Meant To Be

Chapter 7 - Lessons In Pretending

Elena had sworn to herself—sworn—that she would never give Adrian Drake the satisfaction of agreeing with him. But after the paparazzi stormed her café like locusts and her phone buzzed nonstop with her father’s increasingly furious texts, she found herself sitting in the back of Adrian’s sleek black town car, arms crossed, glaring at him like he was the root of all her problems.

“Remind me again,” she said icily, “why I’m here instead of hiding in a bunker somewhere?”

Adrian, completely unbothered, scrolled through his phone. “Because, Castellano, hiding is what they expect. The press feeds on fear. You disappear, they invent stories. You stand beside me, we control the narrative.”

“Control,” Elena muttered. “That’s your favorite word, isn’t it? What’s next—drafting a contract that dictates how I breathe in public?”

He glanced up, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If you’d like.”

She groaned, throwing her head back against the leather seat. “Unbelievable.”

The car glided to a stop outside his office building—a tower of glass and steel that screamed power and wealth. Elena hesitated before stepping out, aware of the flashes already waiting. Paparazzi had tracked them here, too, and their voices rose like a wave the moment she emerged.

“Adrian! Elena! Over here!”

“Give us a smile!”

“Are you officially together?”

Adrian didn’t flinch. He simply placed a hand at her back, guiding her forward. His touch was light, almost polite, but it sent an unwanted shiver up her spine.

Inside, silence fell like a curtain. They stepped into his penthouse office—sleek, minimalist, every surface gleaming. Elena resisted the urge to touch anything. She’d bet her entire inheritance that even the air here was filtered to smell expensive.

“Alright,” Adrian said, sliding off his jacket and draping it neatly over his chair. “Let’s establish rules.”

“Rules?” Elena echoed, perching on the edge of a chair like she was ready to bolt.

“Yes. Boundaries, expectations. If we’re going to fake date, we need clarity.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’ve done this before?”

He ignored the jab and opened a notepad. “Rule one: no kissing in private. Only when necessary for the cameras.”

Her face heated at the casual mention of kissing, and she hated herself for it. “You say that like it’s something you’re dying to avoid.”

“On the contrary,” Adrian replied smoothly, his pen scratching across the paper. “I think it’s safer that way. Don’t want you catching feelings.”

Elena’s jaw dropped. “You—you arrogant—”

“Rule two,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “public appearances at least twice a week. Dinners, charity events, galas.”

“Oh good,” she snapped. “Because being paraded around like arm candy is exactly what I dreamed of when I was a little girl.”

His lips twitched again, like he was fighting a smile. “Rule three: we coordinate statements. No surprises to the press.”

She leaned forward, snatching the pen from his hand. “Fine. My turn. Rule four: no calling me after ten p.m. I actually value sleep, unlike some soulless corporate vampire.”

Adrian raised a brow. “Soulless corporate vampire?”

“You heard me.” She scribbled the words on the notepad in dramatic loops.

He took the pen back, their fingers brushing briefly. The contact was quick, accidental, but her breath caught anyway. He noticed—she could see it in the flicker of his gaze—but he didn’t comment.

“Rule five,” he said quietly, “we trust each other. Whatever happens, we protect this arrangement.”

Something about his tone—serious, steady—made her pause. Beneath the smug exterior, there was a weight there. A promise. She looked away before it unsettled her further.

⸻

Their first outing as a “couple” came faster than Elena expected. A charity art exhibition downtown, full of photographers and gossip columnists desperate for a glimpse of Manhattan’s elite.

Adrian met her outside in a tailored charcoal suit that looked like it had been stitched by angels. Elena arrived in a scarlet gown her stylist had begged her to wear, the color making her skin glow. When Adrian’s eyes swept over her, his expression didn’t change—but his silence said enough.

“Don’t even start,” she warned, adjusting the strap of her dress.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he replied smoothly.

“Good.”

“…Stunning,” he added, so softly she almost missed it.

Her heart stuttered. She pretended not to hear.

Inside, they were a vision of perfection. Adrian’s hand rested lightly at her waist as they walked, photographers snapping every angle. Elena pasted on her best smile, though her insides were a jumble.

“Remember the rules,” Adrian murmured.

“I am,” she whispered back. “Smile, walk, pretend I don’t want to stab you with a canapé fork.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound so rare and warm that her resolve wavered.

They paused before a large abstract painting, and Elena leaned closer, lowering her voice. “So what happens if I break one of your precious rules?”

Adrian tilted his head, his lips curving in that maddening half-smile. “Try me.”

For one reckless moment, she wanted to. Just to see what he’d do. But then the cameras flashed again, and she straightened, remembering the world was watching.

Later, as they mingled, Elena caught herself noticing things she shouldn’t. The way Adrian bent slightly when she spoke, as if tuning out the rest of the room. The way his hand lingered at her back, steady and reassuring, when the crowd pressed too close. The way his gaze softened—just for a second—when she laughed at something.

This is fake, she reminded herself. Rules. Boundaries. No feelings.

But when they stepped onto the balcony for a breath of air, away from the cameras, she realized the truth: pretending had never felt so dangerously real.

Adrian leaned against the railing, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. “You’re good at this,” he said.

“At pretending?” she asked.

“At making it look real.”

Her throat tightened. She forced a laugh. “Maybe I’m just a better actress than you thought.”

“Maybe,” he said, though his voice was low, thoughtful.

For a long moment, the city glittered around them, the sounds of the party muffled. And Elena realized she wasn’t sure where the performance ended anymore.