The Retreat of Doom
1177 Words
If there was a special corner in hell reserved for people trapped in fake relationships, Zara Bennett was sure she’d earned a suite.
Julian’s family had invited both sets of parents — and, of course, their “favorite couple” — for a weekend getaway at the Hayes family estate in the countryside.
Translation: a massive mansion with staff, golf courses, and more chandeliers than any sane human being needed.
Zara stepped out of the car, squinting up at the sprawling white building. “You grew up here? No wonder you think tap water is a personality trait.”
Julian chuckled, taking her suitcase. “Come on, Zee. Try not to look like you’re plotting a class revolution before we even check in.”
“I’m not plotting,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses. “I’m observing.”
“Same thing,” he teased.
Inside, everything gleamed — marble floors, fresh flowers, and portraits of Hayes' ancestors staring down like judgmental ghosts.
The families were already gathered in the grand salon. Vivienne waved excitedly. “There you are! Our future newlyweds!”
Zara’s cheeks hurt from a fake smile. “Surprise, we’re still pretending— I mean, together!”
Julian squeezed her hand just enough to make her shut up. “She’s just nervous,” he said smoothly.
“I’m not nervous,” she muttered. “Just allergic to nonsense.”
The weekend schedule was aggressively romantic:
Couple yoga at dawn.
Team cooking class.
Sunset garden dinner.
And — because the universe hated her — a “Trust Exercise” session where couples had to share heartfelt confessions in front of everyone.
“Remind me to fire my assistant for agreeing to this,” Julian murmured as they sat down for lunch.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “We’re doing every single thing on that list, fiancé. You started this.”
The Jealousy Begins
Lunch went surprisingly well — until Ethan Morgan showed up.
Tall, charming, and way too familiar with Zara, Ethan was the head of PR for Julian’s company — and one of Zara’s old flings.
“Zara Bennett,” Ethan said with a grin, kissing her cheek. “Haven’t seen you since the art gala last year.”
Julian’s fork froze midair.
Zara smiled politely. “Hey, Ethan. How’s the PR life?”
“Oh, busy as ever. Especially managing your man here,” Ethan said, nodding toward Julian. “He still drives everyone crazy — but I guess you know that better than anyone.”
Julian’s smile was sharp. “Some things never change.”
Zara felt the tension like static in the air. Julian’s arm snaked around the back of her chair, casual to anyone watching — possessive to anyone who knew him.
When Ethan offered to get her a drink, Julian’s reply came out smooth as silk.
“No need, she’s covered.”
Then he reached over and took a sip from her glass, eyes still on Ethan.
Zara blinked. “Did you just—?”
“Can’t have my fiancée drinking without me, can I?” he said, voice low enough only she could hear.
And damn him — she blushed.
Later That Evening
The garden glowed with fairy lights. Couples strolled along stone paths, laughter carried by the breeze. Zara stood by the fountain, trying to get a moment of peace — until Julian appeared beside her, two glasses of wine in hand.
“Thought you’d run off,” he said.
“I considered it,” she murmured, taking the glass. “Then I realized I don’t have a getaway car.”
He smirked. “I could drive.”
“Please. You’d have the GPS arguing with your ego before we hit the gate.”
He laughed — that low, genuine sound that always made her chest tighten.
Then his tone softened. “Are you okay?”
She glanced up at him, surprised. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve been quiet since lunch.” His gaze held hers. “Because of Ethan?”
Her brow lifted. “What about him?”
Julian looked away, jaw tense. “Nothing. Just didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
She stared. “You realize we’re pretending to be engaged, right? You don’t actually get to be jealous.”
He turned back to her, that rare, serious expression flickering across his face.
“Who said I was pretending?”
Her heart stuttered. “Julian…”
He smiled faintly, shaking his head like he’d said too much. “Forget it. We’ve got to look convincing. That’s all.”
But his eyes lingered — too long, too soft, too real.
The Trust Exercise
The next morning, the couples gathered in the garden circle. The instructor, an overly cheerful woman in linen pants, clapped her hands.
“Today, you’ll share something true about your partner — something that made you love them.”
Zara nearly choked on her mimosa. “Excuse me?”
Julian smiled sweetly. “You heard the lady.”
Couples went first — giggling, confessing, kissing. Then it was their turn.
Julian took Zara’s hand, eyes locked on hers. “Something true?” he said softly. “That’s easy.”
Her pulse kicked up. “Julian—”
“I love that you always say what you think, even when you shouldn’t,” he said, voice quiet but sure. “You’ve been my anchor since we were kids. You drive me insane, but you’re… everything real in my life.”
The world seemed to stop. The instructor said something about “authentic energy,” but Zara didn’t hear it.
Because for one impossible second, she believed him.
When it was her turn, she forced a shaky laugh. “I love that he lies so smoothly I almost believe him.”
Everyone laughed. Everyone but Julian.
He just smiled — but his eyes told another story.
One that said this isn’t fake anymore.
That Night
Zara found him later on the balcony, sleeves rolled up, staring out at the stars.
“You went off-script,” she said quietly.
“So did you,” he replied, not looking at her.
“What was that, Julian? The hand-holding, the speech — you almost had me convinced.”
He turned then, his expression unreadable. “Maybe I was convincing myself.”
Her breath hitched. “Julian—”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Her heart thundered. “Stop what?”
“Feeling something that isn’t supposed to be real.”
He was close now — close enough that she could feel his breath, smell his cologne, see the war in his eyes.
And for a terrifying, perfect moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.
But instead, he smiled — soft, almost broken. “Goodnight, Zee.”
He walked away, leaving her on the balcony with her pulse racing and one undeniable truth echoing in her chest.
She was falling for her fake fiancé.
And he’d already fallen first.
- Writer
