For the past few days, pretending not to be affected by George's sudden attempts at friendliness had been exhausting. It wasn't even a war, yet the constant effort to act indifferent left her drained.
George was putting his best foot forward—not to rekindle romance, but to at least keep things civil. And then there was Drake, her constant anchor. He always made sure she was okay, always checking in, always steady.
She had gone back to work under the management of El Ecuador, telling herself she needed the distraction. She couldn't just sit at home, drowning in silence and housework. No—she had to keep moving, keep working, keep breathing.
The day was unfolding like any other when the glass doors of the building slid open. A young, breathtakingly beautiful woman stepped inside, her presence commanding every head to turn. Even the air seemed to pause.
"Hi, I have an appointment this morning with Mr. George El Ecuador," the woman said, her voice warm, confident.
Nerissa froze for half a second. No way. The Californian actress. That Californian actress. And she was here… to see George?
"Y-yes, I confirmed your appointment last night," Nerissa stammered, her composure cracking. Her heart gave a strange twist. Is this her? Is this already George's girlfriend?
A sharp pang shot through her chest. God, she's like an angel.
"Please, take a seat. I'll page Mr. El Ecuador for you. Would you like a cup of coffee?" Nerissa asked, masking the bitterness in her tone with the politeness she had mastered over the years.
"Yes, please. No sugar. Thank you so much. God, I really need a cup. I barely slept while traveling here," the actress said with a tired but genuine smile.
Nerissa found herself sighing inwardly. How am I supposed to hate someone like her? There was no malice in her eyes, no arrogance in her voice. She was the kind of person you'd want to be friends with—if only the circumstances were different.
"Drake, help me. His girlfriend is here.Take me somewhere. " Nerissa texted Drake. "I am in El Ecuador's CEO office."
She paused, hide her phone.. fingers tightening around the cold steel handle of the office door. Her breath hitched—hesitation creeping in like a shadow. She was about to push it open when a muffled sob reached her ears.
"I thought you were already ignoring me," a trembling voice said between broken breaths. "How could you, George? Please, don't make me beg for your time."
The words hung in the air like a blade, sharp and cutting. Nerissa's chest tightened. The situation already felt impossible, yet hearing the pain in the woman's voice twisted something deep inside her. Part of her wanted to storm in and be furious—if only Isabelle were cruel, selfish, or vindictive, this would be easier. But she wasn't. And that made everything infinitely worse.
She cleared her throat quietly and opened the door, forcing her features into composure.
"Your coffee, ma'am," she said softly, setting the steaming cappuccino in Isabelle's hands.
"Thank you," Isabelle replied with a warm but fragile smile, fingers curling around the cup for comfort.
From the corner of her eye, Nerissa caught George watching her intently. The room was thick with an awkward, almost suffocating silence. It was like a scene out of a drama—wife and mistress facing each other across the CEO's desk. Only this was nothing like the scripted versions on television. No raised voices. No hair-pulling. No slaps. Just quiet, heavy reality.
She turned to leave, eager to retreat, but George's voice stopped her mid-step.
"Nerissa…"
She froze. "Yes, sir?" Her voice trembled more than she wanted it to.
"Sit down." He gestured to the chair beside him. Isabelle sat on the other side, her eyes still red from crying. "Since we're all here," George continued, "it's time we properly know each other."
Silence again—thicker this time. Nerissa's pulse drummed in her ears. She looked at Isabelle, who suddenly stared back, eyes widening.
"You're Nerissa?" she whispered, as if confirming a suspicion.
"Yes." Nerissa managed a small nod, her voice level despite the storm in her chest. "And you must be Isabelle… George's girlfriend. I'm his wife—the pretend wife."
She expected rage. Accusations. At the very least, icy disdain. But Isabelle surprised her. Instead of glaring, she sank to her knees before Nerissa, her tears spilling freely.
