Rent A Girlfriend

Chapter 5

"Hi," Julian said, his voice was smooth and dangerous.

"Hi," Elara managed. The word felt like a stone in her throat.

They stood locked in a silent stare-down, the air between them thick with a history that Elara had tried to bury under a mountain of debt and distance.

"Julian, meet Elara," Caroline said, her voice bright and unaware. "Damian’s girlfriend."

Julian’s smirk deepened as he climbed off the power bike, the leather of his jacket creaking. He stretched out a hand, his eyes dancing with a cruel, knowing light. "Elara?"

Elara was forced to take it. His grip was firm, a silent reminder of the night he’d hired her to be his girlfriend against an ex-girlfriend. She nodded, her pulse thundering in her fingertips. "Yes. Elara."

"Do I know you?" Julian asked, tilting his head. "Have we met before?"

"No," Elara snapped, the lie coming out too fast, too sharp. "I’m just meeting you for the first time."

She could feel Caroline’s gaze shifting between them, and for a second, panic flared. Did she look suspicious? Was the mask slipping already?

"Don’t start again, brother," Caroline sighed, stepping between them. "This is Damian’s girlfriend, not one of the girls you can just flirt with or get into bed."

Elara froze. The words hit her like ice water. She remembered that night with Julian, the movie awards, the champagne, the way he’d used his sweet talker charm to blur the lines of their contract. She had spent months ignoring his texts, trying to erase the memory of what happened when the alcohol took over. Now, he wasn't just a client, he was also a Stark.

"Elara, come see my art room," Caroline said, grabbing her hand and pulling her away. Elara didn't look back, but she felt Julian’s eyes on her. She knew that smile. She knew the wink he gave her as they turned the corner. He wasn't going to let her go.

Dinner was an exercise in slow-motion torture. The dining table was an expansive landscape of silver and crystal, covered in more dishes than Elara had seen in her entire life. She sat beside Damian, mimicking the way he held his fork, the way he took measured, tiny bites. She was a mirror, reflecting a life she didn't own.

"Elara, right?" Mrs. Stark said, her voice elegant and sharp. "Damian says you own a fashion agency."

Elara’s heart skipped. She looked at Damian. He gave her a microscopic nod.

"Yes," Elara said, turning back to Mrs. Stark with a practiced smile. "I do.”

“What is the name of your fashion agency?” Mr. Stark asked.

“Vogueline Collective," Damian replied.

"I don't like it when you speak for me, Love," Elara added, turning to Damian with a playful, faux-annoyed pout. It was a perfect piece of acting.

Across the table, Julian cleared his throat. A sharp cough that made Elara’s skin crawl. Everyone ignored him.

“You’re the CEO of Vogueline,” Caroline said in awe, “I’ve been wanting to meet with you… I love your work, what you do at the agency I love it. It’s been hard getting in touch with you, I tried lots of time to have a meeting with the CEO, but they kept declining, maybe cause I didn’t identify myself as a Stark.“

“I’m sorry about that, it’s been the rule I had laid down,” Elara kept the acting intact, “you can get in touch with me now on anything you want to say.”

“Thank you but that would be some other time.”

There was a bit of silence, and Elara could notice Damon applauding her acting with his facial expression.

"I have been nominated for Best Actor again," Julian announced, his voice loud and desperate for attention. Only Caroline clapped. The rest of the table remained a tomb of icy indifference.

"I’d love to know how you met my Damian," Mrs. Stark continued ignoring Julian, her eyes searching Elara’s face for a crack.

Elara didn't hesitate. She spun the lie like silk. She told them about a chance meeting at The Vault, about how she was upgrading her wardrobe and Damian had been struck by her eye for detail. She talked about late-night calls and texts, building a bridge of fiction over the reality of their contract.

Beside her, she felt Damian’s posture relax. He was impressed.

"I hope you aren't with him just because he's a billionaire," Mr. Stark said. His voice was gravel and iron. The table went silent.

Elara set her fork down. She looked Mr. Stark directly in the eye. "I didn't even know who he was until after we started dating," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "He kept his identity a secret because he was afraid of exactly what you're suggesting."

She reached over, placing her hand over Damian’s on the table. His skin was warm, and for a second, she forgot it was an act. "I love Damian for his heart, Mr. Stark. Not his bank account."

"Aww," Caroline beamed.

"I love you, Elara," Mrs. Stark smiled. "You seem... genuine."

“Thank you, Mrs. Stark.”

Buzz.

The vibration in Elara’s lap felt like an electric shock. She pulled her phone out under the table.

You’re so good at lying. The text was from Julian.

She locked the screen, and her face remained calm as she took a bite of her salad.

"Are you okay?" Damian leaned in, his voice was a low whisper.

"Just a client," Elara replied, her heart hammering. "Not important."

But Julian wasn't finished. He looked at his father, his face twisting into a scowl. "Now that we’re done worshiping Elara, can someone explain why my accounts are frozen?"

"I did it," Damian said, not even looking up from his plate. "I’m tired of you spoiling the Stark image with your public meltdowns and excessive partying."

"You don't have the right!" Julian shouted, slamming his hand on the table. The crystal rattled. "It’s my life!"

"Do you really want to do this in front of our guests?" Caroline snapped, her voice trembling with embarrassment.

Julian’s chest heaved. He turned his gaze to Elara. For a terrifying second, she thought he was going to scream the truth, that she was a rental, a fake. But instead, he took his wine glass, gulped down what was left of it, and left the dining room.

Buzz.

Another text. Elara looked down.

How much is Damian paying you to act as his girlfriend?

Elara gripped her wine glass so hard she thought the stem might snap.