I stared at the black dress. Since when did ushering jobs involve designer dresses and cars?

"It's Elvis," I said to curious Maya who was already circling the box.

"The supervisor's hitting on you? Eww, I thought he was a married man."

"Ugh, Maya…" I huffed, lifting the fabric gently. I couldn't help but revel in the softness of the silk. Suspicious, I called Elvis back.

"Yeah?" His voice sounded rushed and distracted.

"What is this dress?"

"The text said high profile, didn't it? They provided outfits for all staff. Very fancy place."

"And the car?"

"Picking up all the workers. It saves from parking issues." I heard a little crash in the background. "Gotta run. Wear heels and not flats, okay? Bye!"

The call ended abruptly.

"So?" Maya perched on our coffee table.

"Apparently it is for a high-profile gig."

She clapped her hands together.

"Oh my god, please go! The pay must be really good. You need the money, and I need you to take me to that new club I told you about. The one with the hanging gardens and that DJ from Berlin."

"Slow down." I rolled my eyes. "I don't even know how much this pays yet."

"But you're going, right?" She held the dress against me, her eyes sparkling. "Girl, you'll look like a straight-up goddess in this."

"Fine. But if I end up serving caviar to some pervy billionaire all night, you're buying me breakfast tomorrow."

Maya grinned. "Deal. Now let's get your makeup right. If you're working a fancy event, you gotta look the part."

Six hours later, I was staring at myself in our bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the beauty looking back at me.

This dress was made for me. Open back, synched waist catching my curve with tiny sequin details falling just a few inches below my bum.

I opted for three-inch heels since ushering jobs involved hours of walking around. My hair was pinned up in a sleek ponytail, while a few curls framed my face.

"You look incredible," Maya said from the doorway. "Like, belongs-on-a-magazine incredible."

I felt a little ridiculous as I fidgeted with my simple silver stud earrings, the only jewelry I owned that didn't look cheap. "What kind of gig required this level of dressing?"

My phone buzzed with a text. The car had arrived.

"Text me if anything weird happened."

"Define weird."

"You know what I mean." She squeezed my arm. "Be safe. And try to have fun!"

The car waiting outside was black and sleek with tinted windows. The driver opened the door with a slight bow. I slid into the backseat, expecting to see other staff members already inside, but it was empty.

"Are we picking up other workers?" I asked as we pulled away.

"No, Miss Sterling. Just you."

That was the first red flag. The second came when I realized we were heading toward downtown Manhattan, not Brooklyn where most of my gigs usually happened.

The third was when the driver didn't take the service road but pulled right up to the glittering front entrance of a grand hotel I recognized as the Onyx Mirage.

Cameras flashed outside as a few socialites I recognized stepped out of their cars. This was clearly some major event.

"There must be a mistake," I said, panicking as the car stopped. "I'm staff. I should be going through the service entrance."

The driver was unmoved. "These were my instructions, Miss Sterling."

Before I could protest further, my door opened from the outside. A hand appeared, offering to help me out.

Seconds later, I was on the red carpet with camera flashes exploding around me.

"Camila! Over here!"

"Camila, why didn't you arrive with Lucien?"

"How do you feel about making such scandalous accusations against Hayes?"

Accusations? I wanted to confront that reporter, but the hand at my elbow guided me forward, through the doors and into an enormous ballroom glittering with chandeliers and wealth. People in tuxedos and expensive gowns mingled, laughing, drinking champagne.

I scanned for other ushers, for any sign of Elvis, but there was nothing. No staff in matching black dress. The servers passing trays wore crisp white uniforms with an embroidered hotel logo. Everything was already perfectly set up—tables, drinks, the stage where an auction seemed to be preparing.

This was no job. I'd been... set up?

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, pulling it from my small handbag that screamed "didn't belong here." A text from Maya popped up: "You wouldn't believe what I saw online!!!"

I dismissed it. Whatever celebrity gossip she was obsessing over could wait. I had to call Elvis first.

It picked up at the second ring, but the voice that answered wasn't Elvis's.

"Elvis won't be here tonight."

The voice carried a deep rumble, the vibration sending chills down my spine. I knew that voice. I'd heard it from videos online, in my nightmares, and most recently, in the cafeteria.

I felt a presence behind me, and my blood ran cold.

I already knew who I would find behind me, but before I could turn, he was right beside me. His large hand landed close to where the open back of my dress ended.

The light pressure of his fingers against my bare skin sent another chill up my spine. My heart pounded like it needed to escape from its cage.

What was he doing next to me?

His cologne wrapped around me, a smell that reminded me of fresh lavender this time. My hands went numb, fingers tingling with the urge to either slap him or grab something for support.

I wasn't sure which.

