Bound by Pretense

Bella

The restaurant oozed wealth—soft candlelight flickering against crystal chandeliers, the scent of seared filet mignon and aged wine mingling in the air. I adjusted the strap of my emerald-green dress and forced my nude-colored heels to take another step forward. My mother had promised me this blind date would be “a perfect match.” As if her track record of setting me up with previous men who thought that architecture was “just drawing stuff” wasn’t enough proof of her poor judgment of men.

I sighed, checking my watch. 8:00 PM sharp. If nothing else, I’d at least get a free meal out of this disaster. I thought to myself, trying to see the positivity in all of this.

The hostess led me toward a private corner booth. The moment I turned around, my breath caught in my throat.

No. No. No. Absolutely not.

Alexander Devereaux sat at the table, long fingers wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey, his sharp blue gaze locking onto mine with the same calculating intensity that could make boardrooms tremble: the oil tycoon, ruthless CEO, and my ex’s boss.

I stopped in my tracks, my stomach twisting into knots. This has to be a joke, I said to myself.

He looked utterly unbothered as if he would rather be anywhere else. Good. That made two of us.

“Miss Laurent,” he greeted, his voice smooth, yet impassive.

I clenched my jaw, stepping forward with as much dignity as I could muster. Keep it together. I slid into the booth across from him, my skin crawling with irritation.

“Mr. Devereaux.” My tone was crisp, yet professional, like I wasn’t currently cursing my mother in my head.

Alexander took a slow sip of whiskey, his expression unreadable. “Let me guess. Your parents forced you into this?”

My jaw clenched. “That obvious?”

“Painfully,” He smirked, the kind that could send stock markets trembling, but it only made my irritation spike. “My grandfather.” He said.

That… that was surprising. Alexander Devereaux wasn’t the kind of man who let anyone dictate his life. If his grandfather had managed to get him here, then... this dinner was worse than I thought.

God help me.

Alexander

This was a mistake.

I’d agreed to this blind date under duress—a very rare occurrence for me. My grandfather’s warning echoed in my head:

“You need a wife, Alexander. Someone respectable. Settle down, or God help me, I’ll find a way to force your hand.”

Fine. I would play his game, for now. But this? This was unexpected.

Bella Laurent wasn’t some polished socialite or a desperate heiress looking to charm her way into my fortune, as I was expecting she’d be. Seeing that I’ve been forced to date women in that category previously, and was to be married to one. But she was… unapologetically herself, different from other gold-digging Jezebels.

She is fiercely independent. Sharp as a blade. And glared at me like she’d rather throw her wine at my face than entertain this farce.

I almost smiled.

“I take it you’re as thrilled about this arrangement as I am,” I said smoothly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass.

She scoffed, arms crossing over her chest. “Thrilled doesn’t quite cover it, Mr. Devereaux.”

I smirked. At least she wasn’t pretending or acting just to please me.

Her eyes narrowed. “Look, we can sit here, suffer through a meal, and pretend we don’t loathe this situation that we’re both in. Or, we can be adults about it and figure out a way to get out of this mess with minimal damage.”

I set my glass down, intrigued. “And what exactly are you proposing?”

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “We tell our families it went well. That we’re dating. Fake a few outings, and make them think we’re giving this stuff a shot. Then, in a few months, we ‘amicably’ part ways.”

I studied her. She was dead serious.

Smart. Efficient. No unnecessary dramatics.

I liked that.

I arched a brow. “And why should I agree to this… charade?”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Because unless you want your grandfather breathing down your neck, you need an excuse, just as I need one too. Right?”

A flicker of amusement stirred in my chest. Bella Laurent was proposing a business arrangement disguised as a form of romance. Intriguing, very intriguing. She had me sold, I wonder if she's in the marketing department where she works? I thought to myself.

I could see the logic in it. My grandfather had grown insufferable with his insistence that I needed to find a wife, preferably one with a clean reputation and a respectable career.

Bella Laurent also fits the bill.

And more importantly, she was smart enough not to get the wrong idea in all of this.

But… could she play the role convincingly?

“You’re serious?” I asked to see if she was sure about what she was getting herself into.

“Yes.” She replied firmly, a hint of worry evident but yet confident about her decision.

I let out a low chuckle and leaned back against my seat as I found her amusing, my fingers tapping lightly against my whiskey glass.

“You do realize what you’re suggesting, don’t you?” I asked again.

“Oh, I do.” She replied, crossing her arms. “It’s a simple exchange. We get our families off our backs for a while, fake a few dates, then—” she flicked her wrist, mimicking a carefree breakup. “We go our separate ways as I stated before.”

“A mutually beneficial deception,” I mused, rubbing my jaw and considering it one more time. “And you think that’s going to work?”

She shrugged. “Or do you have a better idea?”

I studied her intently before finally speaking up.

“Fine,” I replied, exhaling. “I’ll entertain this harmless charade — but on one condition.”

She arched her brow. “Which is?”

“If we do this, we’re gonna have to do this properly.” I slightly leaned forward, lowering my tone, sounding more deliberate.

She exhaled, relieved. “Great. So, we fake a few dates, let the rumors spread, and by the time we ‘break up,’ no one will bother to question it.”

I leaned forward, holding her gaze. “We’ll need to be seen together often. Photographed. At events.”

She hesitated for half a second. “I can handle that.”

I let the corner of my mouth lift in the faintest smirk. “Then it’s a deal.”

She extended a hand. “No feelings. No complications. Just a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

I took it, her skin warm against mine. “No complications,” I echoed.

But as I held her gaze, something in the back of my mind whispered:

That’s a lie.

Bella

I stared at the man across from me, the weight of my impulsive suggestion still settling in my chest. Fake dating. With the Alexander Devereaux. The infamous oil tycoon who could buy an entire city with his spare change.

Is this Genius or absolute madness?

He didn’t even blink, didn’t even look surprised. If anything, he was calculating, weighing my words like it was a stock market projection.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re serious.”

“Yes,” I replied firmly, a bit worried I won’t lie.

He let out a low, disbelieving chuckle and leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his whiskey glass. “You do realize what you’re suggesting, don’t you?”

“Oh, I do.” I crossed my arms. “It’s a simple exchange. We get our families off our backs for a while, fake a few dates, then—” I flicked my wrist, mimicking a carefree breakup. “We go our separate ways as I stated before.”

“A mutually beneficial deception,