The CEO's Fake Girlfriend

It was past nine when I parked at the end of Ronan's long, winding driveway. I could have driven right up to the main entrance, but I wanted him to wait a little. Let him feel the extra two minutes.

Small rebellions were all I had left.

I hated this place. I hated how I knew exactly how many steps it took to the oversized front door. I hated that the security system recognized my face and let me in with a soft beep that felt more like a prison door opening.

Inside smelled the same as always, cigars and polish and something else I could not name. Power, maybe.

I walked the familiar path through the foyer, past the art pieces I knew Ronan had bought to impress people. My heart beat fast but I forced my breathing to stay steady. Never let him see weakness. That was rule one of surviving him.

I sighed the moment I saw him.

Ronan Hayes, sprawled in a leather chair like some king on his throne. His long, rough hair fell over his sharp cheekbones, framing those obsidian eyes I hated looking at. He didn't look up from his phone when I entered.

Miss Grey, his assistant, stood by the window, giving me that strange look she always had on.

Even in a blazer, she was still a stunner, her flawless beauty and sleek ponytail radiating a chilling poise.

"You're late," his voice sounded smooth, but there was a hard edge to it.

"Traffic," I lied.

He finally looked up to me. "Sit."

I paused, a small act of stubbornness, then sat in the chair across from him. I kept my back straight and my hands folded like I was calm.

Ronan studied me, then shifted his glance to Miss Grey. She stepped forward, and I was confused, until her palm came up and hit my cheek. It stung, sharp and bright. Before I could gather myself she slapped the other side. Tears sprang to my eyes from the shock, but I blinked them back. I would not cry for them.

"Feel better now?" I said, my voice shaking.

"That depends." Ronan's voice was softer. Soft was worse. "Do you understand what you did today?"

"I got his attention, didn't I?"

"You got yourself fired! You acted without permission, for your own anger, ruining the plan I laid out.

I spent months making a path for you in Hates Corps. I put you where you needed to be. You ruined that."

I dug my nails into my palms. "It worked. He's noticed."

"And now he knows your face and your name. He will look deeper. You made him suspicious. You are a tool, Camila. My tool. Tools do not choose how they are used."

"I'm not your—"

"You are whatever I say you are." He cut me off, voice rising for the first time. "Or have you forgotten our arrangement? Do I need to remind you of your debt?"

The words felt like another slap. How could I ever forget the night that made me indebted to him?

"No."

"Good." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to that dangerous softness again. "Because I see so much hate in your eyes, Camila. You hate that Lucien made you bound to a man like me.

You hate that your freedom, your future, your very life depends on my goodwill." His finger brushed my stinging cheek, almost tender. "But without me, you'd have nothing. You'd be rotting in prison. And if you ever forget that, if you ever act without my permission again, you wouldn't be the only one to pay for your sins."

My blood ran cold. "Leave Maya and Edmund out of this."

"Then do as you're told." He sat back, clearly satisfied. "I'll contact you when I've cleaned up your mess."

Miss Grey hadn't moved. Something in her eyes seemed almost sympathetic, but I knew better. That woman was just as terrible as her goddamned boss.

I stood on shaky legs but forced myself to walk out with my chin high. I didn't give them my tears, didn't let my shoulders slump until I was safely in my car.

As I drove away, hatred burned fresh in my chest. Anger at Ronan, at Miss Grey, at my own weakness, and mostly at Lucien Hayes. The man whose undercover ring started everything.

The man I would destroy, no matter what it cost.

---

I should have been sleeping, but I was just staring at the peeling paint on our ceiling, wishing the anger in my veins would cool enough to let me rest.

Maya found me like that in the morning, curled up on the couch where I had collapsed after returning from Ronan's.

"You look like hell," she said, tossing me a clean towel. "Coffee's brewing."

I managed a weak smile. "Thanks."

While Maya vacuumed our tiny living room, I wiped last night's makeup from my face, willing it to wash away Ronan's threats too.

"You can't keep letting him control you like this," Maya said over the vacuum's roar. "There has to be another way."

"If you have brilliant ideas, I'm all ears."

She stopped, leaning on the vacuum handle. "Maybe we should—"

A sharp knock interrupted her. We exchanged confused glances. We never got visitors, especially Saturday morning.

I opened the door to find nothing but a sleek black box tied with a silver ribbon. "What is it?" Maya asked, peering over my shoulder.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was the most gorgeous black dress I'd ever seen.

"Holy shit," Maya whispered. "Secret admirer?"

I searched for a card or a note, but found nothing.

"This has to be a mistake," I muttered, checking the hallway.

My phone buzzed in the living room and I bolted to it. Elvis, my supervisor. I hadn't heard from him since I was fired. He hadn't even called to check if I was okay.

If he was texting on a Saturday morning, it was more likely he had a job for me, and less likely to check up on me.

Elvis occasionally hooked me up with ushering gigs on weekends. Some were decent money, others barely worth the bus fare.

"Big job tonight!!! It's high profile, Mila. Wear the dress, and a car will come for you at 6. You'd scream your lungs out when you heard the pay!"