My Billionaire Fiancé Is A Lie

Let's find the biggest baddest place Brooklyn’s got!

Leila's POV

If anyone had told me twenty-four hours ago that I'd be sitting in the back of a black town car headed for a five-star restaurant, dressed in silk worth more than my rent for the year, next to the man who'd humiliated me in front of half of Manhattan... I'd have laughed in their face.

But there I was.

Luca sat beside me, immaculate in a navy suit with a tie so sharp it could slice glass. His profile was cut like it had been designed for billboards—calm, unreadable, and far too smug for someone who'd dragged me into his circus.

"Relax your shoulders," he said without looking at me.

"I am relaxed," I lied.

"You're sitting like you're about to take an exam."

"Well, forgive me for being a little tense about having dinner with people who can make or break your multimillion-dollar deal."

He smirked faintly. "Marcus Everleigh is a romantic. He's here for the story, not the balance sheet. You give him the story, I'll take care of the rest."

"And by story, you mean—"

"Our perfect, whirlwind romance." He glanced at me then, eyes glinting. "Sell it, Monroe."

The car pulled up to Le Rêve, the kind of restaurant where the waiting list was measured in months, not days. A valet opened the door for Luca, and before I could step out, his hand appeared in front of me—steady, commanding, a silent order to take it.

I did.

Inside, the place glowed in warm golds and crystal whites, every table a stage for whispered conversations and deals worth fortunes. Marcus Everleigh and his wife were already seated at a private table near the back.

Marcus was a tall, broad man with laugh lines and the confident ease of someone used to being listened to. His wife, Evelyn, was luminous—soft waves of blonde hair, a sequined dress that sparkled every time she moved. They looked like the kind of couple who made strangers sigh in airports.

"Luca!" Marcus rose with a wide grin, shaking his hand firmly. "And this must be the famous Leila I've heard so much about."

My cheeks ached from the smile I forced. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Everleigh."

"Please, Marcus," he insisted.

Evelyn reached for my hands with a warmth that almost disarmed me. "And call me Evelyn. My goodness, you're stunning. Luca undersold you."

I shot Luca a quick glance. "Did he now?"

He simply took his seat without flinching.

The wine arrived first—crystal glasses filled with something deep red and expensive. Small talk was easy at first—weather, the view from the restaurant, Evelyn's dress. But then Marcus leaned forward, eyes twinkling.

"So... tell us," he said. "When did you two first meet?"

I felt my stomach tighten.

Luca gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod—your cue.

I laced my fingers on the table and let my voice soften. "It was last spring. I was walking through Central Park, and there was this ridiculous old man feeding the pigeons with half a loaf of bread. I was staring because I thought, wow, people still do that? And then... I bumped straight into him." I gestured toward Luca. "I swear, I almost knocked the coffee out of his hand."

Evelyn gasped, already invested.

"And I offered to buy him a new one, but he refused," I continued. "Instead, he walked with me to a bench, and we ended up talking for two hours. It just... felt easy."

"That's sweet," Evelyn murmured.

Marcus turned to Luca. "When did you know she was the one?"

Without missing a beat, Luca said, "When she called me out on my arrogance within fifteen minutes of meeting me."

My head whipped toward him, surprised by how effortlessly he delivered it.

"She didn't care about my name, my money, any of it," he went on, looking directly at me. "She looked me in the eye like I was just... a man she'd run into on the street. I hadn't had that in a long time."

Evelyn let out a dreamy sigh.

"And the proposal?" Marcus asked.

Luca's eyes flicked to mine—again, my turn.

"It was... on the rooftop of my apartment building," I said, weaving the lie as smoothly as silk. "I thought he was just taking me up there to see the skyline, but then he pulled out the ring and told me I was the only person who'd ever made Manhattan feel like home."

Evelyn clutched her husband's hand. "Oh, Marcus..."

They kissed. Right there. Like they were living in a Nicholas Sparks adaptation.

Through the rest of the night, the questions kept coming. Where was our first trip together? What song was 'ours'? What habit of mine drove Luca crazy? I lied through every single answer—painting us as a couple hopelessly in love, perfectly matched, soulmates carved out for each other.

And Luca... Luca played along like a seasoned actor. He laughed at my jokes, brushed his hand over mine, stole glances like I was his whole world. Once, he leaned in to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and my heart stumbled—not because I believed it, but because for a second, I almost wanted to.

When the dessert plates were cleared, Marcus raised his glass. "To love," he declared.

"To love," Evelyn echoed.

Luca's gaze held mine. "To love," he said, low and deliberate.

I lifted my glass. "To love."

And then—because Marcus and Evelyn were watching, we kissed.

It wasn't a soft, polite kiss. Luca's mouth claimed mine with the confidence of someone who knew the value of spectacle. My hand ended up against his chest, feeling the slow, steady thud of his heart, his scent sharp and expensive in my nose. The kiss lingered just long enough to make Evelyn sigh and Marcus chuckle.

