The billionaire fake girlfriend

Blake pov "Mr. Joseph, please," I said, my voice a mix of desperation and pride, trying not to let either c***k through. "Just one more week. I swear, I’ve got a paycheck coming." Lie. But what choice did I have? The truth was uglier than my reflection on bad days. I’d just lost my job. Again. And now my apartment, like it was slipping through my fingers. Mr. Joseph let out a sigh—the heavy kind that carried disappointmen. Maybe neither. Maybe I was just a burden he was tired of carrying. "Blake, this has been going on too long. I’ve got bills too. A family to feed." "Please," I said, quieter this time, shame trailing the word like a shadow. He didn’t budge. “You’ve got until tomorrow to be out.” No pause. No breath. Just that. Final. Then he turned and walked away. Like it didn’t matter that he’d just shattered what little was left of my pride. I stood there for a beat, the hallway swallowing my thoughts. Cold. Empty. No job. No money. No home. Just me, a bunch of regrets, and a long list of people who’d turned their backs the moment I stopped being useful. All thanks to Uncle Eddie. Eddie-freaking-Monroe — the man who pretended to be family while slicing the ground out from under my feet. He’d made sure my name was blacklisted job I applied for. Said I was unstable. Said I was untrustworthy. Said I couldn’t be trusted to run the company that should’ve been mine by blood. He said a lot of things. Most of them lies. We used to have everything — money, respect, the Monroe name stamped in steel. Until the accident. The day everything split open and spilled out like roadkill. I was seventeen. Five Years Ago "Hey, sweetie," I heard mom’s voice over the phone. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad." "Your dad’s stuck in meetings. We won’t make it home tonight, honey. I’m so sorry—especially today." "It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. We can celebrate later." And I meant it. I really did. Because I looked up to them—two powerhouses who built an empire, still found time to call. Still made me feel like I mattered. "We love you, Blake," she said. "Love you too. Be safe, okay?" Click. That was the last time I ever heard her voice. Hours later, the phone rang again. One of those calls where the air thickens before you even say hello. "Hello, is this Blake Monroe?" "Yes?" Pause. "I’m sorry to inform you that your parents were in a car accident. Your father didn’t make it. Your mother’s in critical condition." Everything inside me fractured. The phone slipped from my hand, hit the floor. It was as if I had lost touch of reality. Five days later, she was gone too. Brain dead. That’s what they called it. Like she was just a switch that got turned off. The funeral was a blur of suits and unfamiliar hugs. People showed up. People cried. People left. None of them stayed. That night, the lawyer pulled me aside. Said Dad had left everything in Eddie’s hands. Said I was still a minor. Said Eddie would be taking over. And Eddie? That bastard was standing behind him, smirking like he'd won something. "Your dad knew you weren’t ready, Liz," he said, using the name only my parents had ever called me. "Don’t call me that," I snapped. "Only people I respect get to call me Liz. You’ll call me Blake." He laughed. Shrugged. "Sure thing, Blakey." I wanted to hit him. I wanted to break his smile. But fists weren’t my thing. Brains were. And something about the will didn’t sit right. Dad never trusted Eddie. That night, Eddie kicked me out of my house — my home. No warning. No cushion. No inheritance. Just tossed me into the dark like trash. Present Now, I had one day to leave this rundown apartment. One day to shove my life into a suitcase and disappear again. I grabbed my phone and dialed the only person that I could trust. "Hello?" "Amy, it’s me." "Blake? What’s wrong?" I swallowed the pride I had left. "I got evicted. I have until tomorrow to pack up. Can I stay with you for a few days?" She didn’t hesitate. Not really. "You’re still unemployed?" "Amy," I warned. She sighed. "Okay. Fine. I’m coming. I’ll be there in 30." Before she pulled up, I left my key in Mr. Joseph’s hand. He didn’t say much. Maybe there wasn’t anything left to say. Maybe he just didn’t want to look me in the eye. Amy arrived like a damn miracle — messy bun, oversized hoodie, and fury barely held in check. Her hand found mine the second I got in the car. We talked. Laughed a little. It’d been a while. A month, maybe. Felt like years. Her parents’ house was warm and big, like the one I used to have. Gabriella ran out to greet me, arms already open. "Blake! Sweetheart! We missed you." "Hi, Gabriella," I whispered. "Amy told us everything. Stay as long as you need, no questions asked." The lump in my throat choked my words. All I could say was, "Thank you." They welcomed me like I was family. Chris even joked I was their second kid. The smell of dinner, the soft light of the chandelier, the clinking of cutlery — it all made something in my chest ache. "Welcome home, Blake," they said. No one had said that to me in years. Not since Mom and Dad. That night, I stared at the ceiling in the guest room. Fifty bucks to my name. No job. No plan. I couldn’t live off Amy’s kindness forever. But I had an idea. One I hadn’t told her yet. One I wasn’t sure I liked. And I knew damn well she wouldn’t.