.

She walked ahead, heels clicking softly against the marble floor of the lobby as she made her way to her desk outside his office. A few of the other employees gave her polite smiles, but some whispered behind her back. Ever since the engagement news had started circulating, everyone looked at her differently—like she’d seduced her way to the top.

She hated it.

She sat at her desk and exhaled slowly, organizing the morning documents and typing out the day’s schedule for Karl. A part of her wished she could disappear into the screen, away from the curious eyes.

A few minutes passed.

Then it happened.

His deep, smooth voice echoed from behind his closed door through the intercom.

“Olivia. In here. Now.”

She froze mid-type. Her jaw tightened.

She leaned back in her chair and muttered to herself, “Great. It’s already started.”

With a quiet sigh, she stood, smoothing her skirt and adjusting the collar of her blouse. She walked to his door, knocking once.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside.

Karl was seated behind his large mahogany desk, legs crossed, flipping through a contract with bored precision. He didn’t even look up when she entered.

“You called?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

He finally glanced at her. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t realize I was on a timer,” she replied dryly.

That made the corner of his lips curl up, amused.

He leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin as he studied her. “We’re attending a lunch meeting today with a few board members. They’ll be expecting my fiancée.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re coming. Smile, laugh at my jokes—pretend you’re madly in love with me.” His tone was playful, but his eyes were watching her carefully.

Her hands clenched at her sides. “You didn’t say anything about events like this.”

“Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “we’re engaged. What kind of fake engagement doesn’t involve showing off a little?”

She scowled. “I’m not a toy you can show off to the world, Karl.”

“No,” he said, standing up and slowly walking around the desk, “you’re the woman who walked into my office and begged for money. This is just part of the deal, remember?”

She hated how calm he sounded. Hated how close he was now.

She looked up at him defiantly. “Fine. I’ll go. But you still remember the rules, right? No touching. No kissing. No ‘fiancée’ privileges just because we’re in public.”

Karl smirked, standing just inches from her. “You're really going to make this five months hell for me, aren’t you?”

She tilted her chin up. “That’s the plan.”

He laughed under his breath, stepping back. “God, I love a challenge.”

She turned and walked out, her heart pounding. As the door shut behind her, Karl stared after her, still smiling to himself.

He had a feeling this fake engagement was going to be a lot more complicated… and a lot more fun than he expected.