The fluorescent lights of the US Embassy in Athens felt harsh against my exhausted eyes, but they represented salvation. Three days. It had taken me three agonizing days to navigate the bureaucratic maze of being stranded without proper documentation in a foreign country, but I'd done it.

"Ms. Hall, your emergency travel documents are ready," the consular officer said, sliding the temporary passport across the metal desk. "I have to say, your corporate connections certainly expedited this process."

I managed a tired smile, thinking of the frantic calls I'd made to my company's international legal department, the favors I'd called in with colleagues who had embassy contacts, the sheer force of will that had gotten me this far. "Thank you. When is the earliest flight to Seattle?"

"There's a red-eye tonight through Frankfurt. Gets you into Sea-Tac tomorrow evening."

Seattle. Not New York, where Adam was probably expecting me to slink back to lick my wounds. I'd already made that decision during the long, sleepless nights in the cramped hostel room I'd managed to afford with the emergency cash I always kept hidden in my luggage lining—a paranoid habit that had literally saved me.

The flight felt endless, but it gave me time to think. To plan. To transform the white-hot rage burning in my chest into something more useful: cold, calculated determination. By the time we touched down at Sea-Tac, I knew exactly what I was going to do.

My first stop wasn't my apartment. It was the office.

"Skyler?" Marcus Chen, my colleague and one of the few people I trusted, looked up from his desk in shock as I walked into the Seattle branch at seven AM, still carrying my travel bag. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Greece for another three days?"

"Change of plans." I set my bag down and pulled out my laptop, my movements sharp and efficient. "I need you to set up a meeting with Davidson. Today."

Marcus studied my face, taking in the exhaustion I couldn't quite hide, the tension in my shoulders, the way my jaw was set like I was preparing for war. "What happened?"

"Nothing I can't handle." The lie came easily. I'd had plenty of practice over the past few days. "Just need to discuss some strategic opportunities with the regional director."

Two hours later, I sat across from Richard Davidson in his corner office, the Seattle skyline stretching behind him like a promise. I'd changed into the spare suit I kept in my office, touched up my makeup, and transformed myself back into the polished executive who commanded respect in boardrooms.

"I have to admit, Skyler, when Marcus said you wanted an emergency meeting, I was concerned," Davidson said, leaning back in his leather chair. "But this proposal for expanding our West Coast operations is impressive. Very impressive."

I kept my expression neutral, professional. "The market analysis shows significant growth potential, particularly in the tech sector. We're missing opportunities by not having a stronger presence here."

"And you think you're the person to lead this expansion?"

"I know I am." The confidence in my voice surprised even me. Three days ago, I'd been broken, humiliated, abandoned. Now, sitting in this office, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged. "I've already identified potential office locations, key personnel we'd need to recruit, and preliminary client targets."

Davidson's eyebrows rose. "You put this together in what, twelve hours?"

"I work best under pressure." Another truth wrapped in careful omission. The pressure of betrayal, of being left with nothing, had crystallized my focus like nothing else could.

He was quiet for a long moment, studying the documents I'd prepared. "There would be significant responsibility. You'd essentially be building a new branch from the ground up. Regional Manager level."

"I understand."

"The position would come with a substantial salary increase, of course. And full relocation support if you decide to make Seattle your permanent base."

Seattle. Three thousand miles from New York. Three thousand miles from Adam and his enablers. Three thousand miles from the life that had imploded around me.

"When would you need an answer?"

Davidson smiled, and I saw something like admiration in his eyes. "Skyler, I've watched your work for two years. Your crisis management skills, your strategic thinking, your ability to deliver results under pressure. What you've shown me today just confirms what I already knew—you're ready for this level of responsibility."

He stood up, extending his hand. "Congratulations, Regional Manager Hall. When can you start?"

As I shook his hand, feeling the weight of my new title settle around me like armor, I thought about Adam. About Saanvi. About all of them who had written me off, who had expected me to crumble.

They had no idea what they'd unleashed.

"I can start immediately," I said, and meant it. "I have nothing holding me back."