"I know this is awkward—more than awkward," Isabelle began, voice cracking. "But please, don't hate me for being his girlfriend. If I could walk away from my career right now, I would. None of this would have happened if I weren't so selfish. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry for putting you in this position."
George was on his feet in an instant, his hands gently pulling Isabelle up. "This isn't your fault, babe. Please, get up."
But Isabelle shook her head, clinging to Nerissa's gaze instead. "No… you don't understand. Marriage is a huge sacrifice for any woman. I know what it costs. And I know you're hurting, too." She paused, as if gathering courage, then spoke with quiet conviction. "Please, take good care of him for me. I just need one more month to finish my contract. After that, I'll walk away. I'm willing to give up everything for George."
Before Nerissa could react, Isabelle leaned forward and embraced her. Nerissa stiffened at first, but something in the woman's sincerity kept her still. Over Isabelle's shoulder, Nerissa caught George's gaze—saw the quiet pride in his eyes for his girlfriend's grace and understanding.
If she were in Isabelle's place, Nerissa knew her reaction would have been nothing like this. She wasn't sure whether to admire Isabelle or resent her for making it harder to hate her.
"We'll get through this," Nerissa murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn't want to add any more weight to their already tangled hearts. But inside, the truth was merciless.
Everything hurt.
George cleared his throat, breaking the spell of the moment.
"That's enough," he said softly, though there was a strange weight in his voice—like he was forcing control.
Isabelle slowly released Nerissa, stepping back but keeping her eyes locked on her, as if she still had more to say.
"I meant it," she whispered, her lips trembling. "One month… and I'll be gone in showbiz"
Nerissa gave her the faintest nod, though inside her heart screamed. Gone? And then what? Does she expect me to take her place for real?
George moved behind his desk, sinking into his chair like the whole conversation had drained him. He rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly. "I have meetings in twenty minutes. Isabelle, you should go. Nerissa, stay."
The room went still again.
Isabelle glanced at him, then at Nerissa, clearly hesitant to leave them alone. "I'll… see you later, babe." She leaned down, kissed George lightly on the lips, and gathered her things.
Nerissa tried not to watch, but the image seared itself into her mind anyway.
When the door finally closed behind Isabelle, Nerissa stood, ready to escape as well. "I'll get back to my desk—"
"Sit down," George said again, sharper this time.
Her knees locked. "Sir—"
"Nerissa." His tone left no room for argument.
Reluctantly, she lowered herself back into the chair, crossing her legs to hide the nervous tapping of her foot. She refused to meet his eyes.
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You didn't have to be that… civil with her."
She let out a quiet laugh—bitter, tired. "What did you want me to do? Throw my coffee in her face? Yell at her? Would that make you feel better?"
"That's not what I meant," he said, his voice softening. "I just… I didn't expect you to let her hug you."
She finally looked at him, her gaze sharp. "You think I let her? George, this isn't a game. Your girlfriend just asked me to take care of you while she's gone—as if I'm some… stand-in wife you can keep until she comes back."
His jaw tightened. "That's not how it is."
"Then how is it?" Nerissa asked, her voice low, trembling. "Because from where I'm standing, I'm just here to play my part so you don't lose face in whatever deal you made with your family. Meanwhile, she gets your love, your comfort, your pride."
George's stare deepened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "You think I don't notice how you've been looking at me lately?"
She blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
"You're angry, Nerissa. And hurt. And whether you want to admit it or not…" He leaned closer, his voice dropping, "…you care more than you should. You took good care of me when i go home drunk yesterday. And you told me about the lake, your childhood memories of ..us."
Her pulse skipped. "That's not true."
"Then look me in the eye," he challenged, "and tell me you wouldn't care if I kissed her in front of you right now."
She froze. No words came out.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips—not smug, but dangerous. "That's what I thought."
Before she could fire back, there was a knock on the door. His staff peeked in. "Sir, the board is ready for you."
