CHAPTER TWO

Evie clutched the wheel tighter as the silence in her small, slightly beat-up car stretched on. Her nerves were already all over the place-she had just gotten fired, her phone bill was due, and now this... this stranger sitting in her passenger seat like he belonged there.

Miles.

He hadn't said a word since getting in, and she wasn't about to start the conversation either. What was she even doing letting a random guy into her car? But somehow, he didn't feel random. He had this calm arrogance to him-like he always got his way.

He gave her directions. "Just take a left at the end of this street. There's a mall there."

Evie frowned. "A mall?"

"Yeah."

"Why are we going to a mall?"

"You'll see."

And that was it. No explanation, no small talk. She wanted to ask more, but something told her he wouldn't answer even if she did.

At the mall, he walked in like he owned the place. Employees seemed to recognize him. Before she could even process it, someone handed him a neatly folded suit.

Then-without asking-he tossed a dress at her.

"Put that on," he said, brushing past her toward the changing rooms.

"Excuse me?" she blinked, holding up the dress. "Why?"

He paused and turned slightly, that same unbothered look on his face. "Just put it on."

Evie stared after him, annoyed. Who did this guy think he was?

Still, she went in and changed.

When they stepped out of the mall, a sleek black car pulled up. Not her car. Definitely not. The driver opened the door like Miles was royalty or something.

"Wait-where's my car?" she asked, stunned.

"I had it sent back. This ride's better," he said casually, already sliding in.

"YOU WHAT-?" she started, but the door was already shutting behind her. She was too tired to argue and too curious to walk away.

The car took them to a restaurant she would never even glance at on a normal day. The kind of place where the menu didn't have prices and the waiter barely spoke above a whisper.

They had barely sat down at the quiet booth in the upscale restaurant when the silence settled heavily between them. Evie kept glancing around. The place was elegant, clean, and totally out of her price range. She felt underdressed even though she had on the sleek dress Miles had basically thrown at her back in the mall.

He didn't even open the menu.

"So," he started, elbows resting on the table as he leaned forward slightly, "you were fired."

Evie blinked, caught off guard by how casually he said it. "Yeah," she mumbled, her fingers gripping the edge of the tablecloth.

Miles nodded once, like he'd expected that. "Do you need the money?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Of course I do. Why else would I be here, wearing this ridiculous dress?"

He smirked, like he found that amusing. "Good," he said simply, then added, "I'll need you to act."

Evie blinked again. "Act?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "As my girlfriend."

She nearly choked on her own breath. "No way," she said quickly, scooting back in her seat. "Are you insane? I knew it. I knew you wanted to kidnap me all this while!"

Miles rolled his eyes. "Relax. No one's kidnapping anyone."

"Oh, really? Because this feels very kidnapping-ish. You lured me with coffee, dragged me to a mall, made me wear a dress I didn't choose, and now you want me to-"

"I'll pay you," he cut in smoothly. "A thousand dollars. Every week."

She froze. "What?"

"You heard me. One thousand dollars. Weekly. Just pretend to be my girlfriend. You'll come to a few events, smile when I need you to, play nice in front of people. That's it."

Evie stared at him like he'd grown horns.

He sat back, confident and calm, as if this offer was the most normal thing in the world.

"Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You want me... a broke, recently-fired stranger... to be your fake girlfriend. For money."

"That's exactly what I want."

"Why me?"

Miles gave a nonchalant shrug. "You're easy to work with."

"You met me an hour ago!"

He tilted his head, studying her. "Yeah. And in that one hour, you've managed to be interesting, unpredictable, and not fake. That's rare. Most people I meet try too hard. You? You didn't even want to come with me."

"That's because I thought you were a psycho."

"You still think that?"

"...A little."

He chuckled. "Fair."

Evie crossed her arms. "And what's in it for me besides the money?"

"A place to stay. Clothes. Food. Basically, I'll cover everything for the duration of the arrangement. But you'll have to show up where I need you, when I need you. Deal?"

She leaned back, staring at him like he was one big red flag wearing a designer suit.

And yet... a thousand dollars a week?

Her bank account literally cried at that number.

Evie bit her bottom lip. "This is insane."

Miles leaned in again. "But tempting?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then...

"Do I get dental?"

He raised a brow, grinning. "We'll talk benefits later."

Evie had no idea what kind of deal she had just walked into, but she knew one thing-it came with leather seats and absolutely zero control.

After dinner, she expected him to drop her off and vanish into whatever elite-rich-guy-after-dinner existence he lived in. Instead, the car glided to a stop in front of a hotel so grand, she was pretty sure it charged extra just to breathe inside.