Two weeks into my new role as Regional Manager, I was settling into the rhythm of building something from nothing. The Seattle office hummed with potential, my team was responding well to my leadership, and for the first time since Greece, I felt like myself again. But there was still one piece of unfinished business gnawing at me.

Adam had been calling. Texting. Leaving voicemails that ranged from apologetic to angry to desperate. I'd blocked his number after the fifth message, but somehow he kept finding ways to reach me. Through mutual colleagues, through social media, through friends of friends. The man who had stolen my passport and left me stranded was now acting like the victim of our breakup.

That's when the idea struck me.

I was reviewing quarterly projections when my phone buzzed with a notification. Another Instagram post from Saanvi, this one showing her and Adam at some trendy New York restaurant, her hand possessively placed on his arm. The caption read: "Perfect evening with my favorite person ❤️ #blessed #newbeginnings"

The fury that shot through me was immediate and clarifying. They were flaunting their relationship, probably expecting me to see it, to be hurt by it. Well, two could play that game.

That evening, I found myself standing outside Onyx, one of Seattle's most exclusive nightclubs. The kind of place where tech billionaires rubbed shoulders with celebrities, where everything was expensive and everyone was beautiful. If I was going to find the perfect fake boyfriend, this was the place to do it.

The bass thrummed through my chest as I made my way through the crowd, my black dress drawing appreciative glances. I'd chosen it carefully—sophisticated but striking, the kind of outfit that commanded attention without trying too hard. I ordered a martini at the bar and began my reconnaissance.

That's when I saw him.

He was sitting alone at a corner table, and he was absolutely perfect. Tall, with dark hair that looked effortlessly tousled, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's rent. But it wasn't just his looks that caught my attention—it was the way he carried himself. Confident without being arrogant, observant without seeming calculating. He had the kind of presence that made people notice him, the exact opposite of Adam's desperate need for validation.

I watched him for a few minutes, noting how he politely declined advances from several women who approached his table. Professional but not rude. Exactly what I needed.

Taking a steadying breath, I walked over to his table. "Excuse me, are you working tonight?"

He looked up, and I was struck by his eyes—intelligent, amused, with flecks of gold that caught the club's ambient lighting. "That depends on what kind of work you have in mind."

His voice was smooth, cultured, with just a hint of playfulness that made my pulse quicken despite myself. Focus, Skyler. This is business.

"I need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend," I said directly, sliding into the seat across from him. "Public appearances, social media posts, maybe a few dinner dates. Nothing inappropriate, just convincing enough to make my ex-boyfriend jealous."

Most men would have laughed or asked if I was serious. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with those perceptive eyes. "Interesting proposition. May I ask why you're not using an actual boyfriend for this?"

"Because actual boyfriends come with complications. This is purely transactional." I pulled out my phone and showed him Saanvi's Instagram post. "My ex cheated on me with his friend, then they stole my passport and left me stranded in Greece. Now they're posting their happiness all over social media."

Something shifted in his expression—a flash of anger that surprised me with its intensity. "They left you stranded? In a foreign country?"

"Among other things." I put my phone away, maintaining my businesslike tone. "I'm willing to pay fifty thousand for a month of your time. Professional appearances only, but they need to look authentic."

He was quiet for a long moment, and I found myself holding my breath. This man was perfect for what I needed—sophisticated, attractive, with an air of success that would drive Adam crazy. But more than that, there was something about him that felt... safe. Trustworthy in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.

"Fifty thousand is generous," he said finally. "But I'm curious—what makes you think I'm available for hire?"

I gestured around the club. "You're here alone on a Friday night, you're clearly comfortable in upscale environments, and you have the look I need. Plus, you haven't said no."

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features completely. "You're very direct. I like that." He extended his hand across the table. "Beau Austin. And yes, I accept your proposition."

As I shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just set something in motion that was bigger than simple revenge. But for now, that was exactly what I needed.

"Perfect," I said, already planning our first public appearance. "Let's give them something to really be jealous of."