The moment I step into Kingston Enterprises, the air feels different. Cold. Expensive. Sterile in a way that makes my skin prickle. I clutch my tray of coffees like a lifeline, hoping no one notices the shaking in my hands. One wrong step, one spill, and my entire life could implode. Rent is due in two days, and the last thing I need is a disaster in the lobby of the most powerful company in the city.
The glass elevator pings, and I look up. There he is. Ethan Kingston. My heart skips a beat despite every warning I’ve drilled into myself. I’ve seen his face on every business magazine, every billboard about mergers and acquisitions, every article about billionaires who fire employees like they’re changing suits. He’s untouchable. Cold. Dangerous in the way that makes people bend in his presence.
And I’m carrying his coffee.
I take a deep breath, forcing my hands steady. Easy, Amara, I tell myself. Just deliver the coffee. Don’t look. Don’t breathe too loudly. Don’t think.
I step forward. My heel catches on the edge of the rug. Coffee tilts precariously. I freeze.
Then it happens. A collision. His arm—long, commanding—jolts me sideways. Coffee splashes across the front of his crisp white shirt. Hot, dark liquid spreading like ink across the fabric. My stomach drops, my tongue freezes.
“Oh my God!” I squeak. “I-I’m so sorry!”
Ethan Kingston looks down at the mess. The world around me slows. His piercing eyes lock onto mine. There’s silence. A pause so long I feel it in my bones. My cheeks burn, but it’s not just embarrassment—it’s the raw intensity of being caught in the gaze of someone who could ruin me with a single word.
He doesn’t say anything. He just stares. His jaw tightens, the tension radiating from him like heat from a fire.
“I—uh—coffee,” I stammer, reaching for my napkin, useless in my trembling hands.
“You ruined it,” he says finally. His voice is low, controlled, deadly calm. “And you ruined my morning.”
I want to shrink into the floor. I want to apologize again. I want to run. But something inside me locks my legs. I’m not used to being spoken to like this. Not like anyone in my world could ever look at me and care that I exist.
“I-I can clean it—” I begin.
“No,” he interrupts sharply. Then he tilts his head slightly, as if measuring me. “Sit down.”
My brain locks. Sit? Here? Now? But there’s no anger behind his words—only command. I obey, sliding into a chair across from the reception desk. My pulse is loud in my ears.
He steps closer, hands still at his sides. “You’re Amara Thompson.”
I blink. “Yes…?”
“You have a job in a coffee shop,” he says, stating it like a fact, not a question. “You barely make enough to survive. You’re here delivering my coffee because you agreed to work a catering event for extra money.”
I want to protest, to say he doesn’t know anything about me, but my mouth is dry. The sharpness in his eyes freezes me.
“I was supposed to—” I start, then stop.
Ethan sits opposite me now. Quiet. Watching. Calculating. My heart hammers.
“You think I’m going to fire you?” His lips twitch, almost a smirk. “No. That wouldn’t be interesting. No, I want something else.”
I swallow, wary. “What… what do you want?”
He leans forward, elbows on the desk. “I want you to pretend. Pretend you’re someone you’re not. Pretend we’re engaged.”
My brain freezes. “Excuse me?”
He sighs, almost impatiently. “Kingston Enterprises is under threat. A hostile takeover. The board thinks a public engagement—or rather, a temporary engagement—could stabilize the image. That’s where you come in.”
I stare. The words don’t fully register. Pretend to be his fiancée? Me? A waitress who’s never attended a board meeting in her life?
“You’re offering… money?” I ask, voice small, trembling.
He smiles faintly—cold, precise. “More than you’ve ever imagined. Six months. My terms. Full compliance. No questions about my business unless I ask. And in return… you get security, pay, and maybe… experience you didn’t expect.”
I shake my head. “This sounds insane.”
“It is,” he says. “That’s why it’s perfect.”
The room feels smaller. My heart races. This is ridiculous. I should say no. I should run. But… I can’t. The rent. The bills. The thought of money I’ve never dreamed of handling… it’s tempting, dangerous, like staring into fire.
“What’s the catch?” I whisper.
His gaze sharpens, almost amused. “You don’t fall for me.”
I choke on my own laugh. “You think I could?”
“Try,” he says. His voice drops, softer now, almost… human. “Because if you do, it won’t end well.”
The intensity in his eyes makes my stomach twist. Not fear. Not entirely. Something else. Something more. Desire? Admiration? A warning I can’t decipher.
“I…” I start, then stop. I swallow hard. This is insane. I’m insane. But I nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Ethan leans back, folding his arms, expression neutral again. “Good. We start tonight. Penthouse dinner. You’ll be briefed on your lines, your role, your behavior. Make one mistake and you’re out.”
I glance down at my hands. Trembling. My life has just shifted in a single, caffeinated second.
“Amara,” he says softly, leaning slightly closer. “Do not ruin this for yourself. Or me.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
And in that instant, standing in the sterile, cold office of the man whose name rules the business world, I realize my life is about to become a dangerous game.
One where pretending could cost more than money.
One where pretending could cost my heart.