Her jaw dropped. "You're not seriously-"

"We leave in the morning," Miles said, already stepping out, tossing the valet his keys like he'd rehearsed it his whole life.

Evie stared up at the building. Gold trim. Five stars. A revolving door that looked like it had never been touched by a broke person.

She climbed out slowly, dragging her feet like she was being marched into jury duty. "I have a home, you know. With a loyal couch that doesn't ask questions about my paycheck."

Miles didn't even glance back. "That couch won't teach you how to eat oysters without gagging."

She groaned. "That's the first lesson?"

"No," he said, holding the elevator door open. "That's chapter five."

When they stepped into the suite, Evie froze in the doorway.

The place was huge. Her entire apartment could've fit into just the bathroom-and still have space left over for a hot yoga class. The ceilings were high, the lights warm, and the floors so polished she didn't even want to walk on them.

Miles tossed his jacket over a velvet armchair and motioned toward a wall of sleek wardrobes.

"Training starts now."

She blinked. "Training for what? How to walk like your wallet has its own zip code?"

"No. How to walk like you've never been questioned a day in your life."

Evie folded her arms. "So... delusional confidence."

He pointed at her like she'd just won a prize. "Exactly. Let's begin."

First, the walk.

"Chin up. Back straight. You're walking like you're dodging pigeons."

"I am dodging pigeons. Metaphorically."

He sighed. "Again. This time, glide. Like the air moves for you."

Then came the sitting.

"You're not at a sleepover."

"What does posture have to do with anything?"

"Power. Sit like you belong, and the room will follow."

She muttered something under her breath but straightened anyway.

Then the wine.

"You just gulped a $900 bottle like it's tap water."

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her mouth. "I've never sipped my sadness before."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Better."

They went over handshakes, small talk, eye contact, elegant nods. He made her practice how to pause before answering-just enough to seem thoughtful. Every tiny move mattered, and she had never felt more aware of her own limbs in her life.

"And don't fidget," he added, watching her adjust her earring.

She froze mid-movement. "You're making me self-conscious."

"Good. Self-awareness is step one."

After what felt like hours, he finally sat down on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, legs stretched in front of him.

"Last test," he said. "Pretend we're at a gala. You're the guest of honor. The host approaches. You don't need to try hard-just show up."

Evie hesitated, then let her shoulders relax. Chin up. A soft, unforced smile.

She crossed the room slowly, walking like the air did, in fact, move for her. Calm, graceful, like she wasn't trying to prove anything. Her gaze was steady as she held out her hand.

"Thank you for the lovely evening," she said softly. "The lighting is stunning. You always pay attention to detail."

And then-just before stepping back-she dipped into a subtle, graceful curtsy.

Miles didn't move.

She straightened. "Well?"

He blinked. Slowly.

"...Miles?"

His arms dropped to his lap. "That was..."

She tilted her head. "Was that praise?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're impressed."

"I'm reserving judgment."

"You're totally impressed."

He exhaled through his nose, half-smirking. "Don't let it get to your head."

"Too late."

Then his tone shifted-calmer, lower, serious.

"Next time, talk less. Less is power. People with real presence don't overshare. And if you're meeting someone older-parents, partners, anyone I respect-you curtsy. Just like that. No more, no less."

She nodded once.

Miles stood. "Get some sleep. We leave at six."

Evie blinked. "Six? As in... a.m.?"

"Correct."

She groaned. "Do rich people hate sleep or something?"

"Only when there's something to win."

She sighed dramatically as she turned toward the guest bedroom. "If I wake up tomorrow and this turns out to be a fever dream, I'm blaming the oysters."

Behind her, Miles murmured, "It wasn't the oysters."

CHAPTER THREE

I didn't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

Miles looked like he'd stepped out of a Vogue spread-black suit, white shirt, subtle gold cufflinks. Regal. Untouchable. And there I was, standing barefoot in a borrowed robe, blinking away sleep and staring at a suitcase packed with a new outfit-tags still on.

"Good morning," he said with a soft smile, tightening his watch strap. "Get dressed. We have a flight to catch."

I didn't ask questions. I wanted to-but something about the way he moved, like a man with a thousand unspoken plans, made me just... follow.

After a quick shower and slipping into the beige dress he'd packed for me-tailored, simple, expensive-I met him by the door. He offered his hand. I took it.