I looked up at him, so close to his chest I could see the flawless stitching on his tuxedo lapel, but he was staring straight ahead at the ballroom.

From that angle, I took in the sharp line of his jaw, the perfect side profile, the neatly trimmed beard, the curve of his ear. He was beautiful in that cold, dangerous way that expensive things often were.

That's when he looked at me, golden eyes catching mine with an intensity that made me forget to breathe.

There was a tiny lift at the corner of his mouth.

This couldn't be real. Surely I am not standing here, in this dress, with Lucien Hayes's hand on my back.

Lucien raised his hand to my cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing my skin with a gentleness you wouldn't expect from someone like him. The contrast between that softness and the hardness in his eyes snapped me back to my senses... partially.

"What are you doing?" I managed.

"You didn't think I'd let our little show end in a cafeteria, did you?" His voice was low, hand sliding down from my back to my waist. "We'd only just begun."

Before I could process a reply, he pulled me to his chest, the rich fabric of his suit cool against my skin. He was so tall, I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. He leaned in, slowly nuzzling closer until his breath warmed my nose tip.

The next thing I felt was his lips on mine.

His lips on mine!

Lucien Hayes was kissing me!

The cameras flashed more intensely around us, and I stood there, trying to remember how to function. I should have pushed him away, kneed his balls, done anything but stand there like a statue while he played out whatever game this was.

But my body wasn't listening to my brain. My hands remained at my sides, my lips neither responding nor retreating.

I was caught in some bizarre limbo where all I could think was: the man I am supposed to destroy, the man who ruined my life, was kissing me in front of half of New York's elite.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes had darkened to a caramel shade. His thumb wiped my lower lip, and I flinched at the gesture.

"Smile for the cameras, Miss Sterling," his voice was surprisingly steady despite what had just happened. "You will finish what you started..."

Lucien's POV

"What was that supposed to mean?"

I remained composed, my expression the exact look Rafael alongside my PR team had drilled into me for tonight; part possessive alpha male, part lovesick fool who couldn’t live without his woman. A man reclaiming what was his after being publicly dumped.

If only she would stop looking at me like she wanted to stab me with the nearest champagne flute.

"What don’t you understand, Ms. Sterling?" I talked lowly, aware of the curious glances circling us.

"For starters, why the hell you kissed me." She spat the words, not attempting to hide her disdain.

I took her hand before she could pull away. Her fingers were stiff, trembling slightly. I lifted them to my face and pressed a slow kiss to her palm. She smelled faintly of vanilla, clean and soft, completely at odds with the fire in her eyes.

"Is it a crime to kiss my girlfriend in public?"

Her green eyes glinted fiercely as I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You better play along before I expose who you really are."

Frankly, I didn’t know anything yet, just that her little cafeteria stunt had blown up, the internet had crowned her a national hero for dumping me, and my PR head was now living on caffeine and panic.

A kitchen worker claiming to be my girlfriend, right after the leaked recording accusing me of abuse?

Coincidences like that don't exist in my world.

Someone was pulling strings, and I intend to find out who and use it to my advantage, starting with the redhead in front of me.

I pulled back, expecting to see some compliance in her expression. Instead, I was met with the same murderous glare.

"Lucien! Oh my God, you’re loved up again!" Jessica Bloom appeared, wearing enough gold sequins to light the room.

Jessica turned to Camila, eyes roving over her dress. "Wow! You are absolutely stunning, dear. Where has Lucien been hiding you?"

"Beautiful, isn’t she?" I slid my arm around Camila's waist. Her body went rigid.

"How did you two meet? It must be a wonderful story."

"He was rude to an employee, so I got up from my table and poured my coffee all over him," Camila blurted out before I could stop her.

The boldness of her words caught me off guard. She was going to be harder to control. Jessica laughed awkwardly, clearly unsure if this was some private joke.

"Well, they say the path to true love never runs smooth. You two are adorable." She eyed me before backing away.

Once she was gone, I leaned close to Camila again.

"Could you just behave for an hour before we talk?"

She didn't. Instead, she ignored my subtle warnings—a gentle squeeze of her hand, an occasional press of my fingers against the bare skin of her back. By the time we were ready to leave, my patience had worn thin.

Holding her wrist, I guided her through the crowd of reporters, ignoring their shouted questions as we entered into the waiting car. The moment the door closed, I loosened my tie with a sharp yank, tossing it aside.

"What the hell?" she snapped, shoving my tie away from her.

"I specifically told you to behave. You spent the entire night acting like you’d rather be anywhere else but with me. That's not an image I want to feed to the public." I ran a hand through my hair, feeling it fall out of its styling.

I needed the pictures to come out in a way the media would find "cute". She didn't smile, not once, since I joined her in the ballroom.

