CHAPTER 15: The First Lie We Told Together
1497 Words
ZARA
I found out I was engaged the same way people find out about celebrity breakups and stock market crashes.
Online.
My phone started vibrating on my nightstand before I was fully awake. At first, I ignored it, face pressed into my pillow, brain foggy and heavy. Then it vibrated again. And again. A cascade of notifications stacking on top of each other like they were racing.
I groaned and reached for it blindly.
Imani
Are you OKAY???
Unknown number
Congratulations to you and your fiancé!
Mom
We’ll talk when you’re up.
That last one snapped me fully awake.
I sat up, heart thudding, and unlocked my phone.
The headline stared back at me in bold, polished font.
ASTOR HEIR ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO CALDWELL TEXTILES DAUGHTER
Under it was a photo.
I stopped breathing.
It was us.
Julian and me.
From that afternoon weeks ago. The one I remembered vividly because we had been arguing. Because I’d been furious. Because I’d been standing too close to him, chin lifted, voice sharp, telling him exactly what I thought of men like him.
Except that wasn’t what the photo showed.
The angle was wrong. Or perfect. Depending on who you asked.
From the outside, it looked intimate. Charged. His head inclined toward mine. My face turned up toward his. His hand near my waist not touching but close enough to imply intention. My mouth parted mid-sentence, captured in a way that looked like anticipation instead of accusation.
We looked like a moment before a kiss.
I stared at it, my chest tight.
That wasn’t love.
That was war.
But no one else could see that.
The article went on about legacy and strategy dressed up as romance. Old money meets heritage business. Power couple. Unexpected but undeniable connection. Sources close to the families.
Sources?
I hadn’t been a source.
My fingers trembled as I scrolled. Comments poured in underneath.
They look perfect together.
She’s so elegant.
Finally, someone who can match him.
Lucky her.
Lucky?
I laughed once, sharp and humorless, then dropped the phone onto the bed like it had burned me.
Downstairs, the house was already awake.
I could feel it the moment I stepped out of my room. The air was different. Charged. Alert. Like something had already happened and everyone was waiting to see how I’d react.
When I reached the kitchen, the conversations dipped. Just slightly. Enough for me to notice.
One of the staff smiled at me in a way that felt rehearsed. Too warm. Too knowing.
“Good morning, miss.”
Miss?
My mother stood by the counter, coffee in hand. She looked at me the way people look at someone they love but don’t know how to protect.
“You saw it,” she said quietly.
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” I replied.
She hesitated, then nodded. “It’s moving fast.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I asked, “How long have you known.”
Her eyes flicked away for half a second. “Since last night.”
I absorbed that in silence.
Imani appeared in the doorway behind me, phone in hand, eyes wide. “You’re trending,” she said weakly.
“Fantastic,” I murmured. “I’ve always wanted to lose control of my life publicly.”
She crossed the room and hugged me without asking. I let her, my arms stiff at my sides.
Everything felt wrong.
Later, when I left the house, it followed me.
People stared longer. Whispered. Smiled like they knew something about me I didn’t. At a café, the barista paused after reading my name on the cup, eyes flicking to my face, then to her phone.
“Congratulations,” she said softly.
I took the coffee with a tight smile and left without correcting her.
By the afternoon, I stopped checking my phone. The notifications didn’t stop anyway. Messages from people I barely knew. From people I hadn’t spoken to in years. From people who suddenly cared deeply about my happiness.
It was suffocating.
By evening, I was exhausted from holding myself together.
That was when Julian called.
I stared at his name on my screen for a long moment before answering.
“What,” I said flatly.
“Good evening to you too,” he replied, voice calm, infuriatingly steady.
“You announced my engagement without telling me.”
A pause. Brief. Calculated.
“It was always going to be public.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“It was,” he said. “Given the circumstances.”
I closed my eyes. “You turned a fight into a fairytale.”
“I turned perception into protection.”
“For who.”
“For your father’s business,” he replied without hesitation. “And by extension, you.”
I laughed. “Don’t pretend this is altruism.”
“I’m not pretending,” he said. “I’m being clear.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then he said, “We need to meet.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s necessary.”
Of course it was.
We met later that night in a quiet sitting room at my parents’ house. Neutral ground. Polite furniture. Soft lighting that did nothing to soften him.
Julian stood when I entered, impeccably dressed, expression unreadable. My father was there briefly, said something about giving us space, then left us alone.
The door closed.
The room felt smaller immediately.
Julian didn’t sit. Neither did I.
“You blindsided me,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied. “I did.”
“You don’t even feel bad.”
“That would be unproductive.”
I stared at him. “You think this is about productivity.”
“I think this is about optics,” he said evenly. “And leverage.”
I folded my arms. “You’re enjoying this.”
His gaze sharpened. “No. I’m managing it.”
“By controlling the narrative.”
“By preventing damage,” he corrected. “To your father’s company.”
I stepped closer, anger coiling tight in my chest. “You don’t get to decide what damages me.”
He met my gaze without flinching. “I do, when the alternative is worse.”
I scoffed. “And what exactly is worse than being turned into a prop.”
“Public doubt,” he said. “Speculation. Scrutiny. A loveless contract exposed for what it is.”
My stomach dropped.
“We’re not pretending,” I said slowly. “We’re not acting.”
“We are,” he replied. “For the duration of the contract.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Yes,” he said, voice firm now. “Because if people sense distance, they’ll dig. And if they dig, they’ll drag. And if they drag, your father’s business suffers.”
There it was.
The threat dressed up as logic.
“I will do anything in my power to ensure my company comes out unscathed,” he continued. “That includes managing how we appear together.”
“And what about me,” I asked quietly.
His eyes held mine. “You’ll adapt.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“You’re asking me to lie,” I said.
“We already are,” he replied. “Together.”
I swallowed.
He stepped closer then, not aggressively, not softly either. Just enough that I could feel his presence. Heat. Control.
“This doesn’t work if you fight it publicly,” he said. “You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to trust me. But you do have to play your part.”
I looked up at him, my heart pounding, anger and something dangerously close to awareness tangling in my chest.
“And if I don’t.”
His expression didn’t change. “Then people will assume the worst. And they will be right to.”
He stepped back, the distance returning like a snap.
“I suggest you get used to smiling,” he added. “We have an image to maintain.” "Don't forget your ring next time. We don't want people starting to suspect now, do we?"
Then he turned and left.
I stood there long after the door closed, my hands clenched at my sides.
The photo flashed in my mind again. The lie. The angle. The illusion.
And now the world believed it was romance.
I picked up my phone, opened the article one last time, and stared at the image of us. At the version of me that looked serene, chosen, adored.
I didn’t recognize her.
But I would learn to use her.
Because if Julian Astor thought he was the only one capable of playing this game, he was wrong.
He might control the narrative.
But I would not fall behind emotionally.
Not again.
This was the first lie we told together. Definitely not the last too.
And I swore that none of them will break me.
- Writer
