The door flies open.
"Elle?"
Camila stands in the doorway. There's more than panic in her eyes. There's fear. Not the kind you feel for a friend, but the kind you feel for yourself when you're about to get burned. Then the words come out all at once, sharp and loud: "What the hell?"
The office door slams behind her, and the sound crawls down my spine. She just stands there, staring like I've grown a second head or worse, conjured a wealthy, gloomy fiancé out of thin air.
"Cam," I whisper, my fingers tightening around her cursed notebook like a shield. "Before you explode…"
"Before I? Elle, what the hell just happened out there?!" Her voice cracks with panic.
I wince. "Would you believe me if I said I was dropping off your notebook and accidentally got proposed to?"
Her glare could slice glass.
I shrug. "It's fine," I say, waving it off. "By next week, everyone will forget this ever happened."
Camila groans, dragging me toward the far corner like the tall man in the room might overhear. "You really don't know who that was, do you? Damian Blackwell. My boss. Untouchable. Wealthy. One of the most sought-after men in New York."
I blink. "Huh. That explains the expensive jawline."
She nearly chokes. "Elle, this isn't funny!"
But before she can say more, the door opens.
The air shifts, heavy and cold. He steps inside, gaze sweeping once before landing on me.
"Excuse us," he says.
Camila stiffens. "Sir..."
"I said, out." His tone leaves no room for argument. With one helpless look at me, she slips past him and closes the door behind her.
Silence follows, thin and loud.
He walks across the room with slow, deliberate steps. "I should introduce myself properly, but I'm sure you know who I am. Damian Blackwell."
"Elle," I say, my voice smaller than I like. "Marielle Morgan."
He studies me like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong box. "Do you have the faintest idea what you just stepped into?"
I force a laugh. "Yeah. A very public, very casual proposal. I'm assuming your actual bride was running late, so I got the understudy role." I lift a hand. "No problem. Tomorrow, we call it off, blame it on the champagne, and everyone moves on."
For a second, I think I've sorted it. Then he laughs. Low, sharp. The kind of laugh that means trouble. "It doesn't work that way, Elle."
The words land like a stone in my gut, heavy and cold.
He doesn't smile. "That wasn't a stunt I can fix with a press release. I'm a public figure. This..." he gestures between us, "...is now a story. We'll have to carry it for months: appearances, dinners, headlines. That's the only way to control it."
I stare at him. The audacity. Wow! Isn't this fascinating? And here I was, a sweet little girl who wanted popcorn and The Crowned Heart without accidentally becoming a tabloid headline.
"Respectfully, sir," I force a smile but my eyes stay cold. "I don't care how this affects you. I'm out of here."
His face hardens. "Of course. I should've guessed. Your type always runs when it gets difficult. But if it's money you want..." he dips his hand into his pocket like he's done the same gesture a hundred times. "You'll be compensated. Generously."
"My type?" My laugh comes out too quick, too sharp.
"Girls who stumble into the spotlight suddenly realize the pressure, then look for a payout. I've seen it before."
My jaw clenches until it aches, words like sparks fighting to break free. I step closer, my voice slicing the air. "You're a fucking jerk! You literally begged me to say yes. You should be grateful I saved you from embarrassing yourself."
His jaw ticks, the only sign he feels it.
"You think you did me a favor? You only made things worse. You don't understand the weight of what you've stepped into."
"Then enlighten me." I lean back against the chair, trying to sound calm. "Because from where I'm standing, I just saved you from becoming tomorrow's joke."
He reaches for the notebook. Our hands brush. Skin against skin, quick and unplanned.
The spark hits like fire under my skin, and my vision rips open like lightning. Suddenly, I'm not there anymore.
I find myself in this same office. Hours ago, with him. Papers scatter across his desk. A speakerphone blares angry voices. Two men in suits stand in front of him, cold and sharp.
"Without an heir," one says, "the board will force a transfer to your uncle. The company won't stay in your hands much longer."
Damian's fist slams the desk. His face goes white with something that isn't anger; fear. He looks like a man on the edge of being erased.
"They can't take it from me," his voice breaks in the vision, low and desperate. "It's my company. My father's legacy…"
Then it's gone.
I stagger back into the present, air rushing into my lungs. My hand trembles where it brushed his.
"You were going to lose it," I whisper before I can stop myself. My voice shakes. "The company. They said they'd take it if you didn't produce an heir."
The room freezes.
His eyes lock on mine, sharp and furious now, like I've just peeled back a secret I wasn't supposed to touch.
"How," he says slowly, "do you know that?"
I open my mouth, but the truth sticks in my throat. What am I supposed to say? Sorry, I touched your hand and saw your secret like a movie reel?
The door opens again, and I sigh with relief.
"Sir?" Camila's voice comes fast and shaky. "Sorry to interrupt, but some of the investors are leaving early. They would like to see you before they go."
Damian doesn't move. His eyes never leave me. They are cold, sharp, like he's reading me.
I grab the distraction like a lifeline. "Here." I shove the notebook toward Camila. "Your precious book. Guard it with your life. Apparently, my new side hustle is accidental fiancée."
Her hand stretches, but his catches the book instead. His fingers brush mine, slower this time.
"You know her?"
Camila swallows hard. "She's… my best friend, sir. My roommate."
He pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Your best friend," he repeats. "Interesting."
I yank my hand back, heart slamming, and slip past them before he can stop me.
"See you at home, Cam. And congrats, Damian. Guess we just had our first fight as an engaged couple."
I slip out before he can say a word, his silence chasing me down the hall.
I don't look back. But his stare follows me, and I know this isn't over. No, it's just beginning.