CHAPTER 9: The Fake Date
1064 Words
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*CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA*
*CHAPTER 9: The Fake Date*
_∼
*Day 32*
PR was Damon’s last resort.
And he hated it.
“This is stupid,” he said.
Staring at the 3 women in blazers in his living room.
No power, so they had a generator. Loud.
“Mr. Blackwood, your image is in the gutter,” the head PR lady said. “We need to humanize you.”
“By dating my stepdaughter?”
“By dating. Period.” She looked at me. “And Miss Carter makes it look... protective. Not predatory.”
I wanted to die.
“Absolutely not,” Damon said.
“Sir, the board will unfreeze assets if public opinion shifts 15%.”
“How long?”
“One dinner. Photos. Walk in the park. 2 hours.”
Damon looked at me.
Golden eyes. Begging.
“Don’t make me do this.”
“I’m not making you,” I whispered. “We need the money. For the house. For Clara.”
He rubbed his face.
“Fine. One dinner. That’s it.”
---
*Day 33. 7pm. ‘The Date’*
They dressed me up.
Long black dress. Hair down.
No scarf. Mark on full display.
“Authentic,” PR said.
Damon was in a suit.
But he looked miserable.
Tie too tight. Jaw clenched.
“Rules,” he said in the car.
“1. No touching.
2. No smiling at me.
3. We leave after dessert.”
“Got it.”
The restaurant was packed.
Of course it was.
PR invited the press.
Cameras. Flash.
“DAMON! SMILE!”
“ABI! LOOK AT HIM!”
We sat.
Table for 2.
Candle between us.
So fake it hurt.
Waiter: “Would you like wine, sir?”
“No. Water.”
“For both of you?”
“Yes.”
Awkward.
So awkward.
PR was at a table nearby. Giving thumbs up.
“Ask her about her day,” one mouthed.
Damon sighed.
“How was your day, Abi.”
“Fine. Yours?”
“Miserable.”
“Honest.”
A laugh escaped me.
His eyes flicked to me.
Caught it.
Almost smiled.
Caught himself.
“Dessert?” the waiter asked.
“Check,” Damon said.
Then it happened.
A woman stood up.
From the bar.
Young. Omega.
“You’re disgusting,” she yelled. “She’s a child!”
The room went silent.
Damon stood. Slow.
“She’s 19.”
“You marked her! You’re her stepdad!”
“I saved her life!”
I stood too.
“Stop,” I said. To her. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know what I see!”
Then she threw her wine.
At me.
Damon moved faster.
He was in front of me.
Took it on his suit.
Red. Down his white shirt.
“Get out,” he said. Voice low. Deadly.
Security dragged her out.
The cameras ate it up.
Damon turned to me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m done.”
We left.
No dessert.
No walk in the park.
---
*In the car.*
PR was furious.
“That was terrible! You looked angry!”
“I WAS angry!” Damon snapped.
“You were supposed to look in love!”
“I’m not in love!”
Silence.
Me in the backseat. Staring at my hands.
Red wine on my dress too.
Damon looked back.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I was.
The car stopped.
Home.
Dark. No generator.
Damon got out. Came to my door.
Opened it.
Hand out.
For 2 seconds I thought he’d pull it back.
He didn’t.
I took it.
His hand was warm.
And cold from the wine.
We walked inside.
Together.
In the dark.
---
*11pm. Kitchen. Candles.*
He’d changed.
Sweatpants. T-shirt.
Hair wet.
I was in his hoodie.
We sat on the floor.
Again.
Seems like that’s our spot now.
“Sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For that. For putting you through that.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. I agreed to it.”
He looked at me.
In the candlelight.
Tired. Real.
No CEO mask.
“Did it look bad?” I asked.
“What?”
“The photos. Did we look...”
“Real?”
“Yeah.”
He thought about it.
“No. We looked like two people who hate being there.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
We laughed. Quiet.
Then he said it.
“I’m proud of you. For standing up to her.”
“Thanks.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I did.”
The bond pulsed.
Warm. Steady.
Not heat.
Just... him.
“Abi.”
“What?”
“If anyone ever touches you again, I’ll—”
“I know.”
“Good.”
He stood.
“I should go. Early meeting.”
“You have no money.”
“Still have a company. Barely.”
At the door he stopped.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You looked pretty tonight. Even with wine on you.”
Then he was gone.
I touched the mark.
It was warm.
---
*Next morning. News.*
_BLACKWOOD DEFENDS STEPDAUGHTER IN PUBLIC MELTDOWN_
_PHOTOS: INTIMATE DINNER TURNS VIOLENT_
But there was one photo.
Us.
Walking out.
His hand in mine.
Both of us soaked.
Both of us not letting go.
The comments:
_‘Okay maybe he does care’_
_‘She doesn’t look scared’_
_‘Leave them alone’_
15%.
PR texted: _‘We hit 15%. Accounts unfrozen.’_
Damon texted me:
*Unknown: We did it. Thank you for doing that with me.*
*Me: Would you do it again?*
*Unknown: God no. But yes. For you.*
---
*That night.*
Knock.
Damon.
With groceries.
Actual food.
“I bought pasta. Not burnt this time. I promise.”
We cooked together.
In the kitchen.
Me chopping. Him stirring.
No cameras. No Elena. No board.
Just us.
And the smell of garlic.
“One year,” he said.
“One year,” I said.
But the fake date felt less fake.
And the real stuff felt more dangerous.
Bound by his name.
For 50+ chapters.
And we just went public.
---
*END CHAPTER 9*
I AM NOT OKAY 😭 HAND HOLDING OUT OF THE RESTAURANT??? “YOU LOOKED PRETTY”??? COOKING TOGETHER???
- Writer