The flight was smooth, private, and quiet. I stared out the window, pretending not to be completely terrified. When we landed, a sleek, dark car was already waiting for us. The driver bowed slightly before opening the door. Miles helped me in first, his hand warm around mine.

As the city blurred past the tinted windows, I noticed the shift-the buildings became grander, more secure. Armed guards patrolled gates, surveillance cameras dotted every corner, and then-

There it was.

A palace-not a mansion, not a villa. A palace. White stone, endless glass, manicured gardens that looked like they'd been carved from dreams. The car slowed. My heart didn't.

The car slowed to a stop, and I could feel my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest. The gates behind us had closed with a finality I wasn't ready for, and now... here we were.

Miles turned to me with that unreadable smile of his.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I let out a shaky breath, managing a grin. "Born ready... Your Grace."

I meant it as a joke.

But his expression didn't change.

Before I could process that, a team of guards in sleek uniforms approached the car. The doors opened, and a group of maids in crisp, elegant dresses curtsied in unison.

"Your Grace. My Lady. Welcome home."

Home.

The word echoed too loudly in my head. I stepped out slowly, my heels clicking against the polished stone like they didn't belong there. Like I didn't belong there.

And then I saw it.

The palace. No, mansion. No... it was a mix of both. Towering, whitewashed walls with golden accents. High columns. Wide, arched windows. The kind of place that doesn't just say wealth-it whispers legacy.

I turned to Miles, my voice barely a breath.

"Miles... are you-?"

I didn't get to finish.

A formal voice announced, "The Duke and Duchess await you inside."

The maids began to usher us forward. Before I could untangle the mess in my brain, I was walking through polished marble halls with Miles beside me, his hand warm in mine, posture tall and regal.

We stepped into a room bathed in light-vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, velvet furniture. Everything gleamed.

And then... I saw them.

His parents.

The Duke and Duchess.

Standing side by side, composed and elegant. The Duchess had soft features and sharp eyes. The Duke, stern but with an air of quiet power.

Miles released my hand and took a respectful step forward.

"Father. Mother."

They both nodded.

"You must be Evelyn," the Duchess said, looking directly at me.

I took a deep breath and gave the most graceful curtsy I could muster without fainting. "Yes, Your Grace. It's an honor."

Her eyes flicked over me-not judgmental, just... observant. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

"You're quite lovely," she said. "Miles speaks highly of you."

"I could say the same, Your Grace,"

"Your home is beautiful," I said to his mother, my voice even. "But not nearly as breathtaking as the woman who raised him."

There was a pause. Then-she chuckled. Not cold. Not fake. But not entirely trusting, either.

"You're charming," she said.

Just then, she turned to the maids and snapped, "Take them upstairs. Make sure they're comfortable."

Miles and I followed them up a wide staircase, hand in hand once again. I waited until we were out of earshot, then whispered, "How did I do?"

He looked at me-really looked. "You were perfect."

That made my heart stutter a little. I wasn't sure if it was the compliment, or the fact that it sounded real. Too real.

Just then there was a knock on the door

The knock was soft and early.

"Miss Evelyn?" came a gentle voice from the other side of the door. "The Duke and Duchess are awaiting you for breakfast."

I sat up slowly, fingers brushing sleep from my face. Another day of pretending. Another day wrapped in borrowed silk, walking through someone else's world.

I dressed simply-tasteful but understated-and followed the maid down the hallway. My heart beat a little faster with every step. Not quite nerves. Just... awareness. Awareness that this morning, I'd be sitting across from people who ruled with looks sharper than blades.

The double doors of the dining room were already open. Miles stood beside his chair, back straight, hands folded behind him like a portrait come to life.

The Duke offered a polite nod. The Duchess... barely looked at me. Her eyes swept over me once, cold and calculated, like I was a wine label she wasn't sure deserved to be uncorked.

"You're late," Miles murmured under his breath as I approached the table.

I offered a quick smile. "Maybe I like to make an entrance."

He didn't smile back. "Don't forget what this is."

"Hard to," I whispered, "when you keep reminding me."

The chairs scraped gently against marble as we sat. No greetings. No warmth.

Just tension in porcelain and polished silverware.

The Duchess didn't waste time. "So... how did you two meet? You never quite clarified, Miles."

He glanced at me but said nothing.

I folded my hands in my lap and met her gaze. "We met abroad. It wasn't... conventional. But it stuck."

The Duke lifted his brows with mild interest. "Abroad?"

"Yes. I was raised outside the country. My father passed some years ago. After that, I stayed with close family friends until I could take care of myself."

There was a pause. A small one.

