Layla stared at Julian Black's outstretched hand, the silence in the room thick with the weight of his audacious proposal. Thirty days. Pretend to be his lover. The sheer absurdity of it warred with the undeniable allure of revenge. It was a descent into a carefully constructed fiction, a dangerous dance with a man who exuded power and secrets.
Hesitation gnawed at her. Could she really go through with this? Deceive everyone, including herself? The thought of Mark's face when he saw her with his formidable boss was undeniably satisfying. But the idea of feigning intimacy with a stranger, however compelling, felt…unsettling.
Julian didn't press. He simply held his hand steady, his dark eyes patient, waiting for her decision. In that moment, Layla saw not just a ruthless businessman, but someone who understood the sting of betrayal, albeit perhaps on a different scale. There was a cold understanding in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain Mark had inflicted.
Taking a deep breath, Layla placed her hand in his. His grip was firm, sending a surprising jolt through her. It wasn't a gentle, reassuring touch; it was possessive, decisive. A silent claiming.
"We have a deal, Mr. Blackwood," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
A genuine, albeit still sharp, smile finally touched his lips. "Julian," he corrected, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of her hand. "For the next thirty days, we will be… intimately acquainted."
Thirty days. Pretending to belong to a man like Julian? That wasn't a favor. It was a deal with strings—and she didn't even know where he planned to pull them from.
Now that the anger was wearing off, the fear crept in. Layla swallowed, the implications of his words sinking in. This wasn't just about holding hands at a gala. This was about crafting an illusion so convincing it would shatter Mark's world.
"I didn't expect you to say yes," she admitted quietly.
Julian leaned back, his fingers steepled. "Most people don't."
Layla's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something else—something like… intrigue.
Why would a man like him agree to something so petty?Why her?
She hated the way he made her feel—small, curious, unsteady.
Julian stood and poured a glass of water, placing it in front of her. She hadn't asked for it. But she drank it anyway.
"Do you know what Ryan said about you during his interview?" Julian asked suddenly.
Layla froze. "What?"
"He told me he'd just gotten engaged to a 'sweet girl who'd stay out of the way.' Said he wanted something simple at home."
Her throat tightened.
"I assumed you were weak," Julian added casually. "I don't hire men who surround themselves with weaknesses."
That stung more than it should've.
"Guess I surprised you."
"Not yet."
She rose slowly, meeting his gaze.
"Then why agree to this?"
"Because I like leverage. And you're interesting when you're angry."
Layla's spine stiffened.He was testing her.
" I'm not your toy."
"No," Julian said, stepping closer. "But if you play your role well, I might let you win something."
"What role, exactly?" she asked.
Julian didn't smile—but something flickered in his eyes.
"What… what do I need to do?" she asked, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach.
"Tonight, you will stay here," Julian said, releasing her hand but maintaining an intense gaze. "We need to establish a believable narrative. A plausible beginning to our… whirlwind romance."
Layla's eyes widened. Stay here? In his penthouse? The thought was both terrifying and strangely… exhilarating.
"There's a guest room," Julian clarified, a hint of amusement in his voice, as if reading her thoughts. "For now. But we need to be seen leaving together in the morning. A lingering goodbye. A touch. A suggestion of a night well spent."
He began to outline his plan, his words precise and strategic. Social media posts, carefully orchestrated "chance" encounters, a public display of affection at an upcoming charity event. He had it all mapped out, a calculated campaign of psychological warfare aimed directly at Ryan.
As Julian spoke, Layla found herself both repelled and intrigued by his meticulousness. He was playing a game, a high-stakes manipulation, and she was now a key player. Yet, beneath the cold exterior, she sensed a deep-seated anger towards Ryan, a personal vendetta that fueled his desire for retribution.
"And what about Brielle?" Layla asked, the bitterness creeping back into her voice.
Julian's expression hardened. "Brielle is… collateral damage. Her association with Ryan's poor judgment will undoubtedly impact her professional standing. Her loyalty, misplaced as it was, will have its consequences."
Layla felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly overshadowed by the image of Brielle intertwined with Ryan. They had made their choices.
"There are ground rules, Ms. Hayes," Julian continued, his gaze intense. "Absolute discretion. No contact with Ryan outside of what we orchestrate. And," he paused, his eyes flicking down to her lips, "a convincing performance. Can you deliver?"
Layla met his gaze, a newfound resolve hardening her features. "For thirty days, Julian, I can be whoever you need me to be."
A slow smile spread across his face, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes but held a promise of something dangerous and exciting. "I have no doubt, Layla."
He led her to a guest suite, a haven of understated luxury. As she lay in the unfamiliar bed, the events of the night replayed in her mind. From the devastating discovery to the shocking proposition, her life had been irrevocably altered in a matter of hours.
Sleep eluded her. The weight of her decision pressed down, a mixture of fear and a strange sense of anticipation. What had she gotten herself into? Pretending to be in love with Julian Blackwood was a dangerous game. But the thought of seeing Ryan's downfall, orchestrated by the two of them, was a powerful lure.
As dawn began to paint the city skyline with hues of grey and pink, Layla knew one thing for sure: her life would never be the same. The thirty days had begun. And she had a feeling they would be anything but predictable.