TheAftermathofStupidity
887 Words
Zara Bennett hadn’t slept a single second.
Not because she was overwhelmed by her new “engagement.”
But because she’d spent half the night drafting Julian’s obituary.
The headlines were already spreading — “Childhood Friends Announce Surprise Engagement at Charity Gala.” Photos of them smiling, holding champagne, his arm around her waist like he had any right to touch her like that — were everywhere.
Her phone buzzed again. Mom ❤️:
Breakfast tomorrow to discuss wedding venues! Bring Julian 💍.
Zara groaned, pressing her face into a pillow. “I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Artistically.”
As if summoned by karma, a knock sounded on her apartment door.
She didn’t even have to ask.
Only one man knocked like that — polite, confident, and infuriatingly sure she’d open the door.
“Go away, Julian!” she yelled.
“Sorry,” came his smooth voice, “I don’t speak to people through doors.”
“Then stay out there forever!”
A pause.
Then: “I brought coffee.”
Damn him.
She stomped at the door, yanked it open, and glared.
There he was — Julian Hayes — in a gray suit that probably cost more than her rent, holding two lattes and smiling like he hadn’t set her life on fire last night.
“Good morning, fiancée,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the place.
“Don’t you fiancée me, Julian Hayes,” she snapped, snatching the coffee. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Saved you from another matchmaking ambush?” he offered helpfully.
“You lied to our parents. In front of reporters. At a gala!”
He sipped his drink calmly. “Technically, I just… improvised.”
“Improvised?” she repeated, eyes wide. “Julian, this isn’t an improved night at the comedy club! You told the world we’re engaged!”
He shrugged. “Would you rather I let my mother keep parading me around like a trophy? She made me dance with a woman who called herself ‘the next Martha Stewart with better cheekbones.’”
Zara opened her mouth, then closed it, pacing across her living room. “You could’ve told them we were dating. That’s at least believable!”
He leaned against her counter, watching her with that annoyingly calm expression that made her want to throw her coffee cup — but not waste the caffeine.
“You think our parents would’ve believed that?” he said quietly. “Not after all these years of us being ‘just friends’? Engagement makes it final. It buys us time.”
“Time for what?”
“For them to back off,” he said simply. “For you to stop being ambushed at brunch. For me to survive my mother’s annual ‘choose-a-wife’ campaign.”
She crossed her arms, glaring. “You don’t get to drag me into your rich-boy problems.”
“Too late,” he said, smiling. “You’re already my fiancée.”
Her jaw dropped. “Julian—”
“Look,” he interrupted, setting his cup down. “It’s temporary. A few weeks, maybe a couple of months. We act engaged, let things cool down, and then we ‘break up amicably.’ Everyone saves face.”
Zara stared at him.
Her best friend. The boy who once stole cupcakes for her, who sat through her art exhibitions, who teased her endlessly but always had her back.
And now, the man who had just made her the center of the city’s gossip.
“This is insane,” she muttered. “Completely insane.”
“Maybe,” he said softly, “but it’s kind of genius too.”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I get that a lot.”
She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. Fine! But we need ground rules.”
“Ground rules,” he repeated, eyes gleaming like she’d just challenged him. “Alright. Hit me.”
“One: no surprise public kisses.”
He tilted his head. “What if people expect—”
“Two,” she cut in, “no sleeping over.”
He smirked. “Define ‘sleeping over.’”
“Julian!”
“Alright, alright,” he said, grinning. “What’s rule three?”
She hesitated, looking at him — the man who’d been her constant since childhood, standing there in her kitchen with that teasing smile and the faintest trace of warmth in his eyes.
“Rule three,” she said finally, “we don’t fall for each other.”
The room went silent.
Julian’s smile faltered — just a little. “Right,” he said lightly. “That would be… disastrous.”
“Exactly.”
He picked up his cup, walked toward the door, and turned back with that signature smirk.
“Good thing I’ve been immune to your charms since we were ten.”
She rolled her eyes. “You cried when I beat you at chess.”
He grinned. “And I’ve been plotting my revenge ever since. See you tonight — we’ve got dinner with the families.”
And with that, he was gone — leaving Zara standing in her living room, heart pounding far too fast for someone who was definitely not falling for her fake fiancé.
- Writer