The Duke inclined his head. "I'm sorry to hear that. He must've been important to you."

I nodded, keeping my voice even. "He was everything. The kind of man who never broke a promise. Who taught me that class had more to do with how you treat people than what's in your bank account."

It went quiet for a beat too long.

The Duchess set her cup down-precisely, deliberately. "And your mother?"

"She left when I was very young."

Nothing. No nod. No 'I'm sorry.'

Just the briefest flicker of distaste in her expression, like I'd said something... inappropriate.

Silence settled.

The Duchess set her teacup down. No reply. No sympathy. Just the slightest curl at the corner of her mouth.

And that was enough.

I stood slowly, careful not to let the chair screech too loud. "Excuse me. I need a moment."

Miles started to rise, but I was already turning away.

She didn't make it far before she heard steps behind her. Miles.

"You can't storm out every time you get uncomfortable," he said quietly, not unkindly, but firm.

"I didn't storm out," she muttered. "I left before I said something impolite."

"You knew this wouldn't be easy," he said, voice low.

"I didn't expect it to feel like that," Evie whispered. "Like I didn't belong. Like I was being... measured."

"You were," Miles said simply. "But that doesn't change the deal."

She turned to him. "You could've said something."

"I'm not here to play defense, Evie. We agreed on a role. You're playing it."

That stung.

He stared at her, eyes steady. "This isn't about your feelings, Evie. It's about the deal. Stick to the script."

Her jaw clenched. "Right. The script."

A beat passed. Then, unexpectedly, he added, "You did fine."

Evie blinked, looking up at him. "Is that... a compliment?"

"It's a fact. Don't get used to it."

They began to head back to the dinning when the door creaked behind us.

Two voices, light and familiar, spilled into the corridor.

"Speak of the devil," Miles muttered under his breath.

Kaiden entered first-tall, charming, effortlessly confident. Arabella followed, wrapped in casual elegance, all pearls and veiled contempt.

Kaiden's gaze flicked straight to me, a grin spreading across his face.

"So this is the infamous mystery girl," he said. "We thought Miles invented you. But look at that-you're real. And prettier than he described."

I blinked. "Thank you... I think?"

"I mean it in the best possible way," he said with a wink. "You've got mystery in your eyes."

Before I could reply, I turned slightly toward Arabella.

"You must be Arabella," I said, smiling softly. "Beautiful name."

She looked me over once, then gave a faint, disinterested hum. "Hmm."

Cold. But not surprising.

Kaiden leaned over, stage-whispering, "Don't take it personally. Bella's allergic to lady's that look prettier than her before coffee."

Arabella gives a stern look at Kaiden "Charming"she grunts

Miles cleared his throat. "Kaiden flirts with anything that breathes."

I shot Kaiden a playful glance. "Duly noted."

Kaiden beamed. "Ah, she's got fire. I like her already."

Arabella's stare burned into the side of my face, unreadable.

But I didn't shrink.

Because no matter how many porcelain daggers they threw...

I'd survived far worse without silk, servants, or silver spoons.

Turns out the day wasn't over. A garden party at noon meant more pretending, more smiles... more lies.

CHAPTER FOUR

The party had just begun.

Evie stood beside Miles, poised as ever-her posture regal, her expression unreadable. She was dressed in emerald satin, her curls gathered in a loose twist that framed her face with grace. People had begun to whisper, eyes flicking in their direction. A few curious glances. A few murmurs. But she played her part to perfection.

Miles had barely touched his champagne. He shifted, glancing around the ballroom with the slight unease of someone who knew a storm was coming but didn't know from which direction.

Evie noticed. "Nervous?" she murmured without turning to him.

"Not yet," he replied, voice low.

Then the Duke entered with a man dressed in sharp black-his aide perhaps-but no one noticed them.

Because she followed next.

Camila Alcott.

The chandelier light caught the shimmer of her pale gold gown as she descended the stairs with a confidence that never aged. Everything about her screamed polish-expensive, rehearsed, cold. Her blonde hair was swept up in a royal chignon. Her neckline dipped just enough to be scandalous, and her smirk was sharp enough to slice glass.

Arabella gasped beside them, her face lighting up. "Camila!" she squealed, darting off with the excitement of someone greeting a beloved older sister.

Evie blinked. "Who is that?" she asked, turning toward Miles-but he was no longer relaxed.

His hand clenched slightly at his side. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough for Evie to notice.

"She's... my ex," he muttered.

