Liam's POV
After the mall, she insisted on stopping by her place. I told her it wasn't necessary that everything she needed would be provided. But Ayla just hugged her bag tighter and shook her head.
"I can't just leave my things behind," she said softly.
Nathan glanced at me like, should I step in? I didn't bother. If she wanted to drag around a bag of worn clothes, let her. I wasn't going to argue about it in the car.
When we reached the penthouse, I showed her the guest suite. She looked around like she'd walked into a palace. "Wow, this place is really beautiful," she said.
It wasn't even my best room. Just a spare.
"You'll use the car service from now on," I told her.
Her brows shot up. "Me? For what?"
"For everything, no buses, nothing walking alone. You're under my roof now, and that means my rules."
She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but closed it again. I could see the stubbornness in her eyes though. That girl didn't know when to quit.
The next day, I made sure she didn't go to work. She looked ready to bring it up over breakfast, but I cut her off.
"You're not going to work today," I said simply.
Her spoon clinked against the bowl. "But"
I shook my head. "I've arranged something else for you, a trainer, she specializes in teaching people how to move, sit, speak and behave in public, It'll help you fit in better at events."
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but then she just looked down at her plate instead.
A little after breakfast, the trainer arrived. A tall, sharp-looking woman in a cream suit, her hair pulled back so tight it looked painful. She introduced herself as Mrs Graves, her voice was sharp, she looked strict.
Nathan led her into the living room. I stayed off to the side, leaning against the wall, my arms crossed. I wanted to see how Ayla would handle this.
"Stand," Mrs. Graves said to her without preamble.
Ayla scrambled up, nearly knocking over her chair in the process.
"Shoulders back," the woman corrected immediately, tapping lightly against Ayla's arm. "Chin up. Eyes forward. You are not a mouse, Miss Ayla. You are to be seen."
Ayla's brows furrowed, but she obeyed. She straightened, lifted her chin, then immediately dropped her gaze to the floor again.
"Not like that." Mrs. Graves's tone was firm, not unkind, but there was no room for debate. "Confidence is not about words. It begins with posture. Hold it."
Ayla bit her lip but tried again. This time her shoulders held, though her fingers fidgeted at her sides.
"Better," Mrs. Graves murmured. She made her walk across the room, balance a book on her head, sit and rise from a chair without making a sound. Ayla tripped once on the carpet and muttered a soft "sorry" as though apologizing to the floor.
"Do not apologize to inanimate objects," Mrs. Graves said crisply. "Or to people when you've done nothing wrong. Hold your ground."
I saw Ayla's cheeks burn at that, but she nodded.
For the next hour, she repeated simple things walking, sitting, turning, introducing herself as though greeting a stranger. At first, she stumbled over her words, her voice shaky, barely audible.
"Again," Mrs. Graves instructed. "Look me in the eye when you speak."
Ayla drew a breath, lifted her gaze, and said more clearly this time, "Hello, my name is Ayla."
Something small shifted in her tone, just a little steadier, enough to notice.
By the end of the morning, her back didn't slouch quite as much. Her voice didn't disappear at the end of her sentences. It wasn't perfect but it was a start.
And I found myself… watching her.
She was awkward, clumsy even, but she didn't quit. She kept getting up, kept trying, even when her face flushed with embarrassment. That quiet persistence was different from the polished masks I saw every day.
She was learning faster than I expected.
She had to, the dinner with Richard wasn't just another meeting, cameras would be everywhere, she had to fit the role.
By nightfall, Nathan had arranged the glam team. Makeup artists, stylists, chatter filling the penthouse. Normally, I hated noise in my space, but I let it slide. This was necessary.
Then the dress came out. The one I'd chosen. Midnight blue, the exact shade of her eyes.
When it was finally quiet, I waited by the stairs with Nathan.
And then she appeared.
Step by step, Ayla came down, the fabric of the dress floating around her legs. Her skin looked even fairer against the deep blue, not pale, but smooth and warm. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, catching the light. Her lips had the faintest touch of color, just enough.
She wasn't too tall, or too short. Small enough to look fragile, but the way she held herself straight back, chin up it was different.
And then she smiled a soft but nervous shy smile.
I couldn't look away.
For a few seconds, it felt like it was just the two of us.
Everything else faded, the room, the noise, even Nathan.
All I could see was her.
I realized I was staring for too long .
Get a grip, Liam.
Nathan let out a low whistle. "Miss Ayla, you look incredible."
She blushed instantly, her hands fussing with the dress. "Thank you."
Something twisted in me. I didn't like the way she smiled at him. I didn't like the way his eyes lingered.
"She looks fine," I said flatly, cutting the moment short.
Nathan's brow lifted, but he didn't argue. Ayla's smile dimmed, just a little.
I turned away, jaw tight. Because the truth was, she didn't look "fine." She looked breathtaking. And the fact that I couldn't stop staring made me furious with myself.
We got into the car a few minutes later. Nathan drove, as usual. I took the back seat, Ayla beside me. She sat carefully, folding her hands in her lap like she was afraid to wrinkle the dress.
Silence hung heavy.
I told myself not to look, but I kept stealing side glances anyway. The curve of her lashes, the way her fingers twisted together, the nervous rise and fall of her shoulders. She wasn't used to this. All of it was new to her.
"Are you nervous?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Her head turned, surprised. "A little."
"Don't be. Just stay close to me, do as I do, that's all."
She gave a small nod, her eyes drifting back down.
I glanced at Ayla again. She was staring out the window, biting her lip like she was trying to calm herself.
I should've said something reassuring. That she'd be fine, that she looked perfect. But the words stuck in my throat.
The car slowed, cameras flashed before we even stopped. The venue's front steps were crowded with media shouting, snapping, hungry for a shot.
Of course, Richard knew how to draw attention.
Ayla froze.
I leaned in close enough for only her to hear. "Keep your head high. Don't stop walking."
Nathan opened the door, and the chaos hit instantly.
"Liam Cross!"
"Who's the girl?"
"Is that your fiancée?"
Cameras, microphones, voices all at once. I stepped out first, then reached a hand back for her. She hesitated for half a breath, then placed her hand in mine.
The flashes exploded as she stepped out. Her dress caught the light, and I felt her fingers tremble slightly against mine. I placed my hand on her back, guiding her up the steps. She steadied.
Good girl.
Inside, the noise dulled. The dining hall glowed with chandeliers, polished marble floors, businessmen in black suits, and their wives dressed like royalty. Richard knew how to set a stage.
And there he was Richard Maddox. He had this easy smile on his face, his arm looped casually around the waist of the woman beside him. He was watching me, watching us.
I tightened my hand at Ayla's back and led her forward.
This wasn't just dinner. It was a test.