When we pulled back, Luca's eyes were unreadable, and mine, well, mine were a little too wide.

We wrapped up with promises to see each other again, and by the time we all stepped out into the cool night air, Marcus was practically glowing. "I'll have my team draw up the contracts first thing Monday," he told Luca.

"Perfect," Luca said smoothly.

Our cars pulled up one after the other. The men shook hands, Evelyn pulled me into a warm hug, saying we should do this again some other time.

Luca's hand was on the small of my back, guiding me to our car. He opened the door, his fingers brushing mine, and for some reason, my pulse tripped.

The moment I sat down, he closed the door behind me, walked around, and slid in beside me.

As the car pulled away, I caught his reflection in the tinted window—smirk in place, the very picture of a man who'd just won.

I should've been thinking about how much I hated him.

Instead, all I could think about was that kiss.

No man had ever kissed me that good before.

_

I could tell Luca was in a good mood the moment we slid into the back of the car. He didn't speak right away, just sat there with that quiet, commanding aura he wore so well, scrolling through his phone like he owned the world—which, in some ways, he probably did.

I was still processing the fact that Marcus Everleigh and his wife were probably somewhere giggling about our perfect love story, the one we'd fabricated on the spot and wrapped up with a kiss that I should not still be thinking about.

"That was..." Luca's voice finally cut through my spiraling thoughts, deep and low.

"A successful night?" I offered, trying to keep it casual, but my cheeks warmed at the memory of my hand in his, his arm behind my chair, his lips—ugh, stop it, Leila.

His mouth quirked, that almost-smile he never gave away easily. "You exceeded expectations."

"Wow. High praise from the ice king himself."

He ignored my jab, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a check. Not just any check—my eyes widened at the number before my brain could stop me. "Luca..." My voice cracked. "This is... this is more than the entire agreement's first payment."

"You earned it." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if we were talking about the weather. "Consider it a bonus for tonight. Marcus will sign on Monday. That's worth rewarding."

I must have looked like I'd swallowed an entire cake because he added, "Try not to faint. I'd rather not explain to Zara why I brought you home unconscious."

I gripped the check so tightly it might leave an imprint. "I'm not fainting. I'm just..." I shook my head, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. "I'm thinking about how many times I can order dessert this month without guilt."

"Manage it however you like." He tapped the divider between us, signaling the driver. "We're here."

When the car rolled to a stop outside Zara's apartment building. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

"Goodnight, Leila." His eyes locked on mine for a beat too long before he turned away.

I floated up the stairs like I was walking on air, burst through the front door, and yelled, "Zaraaaaa!"

Her head popped out from the kitchen, brows furrowed. "What, did you win the lottery?"

"Better!" I waved the check like a victory flag. "Look at this. LOOK. AT. THIS!"

She snatched it from me and her jaw dropped. "Girl, you are officially sugar-bossed. This is insane."

"I know!" I was laughing, spinning around the living room. "Dinner went perfectly. They were obsessed with us. Obsessed. We even had to kiss, and—"

"Ohhh, here we go." Zara's smirk was evil. "And you liked it?"

"I didn't say—"

"You liked it."

I threw a pillow at her. "I'm not crushing on my boss."

She crossed her arms. "Uh-huh. Sure. And I'm not addicted to those overpriced coffee drinks from the corner café."

I rolled my eyes, but the truth was, that kiss had been dangerous. Like there'd been a spark neither of us expected, and for one dizzy second, I'd forgotten this was an arrangement.

"Anyway," I said, shaking it off, "this means we can actually get a bigger apartment. No more tripping over each other in this shoebox."

Zara's eyes lit up instantly. "A big place?"

"With actual space for my brother to have his own room."

"And a huge kitchen so I can burn things in peace?"

"Yes!" I screamed, and she screamed, and then we were jumping up and down like two kids who'd just been told summer vacation was starting early.

"Wait, wait." I grabbed her hands. "Would you officially be my roommate? Like... forever?"

She grinned so wide it hurt to look at. "Hell yes. Let's find the biggest, baddest place Brooklyn's got."

We spent the next twenty minutes throwing out ridiculous ideas—paint colors, furniture styles, even arguing over whether we'd get a cat or a dog.

It was going to be a cat. I'd win that fight.

When the excitement finally slowed, I slipped into my brother's room. The lamp by his bed cast a soft glow, and he was curled up under the blankets, breathing slow and even. The sickness was gone now, his face smooth and peaceful.

I brushed a kiss across his forehead. "No puedo esperar a que empieces la escuela," I whispered.

He stirred, mumbling something in his sleep, and I smiled so wide it almost hurt. For the first time in weeks, it felt like maybe, just maybe, we were all going to be okay.