The CEO's Fake Fiancée: A Dangerous Deal

The dress was not black, but the color of a midnight sky, a deep, starless blue. It clung to her like a second skin, held up by straps as thin as floss. It was a Camden Benjamin selection: elegant, expensive, and designed to be a piece of art rather than a piece of clothing.

The stylist, a woman with sharp bangs and an even sharper tongue, had spent four hours transforming Edlyn. Her hair was swept up in an intricate knot, and diamonds-loaned, of course-glittered at her ears and throat.

When Camden emerged from the west wing, he stopped. He was wearing a classic tuxedo that made him look less like a CEO and more like a king. His eyes swept over her, a slow, analytical appraisal.

"Acceptable," he said, his voice flat, but she saw a flicker of something in his gaze-surprise, maybe. He adjusted his cufflinks, a nervous tic she was beginning to recognize.

"The rules for tonight are simple," he said as they rode the private elevator down to the garage. "Stay by my side. Do not speak unless spoken to. If you are asked a direct question, keep your answers brief. Smile. And under no circumstances are you to mention the gallery, your family, or our arrangement."

"I'm your fiancée, not your intern," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

His head snapped toward her. "For tonight, those roles are functionally identical. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her throat tight.

The steps of the Met were a battlefield of flashing lights and shouted names. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and ambition. As soon as they stepped out of the car, Camden's face transformed. The cold austerity vanished, replaced by a charming, reserved smile.

He offered his arm. She took it. His bicep was hard under the tailored tuxedo, a physical reminder of the strength he held in reserve.

Flashbulbs erupted like a lightning storm. Edlyn blinked, momentarily blinded, but she kept her spine straight, just as he had instructed.

"There they are!"

The voice was high, piercing, and dripping with false sweetness. Felicie Owens, daughter of his biggest corporate rival and the woman her file had described as Camden's 'most persistent social obligation.'

She approached them holding a flute of champagne, wearing a gold dress that was cut low enough to be a scandal. Her eyes locked onto Camden, ignoring Edlyn completely.

"Camden, darling," she purred, placing a hand on his chest. "I was beginning to think you'd stood me up. And who is this?" Her gaze finally fell on Edlyn, dismissive and cold.

Before Edlyn could even open her mouth, Camden's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to his side. It was a possessive, definitive gesture.

"Felicie," he said, his voice smooth as silk but with an edge of steel. "Meet my fiancée, Edlyn Harding."