George's eyes didn't leave hers. "Cancel it. I'm not done here."
The door closed again, leaving them alone.
Nerissa's heart pounded loud in her ears. "You can't just—"
"I can," he cut in smoothly, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating calmness. "This conversation is more important."
She glared at him, crossing her arms. "More important than running your empire?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
The sheer certainty in his voice made her pulse spike for reasons she didn't want to name. "Why? So you can lecture me on how I should treat your girlfriend?"
His eyes darkened. "So I can figure out what's really going on in your head."
"My head is fine."
"Your mouth says that," he murmured, "but your eyes…" He stood and slowly walked around the desk until he was standing beside her chair. "…your eyes say otherwise."
She swallowed hard but refused to look up at him. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Talking like you can read me."
"Maybe I can." He leaned down, his voice a low, dangerous whisper near her ear. "Maybe I already do."
She shot up from the chair, creating distance between them. "Don't play games with me, George. I'm not your toy, and I'm not part of your little drama."
He straightened, his gaze locked on hers. "No. You're not my toy. But whether you like it or not, you're my wife."
Her breath caught. "Pretend wife," she corrected sharply.
"Pretend or not, it still makes you mine."
The room went utterly still.
Her hands curled into fists. "You don't own me."
A slow, almost dangerous smile curved on his lips. "Then why do you react every time I mention her? Why did you look at me like that when she kissed me?"
She turned away, her voice shaking. "Because this whole situation is a mess. Because—" She stopped herself, biting down on the words.
"Because?" he pressed, stepping closer.
She faced him again, her eyes flashing with anger and something else she refused to name. "Because it hurts, George! There, are you happy? It hurts seeing the man I'm married to—fake or not—look at another woman like she's your entire world."
His expression shifted—less smug now, more intense. "And what if I told you…" He stepped close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. "…that lately, I've been looking at you that way?"
Her breath hitched. "Don't say things you don't mean."
"Oh, I mean it." His hand came up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. "The question is… what are you going to do about it?"
Her mind screamed at her to step back, but her body stayed rooted in place. The tension was thick, the air between them charged like a storm about to break.
And then—
A loud knock shattered the moment.
"Sir," the staff called through the door, "Mr. Valencia is on the line. He says it's urgent."
George didn't move his gaze from Nerissa, his voice low and deliberate.
"Tell him… he'll have to wait."
The secretary's footsteps faded down the hall, and silence swallowed the room again.
George was still standing dangerously close, his eyes fixed on hers like he was daring her to run.
But Nerissa didn't move. She couldn't.
"George…" she whispered, not even sure if it was a warning or a plea.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You keep saying my name like that…" His voice was low, almost rough. "…do you have any idea what it does to me?"
Her chest rose and fell faster, heat blooming under her skin. "Stop it."
"Stop?" He took another step forward, erasing what little space was left between them. "You think I can stop when you're looking at me like that?"
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." He was so close now she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. "You're angry… you're hurting… but you want to know the worst part?"
She swallowed hard. "What?"
His hand lifted, brushing along her jaw, the touch feather-light but searing. "So do I."
Her pulse thundered. "This is wrong…" she whispered.
"Maybe," he said softly, "but it doesn't make me want you any less."
The words landed like fire in her chest. Her breath caught, her lips parting—unconsciously leaning in as if gravity itself was pulling them together.
His eyes flicked to her mouth, and his fingers slid to the back of her neck, drawing her closer until their foreheads almost touched.
"George…"
He smirked faintly, but his voice was nothing but raw. "Say it again."
Her lips trembled. "George…"
Their noses brushed—her heart leapt into her throat. Another inch and his mouth would be on hers. She could feel the heat, the promise in the air.
And then—
BANG!
The office door burst open, and Drake stormed in.
"What the hell is going on here?"
George didn't move away. If anything, his hand stayed firmly at the back of her neck, his eyes locked on Drake's like a challenge.