"I would rather be anywhere else but with you," she shot back. "Did you expect me to fawn all over you? Over a goddamned abuser?"

"What did you just call me?" I hated that word.

"Are you gonna deny it? That you didn't abuse her?"

I turned to face her fully. So that was what this was about. She was testing me.

Now I was certain; if she was a strategic plant, then it must be for Catherine Moretti.

Are they sisters? Best friends plotting revenge together?

"You wanted my attention, Miss Sterling, and now you have it," I changed the topic. "All of it."

"Exactly. And now I’d sue you for kissing me without my consent," she threatened.

"And I’d counter-sue for defamation."

That shut her up, her throat bobbing a little as she swallowed hard.

"Now, let’s talk. There's a halo over your head right now, and I need it."

"Straightforward English, no?"

"I'm saying you are going to be my girlfriend."

"And what do I get in exchange?" She raised an eyebrow.

The question wasn't what I expected.

I leaned back against the leather seat. My index finger dragged slowly across my lower lip as I studied her. She wasn’t fighting me, not refusing outright. She was negotiating.

I was wrong about her.

"I just figured you out, Camila Sterling. This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?"

She is just a gold digger. No one would be stupid enough to send an amateur like her to destroy me.

Something close to panic danced across her face. That was all I needed to see. Then just as quickly, that iron wall came slamming back down.

"And what exactly is it that I want, Mr. Hayes?" she asked, crossing one leg over the other.

"My money. You're a gold digger, plain and simple. The question is whether you're smart enough to recognize when you've won."

"Congratulations. You've cracked the code. Gold star for the billionaire."

I searched her face for more tells that would confirm my theory. Most people crumbled under my scrutiny, but she didn't even blink.

"You don't know the kind of mess you created, right? My PR team has been working overtime. Have you seen the hashtags? There are meme compilations of your little cafeteria stunt set to soundtracks mocking me."

"I'm flattered. That's the exact reaction I was chasing," she said, examining her nails. "Public mockery."

The car slowed to a stop at a red light, casting her face in crimson. It suited her, this woman who'd thrown my carefully constructed world into chaos.

"Who are you really?"

"Just someone that saw an opportunity to get rich and took it." She tilted her head. "Isn't that what you would do, Hayes? Take what you want without asking?"

"You expect me to believe this was all your idea? That you just walked into Hayes Corp and decided to claim you were my girlfriend on a whim?"

"Believe whatever you want," her casual little shrug made my jaw clench. "But here we are. You need my halo, as you put it. And maybe I need something from you."

I hated that she was right. I did need her. The public loved her; loved how she dumped me, loved her fire, her simple story.

Rafael said our “reunion” would fix everything.

It would be good for my image, my new app, and regain the board's confidence in me before we roll out the new product we've been working on.

I’d never done something like this for business. But I’d do anything for results, even if it meant fake-dating a cheap opportunity chaser.

"Name your price."

Camila's POV

I smirked, leaning back into the leather seat like I owned it. Like I owned him. The thrill of those three words shot through me even as my stomach twisted with anxiety. This was exactly what I needed, but one wrong move and I'd blow it all.

"Wow, straight to business," I tapped my fingers against my knee to hide their trembling. "No foreplay with the great Lucien Hayes?"

His jaw tightened. "Don't waste my time, Sterling."

I tilted my head, studying him. How far could I push before he snapped? Before he realized I was more trouble than I was worth? I needed to be valuable enough to keep around but not so greedy he'd toss me aside.

"What exactly am I worth to you?" I asked, filling my voice with saccharine sweetness. "Half of Hayes Corp? A helicopter? A penthouse in Paris?"

Not even a flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Either get serious, or get out."

"Who said I was joking?" I leaned forward, invading his space just enough to make him uncomfortable. "Your reputation will jump points once our little kiss goes viral. Imagine what it'll do to when America falls in love with our epic romance."

His golden eyes narrowed, assessing me like I was nothing but figures on a spreadsheet.

"You're not the first gold digger to cross my path, Miss Sterling. But you're certainly the most brazen."

I forced a laugh. If only he knew my real reason. My desperation to save myself from prison.

"Let's cut the crap," I crossed my arms. "I want a contract. Something legally binding that protects me too."

"Protects you from what, exactly?" His lips curled into a slight grin. "From all the luxuries attached to being my girlfriend?"

"From you claiming I violated some NDA when you're done with me. From your PR team painting me as the crazy ex when this arrangement ends."

His brow arched slightly. "Guaranteed security. Surprisingly practical."

"Of course. Outline exactly what this arrangement entails. How long it lasts, what I'm expected to do, what I get in return, and what happens when it's over." I counted off each point on my fingers. "I want protection for my reputation when you inevitably throw me to the wolves. And I want a non-disclosure agreement that works both ways."

