Lines we must cross
1016 Words
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Damien Blackwood’s study, casting golden lines across the polished floors. But the light did little to warm the chill in the room. Damien stood behind his desk, jaw clenched, eyes pinned to the large screen in front of him. On the video call were ten members of his company’s board, each one looking more impatient than the last.
“Mr. Blackwood,” barked Mr. Randal, a senior board member with graying hair and a stiff jaw. “This… stunt you’ve pulled with your sudden engagement, while splashed all over the press, has raised concern.”
“It’s not a stunt,” Damien said, voice calm but steel-lined.
Another board member, Mrs. Leclerc, adjusted her glasses. “Then prove it. Investors are jittery, partners are asking questions, and your rivals, particularly Victor Gates, are circling like sharks. If we don’t steady the ship, the merger may be pulled.”
Damien’s eyes darkened at the mention of Gates. “I have everything under control.”
“No, you don’t,” Mr. Randal cut in sharply. “You’ve lost two minor contracts already. One more misstep, and the board will have no choice but to vote on temporary suspension of your decision-making power. You may still be CEO in name, but we’ll take over negotiations.”
The room fell into silence. Damien stared at the screen, fists clenched on the desk.
“Fine,” he said slowly. “Give me one week. There’s a gala this weekend hosted by the International Development Bank. Ava and I will attend together. We’ll give them something to believe in.”
“And if it still looks fake?” Leclerc asked.
Damien’s voice was cold. “It won’t.”
Later that day, Ava paced inside their shared quarters, her phone on the bed, screen glowing with headlines.
“Damien Blackwood’s Mystery Fiancée, Who Is Ava Morgan?"
“Contract Romance? Experts Weigh In on Blackwood’s Surprise Engagement"
She groaned, tossing the phone aside. The pressure was mounting. Not just in the press, but now in Damien’s world too.
The door creaked open.
“Hey,” Damien’s voice was low as he stepped inside.
Ava crossed her arms. “You told me this was going to be lowkey. Fake, yes, but not a circus.”
His lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. “It just got real.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What happened?”
Damien exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed. “The board is threatening to remove my control if this engagement looks even remotely fake.”
Ava’s heart sank. “What does that mean for us?”
“It means,” he said, rising and walking toward her, “we have to convince not just the world, but my board… that this is real. That we’re deeply in love, stable, and preparing for marriage.”
Ava raised a brow. “So, what? More hand holding? Longer kisses in public?”
His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “More than that.”
Silence fell between them.
“You’re not just playing my fiancée now, Ava,” Damien said quietly. “You need to become her. Every room we enter. Every glance we exchange. It has to scream authenticity.”
“And if I mess up?”
“You won’t.”
She looked up at him. His jaw was tight, but his eyes, there was something vulnerable buried deep beneath the steel.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s give them a show.”
By the end of the day, their schedules had been cleared and restructured. Damien’s team arranged an exclusive interview with a major publication. A photo shoot followed. Ava sat for styling while Damien finalized details of the gala appearance.
Ava’s new personal assistant, Nina, fluttered around her with garment bags, makeup trays, and event notes. “You’ll need to wear something softer for the interview. Pastels. Something that shows you as approachable, elegant, and warm.”
Ava tried not to roll her eyes. She wasn’t a princess. She was a woman pretending to be in love with one of the most powerful, and emotionally closed-off men in the country.
“Do I have to hold his hand in the interview too?” she muttered under her breath.
Damien, sitting across the room going through notes, smirked. “Yes, you do.”
She glanced up. “Anything else, Mr. CEO?”
He stood and crossed to her in two long strides. “Just remember, Ava. You’re not acting anymore. You’re performing.”
She tilted her chin. “What’s the difference?”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “Actors pretend. Performers believe it long enough to make others feel it.”
A chill went down her spine.
The next day, the interview was released, and it exploded across media outlets.
"Damien Blackwood and Ava Morgan: A Love Story Born in Secrecy"
"Blackwood’s Billion-Dollar Bet on Love"
Pictures of them holding hands, laughing, him brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. The world believed it.
The board scheduled an emergency meeting for the following week, to watch the gala performance live.
Ava stood at her vanity that night, brushing her hair when Damien entered.
“You look… tired,” he said gently.
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Feels like I’ve been on stage for two days.”
He approached her, stopping just behind. “You’ve done well.”
“I had a good co-star,” she said, trying to keep the mood light.
Their eyes locked in the mirror.
“Thank you,” he said suddenly.
“For what?”
“For stepping into this storm with me.”
For a moment, the line between fake and real blurred again.
“I didn’t expect to like any of this,” Ava admitted. “But now… sometimes, I forget it’s not real.”
Damien didn’t reply.
Instead, he reached for her hand, gently, not performative. Just quiet and steady.
And for the first time… she held on a little longer than necessary.
- Writer
