Zara had attended dozens of formal dinners in her life, but none had ever made her palms sweat like this one.
The black sedan glided smoothly through the city streets, its tinted windows reflecting the golden glow of evening lights. Zara sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her fingers clenched around her purse strap as though it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.
Beside her, Adrian Caldwell looked maddeningly calm.
He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it open at the collar—formal, yet relaxed. He rested one arm casually against the door, his attention fixed on the road ahead, as if tonight were just another business obligation.
For Zara, it felt like walking into a storm without an umbrella.
"This dinner," she finally said, breaking the silence, "is unnecessary."
Adrian's lips curved slightly. "It's strategic."
She shot him a look. "Strategic for what? Convincing people we're in love?"
"Convincing people we're stable," he corrected. "The investors attending tonight value optics. They want reassurance that I'm… grounded."
"And I'm supposed to provide that reassurance?" Zara asked dryly.
"Yes."
She scoffed. "Lucky me."
Adrian turned his head briefly, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. "You agreed to this arrangement."
"I agreed to act professional," she replied. "Not to play house over candlelight dinners."
The corner of his mouth lifted again. "Relax, Zara. It's just dinner."
That was the problem.
It wasn't.
The restaurant was one of the most exclusive in the city—quiet, elegant, and discreet. Soft instrumental music drifted through the air, blending seamlessly with the low murmur of conversations. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over white tablecloths and polished silverware.
As soon as they stepped inside, heads subtly turned.
Zara felt it immediately—the weight of eyes, the unspoken curiosity. She straightened her posture instinctively, lifting her chin, slipping into the composed version of herself she had perfected over the years.
Adrian placed a hand lightly at the small of her back, guiding her forward.
The touch was brief, controlled.
And yet, her breath caught.
"Smile," he murmured, barely audible. "They're watching."
She forced one onto her lips, her heart betraying her by racing at an alarming speed.
They were escorted to a secluded table near the window. The city skyline stretched out before them, glittering like a promise neither of them could afford to believe in.
Once seated, a server poured wine and handed them menus.
For a few moments, silence settled between them again—this time heavier, charged.
Zara pretended to read the menu. Adrian pretended not to watch her.
"You look tense," he said eventually.
"Funny," she replied. "I was about to say the same about you."
He chuckled softly. "I don't get tense."
She raised an eyebrow. "You clench your jaw when you're uncomfortable."
His hand paused mid-motion.
"That so?"
"Yes," she said. "You did it at the board meeting yesterday. And now."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You're observant."
"It's part of my job."
The server returned, taking their orders. When Adrian spoke, his tone shifted—smooth, warm, attentive.
He played the role perfectly.
Zara watched him from beneath her lashes, struck by how natural he seemed in this setting. The charming smile, the polite interest, the subtle confidence—it all flowed effortlessly.
And that unsettled her.
When the server left again, Adrian's gaze softened slightly. "You're doing well."
She frowned. "Doing well at what?"
"Playing the part."
"I'm not playing," she snapped, then sighed. "I mean—I am, but…"
"But it feels strange," he finished.
"Yes."
Their eyes held.
For a moment, the world around them faded.
As dinner progressed, conversation drifted from safe topics—work, upcoming projects, market trends—to something more personal.
"Why did you agree?" Adrian asked suddenly.
Zara stiffened. "To this arrangement?"
"Yes."
She hesitated. Honesty felt dangerous here.
"Because," she said carefully, "sometimes survival requires compromise."
His gaze sharpened. "That sounds practiced."
"It is."
She took a sip of wine, hoping it would calm the sudden tightness in her chest.
"And you?" she asked. "Why not hire an actress? Or fabricate a story?"
"Because lies unravel," he said. "And I needed someone… real."
The word lingered between them.
Zara laughed softly, shaking her head. "Funny choice, considering this entire thing is a lie."
"Is it?" he asked quietly.
She looked up, startled.
Adrian didn't elaborate. He simply reached for his glass, breaking eye contact.
Something shifted then.
The food arrived, but Zara barely tasted it. She was too aware of him—his presence, his subtle movements, the way his voice lowered when he spoke directly to her.
At some point, their hands brushed as they both reached for the breadbasket.
The contact was accidental.
But neither pulled away immediately.
Zara's fingers tingled, warmth spreading through her skin. Adrian's hand lingered, his thumb grazing lightly against hers before retreating.
"I—sorry," he said.
"It's fine," she replied too quickly.
Her heart was pounding now.
This wasn't part of the plan.
"You're different tonight," Adrian said after a while.
"How so?"
"Less guarded."
She laughed softly. "That's ironic, coming from you."
He considered her. "You think I'm guarded?"
"I know you are."
Silence fell again, this time thoughtful.
"People don't earn access easily," he said finally.
"No," Zara agreed. "They don't."
She met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them.
For the first time since this arrangement began, Zara wondered what Adrian Caldwell was hiding beneath the polished exterior—and why she suddenly wanted to know.
A burst of laughter from a nearby table broke the moment. Zara blinked, grounding herself.
This was dangerous territory.
She pushed her chair back slightly. "We should keep this professional."
Adrian frowned. "We are."
"No," she said softly. "We're pretending too well."
His expression darkened. "You're afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of this feeling."
Her breath hitched. "What feeling?"
"The one you're trying not to acknowledge."
She stood abruptly. "I need some air."
Before he could respond, she turned and walked toward the terrace.
The night air was cool against her flushed skin. Zara leaned against the railing, staring out at the city below, trying to steady her breathing.
What was wrong with her?
This was an act. A contract. Temporary.
So why did her chest ache?
Footsteps approached behind her.
"I said I needed air," she muttered.
"I'm not suffocating you," Adrian replied calmly.
She turned, meeting his gaze. He looked different out here—less composed, more human.
"You're crossing lines," she said.
"So are you."
She shook her head. "This was a mistake."
"Dinner?"
"This arrangement."
His jaw tightened. "You didn't think that yesterday."
"Yesterday, I wasn't starting to forget it was fake."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Adrian's eyes darkened.
"And now?" he asked quietly.
"Now I'm remembering," she said. "That none of this is real."
He stepped closer. "Maybe that's the lie."
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't what?"
"Don't make this harder."
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Adrian reached up—slowly, deliberately—and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.
The touch was gentle.
Intimate.
Electric.
Zara's breath caught.
"This wasn't part of the rules," she said.
"I know."
"Then stop."
He didn't.
Instead, he leaned in slightly, his forehead almost touching hers.
"Tell me to walk away," he murmured. "And I will."
She opened her mouth.
No sound came out.
A voice suddenly interrupted them.
"There you are!"
Zara froze.
Adrian stepped back instantly, his expression hardening into calm detachment.
A woman approached them—elegant, poised, and unmistakably familiar.
Zara's stomach dropped.
It was Vivian Hale.
Adrian's former associate. And rumored ex.
"I thought I recognized you," Vivian said, her gaze flicking between them with sharp interest. "And this must be the famous Zara."
Zara forced a smile. "Nice to meet you."
Vivian's eyes lingered on Adrian. "I didn't realize you were bringing dates to business dinners now."
Adrian's hand slid around Zara's waist.
Possessive.
Protective.
"Things change," he said evenly.
Vivian smiled—but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh," she said. "I can see that."
Zara felt it then—the first real threat to their fragile arrangement.
And as Adrian's hand remained firmly at her side, she realized something terrifying.
This lie had just become much more complicated.