CHAPTER 4
1500 Words
Olivia
I’m jarred awake from my sleep by a persistent call on my phone.
It drills straight into my skull, sharp and unforgiving, and I groan as I fumble for the device on my nightstand. My eyes are barely open when I swipe to answer, irritation already flooding my chest.
“I swear, if this is work—” I start, my voice rough, annoyance in full throttle.
“Hey, girl,” a familiar voice chirps on the other end.
I freeze.
Then my body relaxes all at once.
“Hey,” I say, a smile slipping onto my face before I can stop it.
Avery.
My best friend. My sanity. The one person who knows me, and how to cut through my walls without asking permission.
“You sound like you were about to commit murder,” she says lightly.
“You called like my rent was overdue,” I mumble, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling. “What time is it?”
“Late enough that I know you weren’t sleeping properly,” she replies. “Which tells me something is wrong.”
I exhale slowly.
Trust Avery to hear what I don’t say.
“I’m fine,” I lie out of reflex.
She hums. “That’s my cue that you’re absolutely not.”
I close my eyes. Images from the morning rush back uninvited—headlines, speculation, that photo, captured and twisted into something else.
“Have you checked the news?” she asks carefully.
Of course she could tell it was me in the photo.
My silence answers for me.
“Oh,” Avery says. “Oh, Liv.”
“I didn’t even take the photo,” I say quietly.
“I know,” she replies instantly. “That’s why I called. I figured you’d be spiralling instead of screaming.”
That earns a weak laugh.
“Only a little spiralling,” I admit.
She sighs. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t have time,” I say, even though I hate how true it sounds.
“Because you’re meeting him,” she guesses.
My eyes snap open. “How did you—”
“You never say you don’t have time unless you’re walking into something you can’t control,” Avery says gently. “Is it him?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” she breathes. “Okay. First of all—are you safe?”
The question grounds me more than she probably realizes.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s… professional. I think.”
“Mmm,” she says. “That didn’t sound convincing.”
“It’s not romantic,” I add quickly.
“I didn’t ask that,” Avery replies. “I asked if you are okay.”
I sit up slowly, pulling the sheets around me.
“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly.
She’s quiet for a beat, then says, “Just remember—you don’t owe anyone anything. Not him. Not the public. Not a story.”
“I know.”
“And Liv?”
“Yeah?”
“If this starts to feel a little too much,” she says softly, “call me.”
My throat tightens.
“I will,” I promise.
Just then, a message comes in from Jack with the details of our meetup with Noah.
“Good,” Avery adds, lighter now. “Now go. Be intimidating. You do that thing where you stare like you’re unimpressed.”
I smile despite myself. “I do not do that.”
“You absolutely do. Call me later.”
The line goes dead.
I sit there for a moment, letting the quiet settle.
Then I get up.
I shower, dress carefully without meaning to, then change twice because I don’t want to look like I tried. Black trousers. A soft blouse. Flats. Neutral armor. I leave my camera at home on purpose.
Jack’s words echo in my head: No recording devices. No cameras.
The car he sends is discreet—no logo, no conversation. We move through the city like a secret. The building we stop at is glass and steel and confidence, the kind of place where decisions are made quietly and lives change loudly or ruined.
Jack meets me in the lobby.
“Thank you for coming,” he says, already turning toward the elevators.
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” I remind him.
He smiles. “I know.”
The elevator ride is silent. The doors open to a private floor with a waiting area that feels more like a living room than an office. Muted colors. Soft light. Art that probably costs more than my annual rent.
“He’ll be a few minutes,” Jack says. “Water?”
“I’m fine.”
He leaves me alone.
I stand there, suddenly aware of everything—my breathing, the weight of my choices, the way my hands feel empty without my camera.
The door opens.
I turn.
Noah Roberts steps in.
Up close, he’s different. Less polished. More human. Grey eyes. A hint of stubble. Dark slacks, white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. No jacket. No tie. He looks tired in a way that doesn’t ask for sympathy.
Our eyes meet.
This time, there’s no chaos to hide behind.
“Olivia,” he says and tapers off, like he meant to follow it up but never quite decided on what.
“Noah.”
He gestures toward the seating area. “Please.”
We sit across from each other, the space between us deliberate.
“I want to be clear,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t think I did.”
“Good,” he replies. “Because I won’t apologize for something you didn’t ask for.”
That catches me off guard.
“I don’t want this,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because the story is already moving,” he answers. “And I don’t trust it.”
“You don’t trust me,” I say.
“No,” he replies calmly. “I trust you more than I trust the narrative.”
That lands deeper than I expect.
“If I do this,” I say, “it’s not because I believe in the story.”
“I figured.”
“It’s because it gives me access. To things I want. Stability. A future.”
“I respect that.”
“There will be rules.”
“Name them.”
“No lying to each other.”
“Agreed.”
“No using my work against me.”
A flicker of tension crosses his face. “Agreed.”
“No pretending this is more than it is.”
He hesitates.
Just a second.
“Agreed,” he says.
I stand. “Then we’re clear.”
“Olivia,” he says, stopping me.
I turn.
“For what it’s worth,” he adds, “I never meant to make you the center of anything.”
“I know,” I reply.
And I do.
As I walk out, I don’t look back.
The elevator ride down feels longer than the one up.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls—composed, calm, professional. Inside, something has shifted.
Not cracked. Not broken. Just… nudged out of place.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like anything.
A transaction. Access for image. Stability for silence. A mutually beneficial illusion.
So why does my chest feel tight?
The doors slide open. The lobby is busy, indifferent to the deal I’ve just made upstairs. I walk out without looking back, my steps steady even as my thoughts are all tangled up.
Outside, the car is already waiting.
I slide in and exhale for what feels like the first time all day.
My phone buzzes.
Avery: You alive?
A small smile tugs at my lips.
Me: Barely.
Avery: That bad?
I glance out the window as the city blurs past.
Me: That complicated.
Three dots appear. Disappear.
Avery: Just remember who you were before this.
I lock my phone and lean my head back.
That’s the thing, though.
I don’t know who I was before this moment anymore.
Before Noah’s steady gaze. Before the way he listened instead of talking over me. Before the strange sense that this arrangement—fake as it is—might demand more honesty than anything real ever has.
This is supposed to be pretend.
Public appearances. Scripted affection. Carefully curated smiles.
But I’ve spent my whole life surviving what wasn’t real.
And I’m not sure I know how to protect myself from something that might become real without permission.
The car turns onto my street.
Tomorrow, the story changes.
Tomorrow, I become the woman beside Noah Roberts.
And standing this close to him already—
I’m not afraid of being seen.
I’m afraid of what might happen if he sees me back.
- Writer
