Hired Heart

The hospital hallway reeked of antiseptic and forgotten dreams. Lia Carter leaned against the cold wall outside the billing office, the envelope in her hand crumpled from how tightly she was gripping it. The numbers danced in her mind like flames licking at dry wood—merciless, hungry, endless. $27,893.56. That was the total left to pay for her mother’s final hospital stay. A price tag for a life lost. Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. UNKNOWN NUMBER She hesitated. Bill collectors didn’t call this late, and no one she knew had enough time—or pity—to offer a solution. Still, she answered. "Hello?" A smooth, clipped voice responded, “Miss Carter. I was told you’re dependable. Quiet. Discreet.” The voice was male. Deep. Like black coffee laced with something more dangerous. Her heart stuttered. “Who is this?” “Someone who can solve your financial problem.” She blinked. “Excuse me?” “You work at Le Pavé, yes? The French restaurant near downtown?” Lia’s spine straightened. “Who gave you my—?” “Does it matter? You’re barely surviving, struggling through med school, and drowning in debt. I have an offer for you, Miss Carter. One night of your time, strictly professional, and I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.” Lia’s breath caught. She had heard of escorts being approached like this. Was this what it was? A proposition wrapped in money and power? “I’m not for sale,” she bit out. A pause. Then a low chuckle. “Good. That means you won’t be easy to fake. I need someone believable.” Believable? “I need a girlfriend, Lia. A fake one. For exactly eight weeks. It’s a business arrangement. You’ll accompany me to five major public events, pretend we’re madly in love, and smile for the cameras. In return, I’ll cover your mother’s medical debts in full.” Lia’s mind froze. This had to be a joke. A cruel, elaborate prank. “Why me?” she whispered. “Because you’re not from my world. And because you have nothing to lose.” He hung up before she could respond. Three days later, Lia stood in front of the ValeCorp tower—an obsidian giant slicing into the Boston skyline. She almost didn’t come. But her bank account had laughed in her face this morning. Rent was due. Her tuition deadline loomed. She hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days. She walked inside. The elevator ride was silent, save for the soft whir of polished mechanics and her own breathing. At the top floor, a woman with sharp cheekbones and a Bluetooth headset ushered her into a glass-walled office. Then the door clicked shut behind her. He was real. Damien Vale. CEO. Billionaire. Ruthless. Icy. Tabloid poison. He sat behind a matte black desk like a king on a throne, every inch of him tailored, composed, lethal. And he was looking at her like she was a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “Miss Carter,” he greeted. “Sit.” Lia did. Mostly because her knees had stopped listening. “You have five minutes,” she said, folding her arms. He smirked. “Efficient. I like that.” Damien tapped a folder beside him. “I’ve done my research. You’re quiet. You stay out of the spotlight. You’re not a social climber. That’s what I need.” “For what?” she asked, voice tight. My ex-fiancée is marrying a senator in six weeks. My board wants me to look... stable. The media needs a distraction. So I want to stage a romance. You’ll play the part of my doting girlfriend. In return, I will settle your debt. All of it.” Lia tried to breathe. It sounded simple. But nothing about him—his cold precision, the way he studied her like a variable in an equation—was simple. “And if I say no?” she asked. “Then I’ll find someone else. But I prefer authenticity. And desperation, Miss Carter, is hard to fake.” Lia flinched. Bastard. “You think you know me?” she snapped. “I know people. You won’t get a better offer.” Silence fell. Then he slid the folder toward her. Inside: the contract. The terms. The total amount. $27,893.56. Paid in full upon signing. Another $50,000 in bonuses after the final event. Lia stared at the page. Eight weeks. Five events. No intimacy required. Just appearances. Smiles. Holding hands. It sounded harmless. But somehow, being near Damien Vale felt like stepping into a cage of glass. Clear. Beautiful. Fragile. “You want a girlfriend,” she said slowly. “But you act like you’ve never had one.” “I’ve had many,” he said coolly. That’s the problem. None of them were real.” “And you think I will be?” He looked at her then—really looked. And for the first time, she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Not cruelty. But exhaustion. Or maybe loneliness pretending to be control. “I think,” he said quietly, “you’re the only one who won’t lie to me when it matters.” Lia didn’t respond. She signed. The first event was a gala fundraiser for children’s hospitals. Of course, it was. “Ironic,” Lia muttered as she stepped into the limo in her borrowed satin gown. Damien turned toward her, black tux crisp, his jaw sharper than sin. “You clean up well,” he said. “You still look like you charge a fee for eye contact,” she shot back. He smirked. “That’s in the fine print.” They arrived at the venue thirty minutes later. A red carpet. Cameras. Flashing lights. Lia’s stomach flipped. Then Damien took her hand. His fingers were warm. His grip, steady. The way he leaned in toward her and whispered in her ear— “Smile like you love me. But not too much. —sent shivers down her spine. And suddenly, they were walking the carpet like royalty. A storm of cameras followed. “Who’s the mystery girl?” a reporter shouted. “Is she the one who tamed the Ice King?” Damien chuckled softly beside her, then turned toward her with a smile so convincing, it startled her. But his eyes—dark, unreadable—never smiled at all. He was performing. So was she. And yet, when his fingers brushed the small of her back, she couldn’t tell where the acting stopped. Hours passed. Lia mingled with strangers in gowns worth more than her apartment lease. Damien moved beside her like a shadow—always close, never touching, except when they were watching. And when their eyes met in the champagne-lit ballroom, it was like a game neither of them wanted to win. A woman in a silver dress approached them later, fake lashes fluttering. “Damien,” she purred. “It’s been a while.” Lia sensed the tension before he even spoke. “Cassandra,” he said coolly. “Still chasing headlines, I see.” The woman’s gaze flicked to Lia. “And this is?” “My girlfriend,” Damien said, without pause. “Lia.” Cassandra smiled. But it was the kind of smile that left paper cuts. “Pretty. Quiet. Just your type.” Lia held out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.” “Mm,” Cassandra hummed, not taking it. Damien’s arm slid around Lia’s waist, slow and deliberate. “Try to behave,” he murmured in Cassandra’s direction. “You’re in public.” The other woman huffed and walked away. Lia let out a slow breath. “Was that your ex?” “One of many,” Damien said. “She likes attention.” “And you don’t?” He turned to her, expression unreadable. “I like control.” Lia studied him. “You really think this will work? That pretending will make the world forget your damage?” His lips curled. “I don’t care what they think. I care about what I can use.” “And I’m a tool to you?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. Damien leaned in close, his voice low. “No, Lia. You’re my sharpest weapon.” By midnight, Lia was back in the limo, her feet sore and heart pounding. Damien sat across from her, tie loosened, fingers scrolling through messages. “You did well tonight,” he said, not looking up. “I wasn’t performing for praise.” “Good,” he replied. “Because next time, it’ll be harder.” She frowned. “What’s next?” He met her eyes. “My mother’s engagement party.” Lia blinked. “Your mother’s—?” “She hates gold diggers,” he said dryly. “I can’t wait to introduce you.” Her stomach dropped. “What exactly have I signed up for?” Damien gave her a small, cold smile. “Eight weeks,” he said. “Of pretending to love me.” “And after that?” He looked away. “There is no after.”