Fake Dating the Billionaire

Chapter Three

Ashton’s Pov

"If this merger falls apart because of a pregnancy rumor, I will personally fire every single one of you," I warned, letting my gaze sweep over the room.

"We hear you, Mr. Sterling," murmured one of the junior directors nervously, shifting in his seat.

I slammed my hand down on the polished mahogany boardroom table, the loud c***k echoing off the glass walls of the Sterling Hotels skyscraper. The twenty board members sitting around the long table flinched, but my father, sitting right at the head, just leaned back with a slow, hateful smirk on his face.

"Calm yourself, Ashton," muttered my father, though his eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction.

The morning sun was shining brightly over the city, but my world felt like it was burning to the ground. Up on the big projector screen behind me was that wretched photograph—the one of Athlea Morgan and me walking out of the fertility clinic in the rain.

"Control your temper, Ashton," my father said, his voice dripping with fake pity. "The board has every right to worry. Investors don't want a CEO whose personal life is chaotic and scandalous. Maybe it is time you stepped down as CEO."

"I have no intention of going anywhere," I replied icily, staring straight back at him.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might c***k. Hand over my empire to my scheming father? Never.

"I am not stepping down," I said through gritted teeth, my voice cold as ice. "The merger is happening. Give me twenty-four hours, and I will clean up this mess."

"You are welcome to try, son, but the damage is already done," my father chuckled darkly.

I turned on my heel and walked out of the boardroom, my lawyer, Marcus, hurrying to keep up.

"Ashton, wait," Marcus whispered, catching my sleeve in the hallway. "What are your options? If we tell the truth—that she is just a surrogate—the media will tear you apart, and the investors will panic. But if we deny her completely, she might panic and leak medical records. We are trapped."

"I am well aware of the stakes, Marcus," I snapped quietly, striding toward my private elevator.

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city. My mind raced. I hated feeling trapped, but a solution was forming. We didn't hide the truth; we changed the narrative.

"We don't deny her, and we don't call her a surrogate," I said slowly. "We tell the world she is my girlfriend. A billionaire expecting a baby with his partner is a love story. It saves the merger, and it shuts my father up permanently."

"Do you honestly think she will agree to this?" Marcus asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Marcus blinked in shock. "Do you honestly think Miss Morgan is just going to go along with playing your pretend girlfriend? She looked terrified just dealing with the press yesterday."

"She will do what is necessary," I muttered coldly, though doubt lingered in my mind.

"She won't have a choice," I muttered. But deep down, I knew how fragile she was right now.

An hour later, Marcus and I stood inside Athlea’s cramped apartment. The air smelled like old paper and cheap lemon cleaner. Athlea stood by her counter, arms wrapped tightly around herself, looking small, overwhelmed, and intensely wary as she stared at me like a cornered animal.

"Why are you here again?" she asked warily, clutching her arms tighter.

"You want me to do what?" she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief and anxiety.

"You heard me," I said, keeping my voice level. "Move into my penthouse tonight. Play the role of my girlfriend for a few weeks until the merger goes through. In exchange, I will clear every single debt your father left behind, pay off your house, and give you an extra hundred thousand dollars for the trouble."

"And if I refuse your little game?" Athlea challenged quietly, her chin lifting a fraction.

Athlea stared at me, her big eyes wide with shock. I could see the heavy internal struggle—the immense temptation of safety colliding with her fear of losing control completely.

"I... I can't just move in with you," she whispered, her voice shaking as she clutched the edge of the counter. "You think you can just buy my life? You think because I'm broke, I'll just jump when you snap your fingers?"

"I am offering a practical solution to a mutual problem," I countered, keeping my tone steady.

"It’s a business arrangement, Athlea," I argued, stepping forward. "It protects you from the media storm, and it saves my company."

"No, it protects you," she said, her eyes welling with sudden tears of frustration, though she kept her distance, too intimidated to fight me tooth and nail. "You want a shield so your rich friends don't look down on you. I'm just... I'm trapped."

"Think about your home, Athlea," I urged softly, stepping a bit closer.

I hated seeing the raw panic in her eyes, even as I pressed forward. "Fine. Those are the terms. Pack your bags."

That evening, the cameras caught us stepping out of a town car in front of a high-end charity gala downtown. I kept my hand firmly at the small of her back, guiding her past the blinding camera flashes.

"Stay close to me," I murmured to her as the noise of the crowd surged forward.

"Mr. Sterling! Is it true she's just an ordinary girl who trapped you for a payout?" a loud reporter shouted.

Athlea flinched violently beside me, turning pale. Something inside me shifted. Seeing her look so defenseless against the mob broke my usual cold detachment. I pulled her closer against my side, wrapping my arm securely around her waist, and glared at the reporter.

"Watch your mouth," I growled, my voice echoing over the street. "She is not a trap. She is the most important person in my life, and anyone who disrespects her answers to me."

Athlea gasped softly, turning her head to stare up at me in absolute shock.