The next morning, Ava woke to sunlight streaming through the floor-length windows and the scent of fresh coffee drifting in from the hallway.
This was her new life.
Luxury. Silence. And the man she now called her fiancé… technically.
She stepped into the hallway, her silk robe wrapped tightly around her. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet as she made her way to the kitchen.
Jace was already there.
He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, a mug in hand, and reading something on his tablet. The sight was so casual it startled her. For a moment, he didn't look like the cold CEO she'd agreed to marry.
He looked… normal.
"I didn't think you actually drank coffee," she said, her voice still soft with sleep.
"I don't," he replied, not looking up. "It's for you."
Ava paused. "You made me coffee?"
"I had the chef make it," he corrected quickly.
She smirked. "Of course."
He finally looked up, eyes scanning her quickly but lingering just long enough to make her aware of every inch of skin showing beneath her robe.
"I have an event today," he said. "You're coming."
Ava blinked. "What kind of event?"
"Charity auction. Press will be there. We need to look united."
She leaned against the island counter, arms crossed. "So I'm your pretty little accessory now?"
"You agreed to this," he reminded her. "Every appearance strengthens the illusion."
"I just didn't think it would feel so real," she muttered under her breath.
---
By the time they arrived, Ava was dressed in a stunning navy gown, hair swept up, lips painted the color of fire. Jace stood beside her in a tailored tux, every bit the cold prince of business.
They looked perfect.
The cameras flashed the moment they stepped out of the car, reporters calling their names, flashes lighting up the night like fireworks.
Ava smiled. She laughed. She leaned close and whispered something in Jace's ear, making it look like a flirt.
He leaned closer too, and for one breathless moment, his lips brushed just below her ear — slow, deliberate, careful.
"You're doing well," he murmured.
Her skin tingled.
She turned her face toward his — too close, too warm — and whispered, "Careful, Mr. Carter. Someone might think you're enjoying this."
He didn't pull away.
Neither did she.
---
Inside, they worked the room like professionals. Every gaze turned when they walked by. Whispers followed them like perfume.
"She's even more beautiful in person."
"Jace Carter actually proposed?"
"They look… happy."
Ava wanted to laugh. Or scream.
By the time they slipped into a private lounge, her heels were killing her and her face hurt from smiling.
Jace poured her a drink, and for once, there was no smirk on his face.
"You're good at this," he said.
"Fake it till you make it," she replied, sinking into the couch.
He handed her the glass, then sat across from her.
"I underestimated you," he said suddenly.
She looked up, surprised. "Is that your version of a compliment?"
"Maybe," he said.
Their eyes held for a long beat.
Then something shifted.
He reached forward, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. The touch was gentle—almost unsure. Ava froze, her breath catching in her throat.
Her heart pounded.
This wasn't part of the contract. This wasn't rehearsed.
"Jace…" she whispered.
He blinked, as if waking up from a trance, and pulled his hand back.
"We should go," he said, suddenly standing.
Just like that, the wall was back.
But Ava sat there, hand still tingling from where he'd touched her, and wondered…
What happens if the contract starts to feel real?