"Anything else?"

"A real job with a salary that makes the humiliation worthwhile."

"Most women would consider dating me an upgrade."

"Most women haven't seen the real you."

"And you have?" His tone sharpened.

I hesitated. This was dangerous territory. "I've seen enough."

He studied me, and I forced myself not to squirm under his gaze. Every glare, every sarcastic remark—they were shields I wielded to hide the fear pulsing beneath my skin.

The car slowed as we approached another red light. Through the tinted window, I spotted a couple laughing together on the sidewalk. Normal people living normal lives. Not making deals with devils.

"Come to HQ Monday morning," he finally said. "We'll discuss terms."

"Find out where I live and send a car to pick me up at Eleven."

"Ten."

"Eleven, or you can go find someone else to fix your reputation."

"Ten, and I am not sending you a car... and I know you'll come, because you need this arrangement for whatever it is you are truly scheming."

My throat tightened, and my hands grew cold as Lucien’s piercing eyes met mine. The intensity terrified me, terrified he guessed my true intentions.

The car pulled to a stop at a bus station.

"This is your stop," he announced.

I grabbed my purse and pushed the door open before he could say any other thing, stepping out onto the sidewalk like I was walking away from a boring conversation rather than a billionaire CEO.

"Eleven," I called over my shoulder, not looking back.

I waited until I turned the corner before letting my shoulders slump. My hands were trembling so badly I could barely grip my phone to call a cab.

Twenty minutes and one overpriced ride later, I stumbled through my apartment door and exhaled.

Then I screamed.

I jumped up and down, adrenaline and disbelief coursing through me. "It worked! It actually worked!"

Maya burst out of her bedroom, hair wrapped in a towel.

"What the—" She stared at me bouncing around our tiny living room. "Why are we screaming? Why are we jumping?"

"Because it worked!" I grabbed her hands, pulling her into my celebration.

"What worked?" She jumped with me, confused but game. "Is this about Lucien Hayes kissing you? Because I saw that video and girl—"

"It's about everything!" I collapsed onto our sagging couch, breathless. "The whole plan!"

I told her everything, from searching for Elvis to the kiss, and the car ride where I'd somehow maintained my composure while internally freaking out.

"So now he thinks you're just a gold digger trying to cash in?" Maya sat beside me, eyes wide.

"Exactly. And he's going to hire me." I grinned. "I'll be inside Hayes Corp by Monday."

"Omg!!!" she squealed, and I joined in too, clapping hands high together.

"You need to see what people are saying about 'the devil's angel' online, Cam." Maya grabbed her phone, showing me dozens of posts, videos, and comments.

"She's gorgeous!"

"The way she dumped Mr. arrogant!"

"She's been secretly dating my man!"

"Devil and his angel—i ship it!"

"Wow..." I blushed at the comments.

"No wonder he needs you. People love the story."

I was still scrolling through comments when my own phone buzzed. Ronan.

The usual flutter of fear hit my chest, but this time, it faded almost instantly. I straightened my spine, crossed my legs, and answered with a confidence I was starting to actually feel.

"I assume you've seen the news," I said before he could speak.

Silence for a moment. "What exactly have you been doing?"

"Getting close to your brother, no?" I examined my nails. "You owe me an apology for not believing me."

"How did you know it would blow up?" he asked, ignoring my demand. "Did you arrange for someone to film when you confronted that man in the video?"

I had noticed Blake from my third day at Hayes Corp—his face didn't match his ID badge, and I only searched his face online after noticing his glasses seemed equipped with a camera.

Just a reporter hunting for dirt on Lucien.

I'd gambled he'd be recording yesterday, though I'd nearly given up hope when nothing surfaced immediately.

"I relied on fellow employees with phones," I lied smoothly. "Everyone loves capturing drama."

"Bullshit." His voice hardened. "The video shows everything from the moment you walked up to the man. Before Lucien even arrived."

"And does that change the fact you owe me an apology for hitting me?"

"I don't owe you anything." Classic Ronan. "Tell me about your arrangement with my brother."

I briefly outlined my entire conversation with Lucien to him.

"Don't ask for ridiculous money," he instructed. "Just demand to be his assistant. That gives you access to everything. Be a sweet girl to him, make him see you as different and gain his trust."

"Fine," I said curtly, then hung up before he could say anything else. Small victories.

Maya looked at me anxiously. "How'd it go?"

"I think I need to teach Ronan a little lesson." I smiled.

---

Monday morning arrived with cruel sunshine streaming through our cheap curtains. I was dressed and ready by nine, nervously checking my phone every few minutes.

11 o'clock came... No car, text or call.

11:30... 12pm... 1pm.

By 2, I was pacing our apartment, reality sinking in.

Lucien Hayes had called my bluff.