Fake Dating the Billionaire

Chapter Five

Athlea’s Pov

I stood in the middle of my huge guest bedroom, glaring at Ashton as he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The room was nicer than any hotel I had ever seen in my life, with a giant fluffy bed, white silk curtains, and a private bathroom that looked like it was made of solid marble. But right now, I didn't care about the fancy decorations. My chest felt tight, and my nerves were strung together like live wires.

Ashton let out a deep sigh, running a hand over his dark hair. The harsh overhead light caught the sharp lines of his face, making him look tired, though he still tried to wear that cold mask of his.

"My father is not going to throw you out, Athlea," Ashton said, his voice dropping into a low, steady hum. "He is just coming to sniff around. He thinks this relationship is a publicity stunt we made up to save the hotel merger. If he sees us acting like a normal, happy couple, he will back off."

"And what if he doesn't?" I shot back, stepping closer to him, my voice rising. "What if he figures out the truth? What if he looks at me and sees a poor girl who is only here because her dad left her drowning in bills? I am not good at playing high-society games, Ashton. I don't know how to smile at rich people who think they are better than everyone else."

Ashton stopped leaning against the doorframe. He pushed off the wood and walked straight into my room, closing the distance between us until he was standing right in front of me. He was so tall that I had to tilt my head way back just to look into his eyes.

"Listen to me," Ashton whispered, his stormy eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, fierce intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. "My father is a bully. He spends his whole life looking for weaknesses in other people so he can crush them. But you are not weak, Athlea. You stood up to me in that office yesterday, and you stood up to that reporter on the street. If my father tries to make you feel small tomorrow night, you look him right in the eye and bite back. You have every right to be in this room."

I stared up at him, completely stunned. For a second, the cold, arrogant billionaire CEO disappeared, and I just saw a man standing beside me in the dark, ready to fight his own family for my protection. A warm, strange shiver ran all the way down my spine, mixing with a nervous flutter in my stomach.

"You're only saying that because my mess ruins your business merger," I mumbled, trying to look away from his intense gaze, though my feet felt glued to the floor.

"Maybe," Ashton murmured softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He raised his hand slowly, and for a heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to touch my face. But he stopped himself, dropping his hand back to his side as he took a step backward. "Get some sleep, Athlea. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the room, leaving the door slightly cracked.

The afternoon sun was already casting long amber shadows across the city by the time Ashton informed me we were heading out.

"My father's private assistant confirmed he's coming for dinner tonight," Ashton said as we rode the private elevator down to the underground garage. "We need to look like we’ve been spending the day together outside the penthouse. It helps sell the narrative."

Twenty minutes later, we stepped out of the black town car and into L’Étoile, an exclusive, high-end patisserie nestled in a quiet, upscale commercial district. The bell above the door chimed softly, and the rich scent of artisanal vanilla, espresso, and caramelized sugar immediately filled the air. Unlike the sterile quiet of the penthouse, this place buzzed with low murmurs, the clink of porcelain, and the quiet elegance of wealthy patrons chatting over pastries.

I kept close to Ashton, acutely aware of how out of place my faded sneakers and canvas bag looked against the polished marble floor and velvet-cushioned booths.

"Choose something," Ashton murmured, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back. The warmth of his palm burned right through my jacket. "My father loves traditional French tarts. If we bring back something from here, it shows domestic synergy."

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help a small smirk. "Is everything in your life a corporate strategy, Mr. Sterling?"

"Everything," he replied dryly, though a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

As we waited at the glass counter for the boxed pastries, a well-dressed woman two spots down suddenly gasped, her eyes darting from Ashton's face to mine, then down to the front page of a lifestyle magazine resting on a nearby table.

Panic flared in my chest. I stiffened, instinctively stepping back.

Before the woman could open her mouth or pull out her phone camera, Ashton smoothly shifted his body, stepping directly into her line of sight to block her view. At the same time, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. His gaze swept over the room with such cold, fierce authority that the woman quickly looked away, busying herself with her coffee cup.

"Relax," Ashton whispered against my hair, his breath warm and steady. "I told you, you're safe with me."

"I'm not scared of them," I whispered back fiercely, though my heart was hammering a mile a minute against his chest. "I just don't feel like being media bait today."

"Then let's go home," he said softly.

When we returned to the penthouse, the sun was dipping lower, painting the sky in streaks of bruised purple and orange. The clock on the microwave hit 4:45 PM.

Fifteen minutes later, a loud, sharp chime echoed through the penthouse.

The private elevator bell rang.

We both froze.

"He's early," Ashton whispered, his entire body suddenly going rigid, his relaxed posture turning back into the cold, armored businessman in a single second.

The private elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and heavy footsteps echoed across the marble hallway.

"Ashton!" a booming, arrogant voice called out from the living room. "I hope you have a very good explanation for why your face is plastered all over the morning papers with some random charity case!"

My heart slammed pounded heavily. II looked at Ashton, my hands trembling slightly at my sides. The game had officially started.

Ashton didn't hesitate. He walked across the kitchen floor, stopped right in front of me, and before I could even blink, his strong hand reached out, gently cupping the side of my face. His thumb brushed softly against my cheekbone, his touch warm.

"Remember your cue," Ashton whispered down to me, his dark eyes burning with pure warning and a strange, hidden promise. Then, he raised his voice so it echoed straight into the living room. "Come on out, Dad. Let me introduce you to the woman who completely changed my world."