"Exactly what it looks like," he said smoothly.
Nerissa's breath hitched, her world spinning. She wasn't sure if she wanted to push George away—or close that last, forbidden inch.
Drake's eyes narrowed, jaw set in stone. "Nerissa. Let's go."
She froze, glancing between the two men. George still stood close, his hand lingering at the back of her neck like he had no intention of letting her leave.
"Nerissa," Drake said again, his tone firmer now. "I'm not asking."
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She could practically feel George's silent warning behind her. His grip wasn't forceful, but it was enough to make her hesitate.
"Don't," George said lowly, his gaze locked on Drake. "She's not leaving."
Drake stepped forward, closing the distance until he was face-to-face with George. "She's my friend. She's coming with me."
The air between them crackled like a storm about to break.
Nerissa's breath hitched. She knew if she stayed another second, she'd be trapped in whatever game George was playing. And the way her body was reacting to him terrified her.
Without looking at him, she stepped away from George's hold. "I'm going, George."
His jaw tightened. "Nerissa—"
She didn't let him finish. She brushed past him, her heels clicking against the polished floor, each step feeling like an act of rebellion. Drake's hand rested lightly at her back, guiding her toward the door.
"Don't expect me to chase after you," George called after her, his voice cold but edged with something else—something raw.
She didn't turn around. "Good. Don't."
Drake didn't speak until they were inside the elevator, the doors sliding shut between them and George's burning stare.
Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
Drake studied her face, his voice softer now. "You okay?"
She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I will be… once I get away from him."
But deep down, she wasn't sure if she was telling the truth—because no matter how far she walked, a part of her was still back in that office, caught in the heat of a moment she didn't want to admit she wanted.
The elevator doors slid open, and Drake guided her out with a hand on her elbow. His touch was gentle but firm — the kind that made her feel safe without making her feel trapped.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice still shaky from the office scene.
"Somewhere George won't follow," he muttered, his tone clipped.
They exited the building, and before she could protest, Drake opened the passenger door of his car. "Get in."
She hesitated for a second, glancing over her shoulder at the towering glass building — as if George might appear at any moment to drag her back. But he didn't. With a quiet sigh, she slid inside.
The city blurred past as Drake drove. The silence between them was heavy, but not the suffocating kind — more like he was waiting for her to breathe again before he spoke.
Finally, he pulled into a small café tucked away in a quiet street. It was warm, quaint, far from the chaos of corporate towers.
They settled into a booth near the back, the aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread wrapping around her like a blanket.
"You can relax now," Drake said, leaning back in his seat, eyes scanning her face like he was searching for hidden bruises. "He's not here."
She stared at her hands. "I wasn't scared of him."
"No?" He raised a brow.
She sighed. "No. I was scared of myself."
His brow furrowed. "Explain."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Because… I almost let him kiss me, Drake."
Something flashed in his eyes — something sharp and unguarded. He leaned forward, his voice low. "Almost?"
Her cheeks warmed. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting," he said, but there was a dangerous edge to his tone. "I'm just saying — you don't 'almost' let a man like George kiss you unless you want to."
Her lips parted in protest, but no words came.
Drake studied her for a long moment before leaning back again. "You deserve better than being someone's pretend wife, Nerissa. Better than being in the middle of whatever game he's playing."
Her throat tightened. "And who exactly would give me better, Drake? You?"
The corner of his mouth lifted — but it wasn't a smirk. It was softer, almost pained. "If you'd let me… yeah."
Her heart skipped. "Drake—"
"I'm serious," he said firmly, his gaze locking on hers. "I don't play games. If I had you… I wouldn't let you wonder for a second where you stand in my life."
For a moment, the world outside the café faded. No George. No arrangement. Just Drake's steady eyes and the unspoken promise in them.
She exhaled slowly, looking away before she could drown in it. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"I know exactly what I'm asking for," Drake said quietly. "And I'd fight him for you if I had to."