Evie followed Camila with her eyes as Arabella threw her arms around her. The scene looked almost rehearsed. "She's pretty," she observed simply.

Miles snorted. "And venomous."

Evie didn't reply. She watched as Camila tilted her head, greeting Arabella, laughing softly-but never once looking in their direction.

Then a voice interrupted them from the left.

"She's not half as stunning as the girl beside you, Miles."

A gentleman stood before them-tall, confident, maybe late twenties-with a navy tux that fit like it was tailored that morning. His eyes never left Evie.

Miles blinked. "Lord Sutherland?"

The man nodded but kept his gaze on Evie. "Forgive my boldness. I've met nearly every woman here tonight, but I don't believe I've had the honor."

Evie smiled politely, her hand extended. "Evie Sinclair."

"The Evie Sinclair?" he repeated, with a raised brow. "Now I understand why the air shifted."

Behind them, a few people turned. Word spread quickly. Miles Devereaux has a girlfriend. Not a cousin. Not a plus-one. A girlfriend. And one charming enough to catch the attention of Lord Sutherland, the most eligible bachelor of the season.

Lord Sutherland chatted easily, drawing Evie into light conversation. Miles was quiet, tense. Watching.

And then, as if conjured by tension itself-Camila approached.

She floated across the floor, all smiles and soft danger.

"Miles," she said, voice honey-laced poison. Her eyes swept him up and down like an old painting. "It's been far too long."

Before either of them could respond, her manicured hand rose to gently rest on Miles' chest-fingers splayed with possessive familiarity.

Evie saw red.

She stepped forward smoothly, slipping her hand around Miles' arm and tilting her head like she had every right to be there.

"Babe," she said sweetly, feigning surprise, "Oh! There you are."

Camila's eyes sharpened. "You must be Evie," she said, smiling like a knife. "I've heard... so much."

Evie smiled back. "Funny. I've heard nothing at all."

The air tightened between them. For a moment, even the string quartet seemed to quiet. Camila's smirk faltered-but only for a blink.

"Well, Miles and I go way back," she said smoothly, letting her hand linger a moment longer on his chest before finally pulling it away. "Don't we, darling?"

Miles didn't reply. His jaw was set, eyes flitting to Evie, who gave him the faintest, calculated smile. They were still playing a part-but now, she was enjoying it.

Camila leaned in, faux-whispering like it was an inside joke. "I have to say, Evie... those pearls. Simply stunning."

Evie's hand rose, brushing the delicate strand at her throat. "Aren't they?" She turned slightly, letting the light catch the soft glow. "They're from Miles. A gift."

Camila's brows arched high. "How thoughtful. I once had a pearl just like that. Given to me by someone very dear. I wonder if-"

"Oh," Evie interrupted, voice dipped in velvet and steel, "you must've dropped it when he realized you were no longer worth the string it came on."

Camila's smile shattered-just for a second. Her eyes flared, lips parted in disbelief, but Evie had already turned toward Miles, resting her hand against his arm again.

"Shall we?" she asked sweetly. "I think I saw Lady Penelope by the roses. You said she has that charming dachshund, didn't you?"

Miles didn't answer-he just followed her lead, guiding them away.

Camila stayed frozen, her lips twitching in rage as she stared after them.

Once they were out of earshot, Evie whispered, "Too much?"

Miles shook his head, a laugh almost escaping. "I've never seen her speechless. That was... masterful."

Evie grinned. "Well, I play to win."

The ballroom gave way to open glass doors that led into the garden-perfectly manicured, lined with lanterns, white roses, and ivy-covered trellises that glittered under the late afternoon sun. The royal garden party was now in full swing.

Staff in crisp uniforms glided by with trays of canapés and champagne. Classical music floated on the breeze, and nobles clustered in polished groups beneath silk canopies, laughing, gossiping, posing.

Evie took it all in.

It was beautiful-but beneath the charm, she could feel it again.

That hum of performance.

Of power plays.

Of lies.

"I feel like I'm walking into a play," she murmured.

"You are," Miles said quietly. "And some of these actors will eat you alive if you miss your line."

As they reached the main fountain-a marble centerpiece with cherubs frozen in dance-they were intercepted by the Duke's aide.

"Miss Sinclair," the man said with a polite bow, "His Grace requests a word."

Evie's stomach gave the faintest twist. She looked at Miles, who nodded once.

"You'll be fine," he murmured.

She followed the aide past the tulip paths and toward the west arch of the garden, where the Duke stood beneath a wisteria-draped pergola, hands folded behind his back.

The Duke broke away from the diplomat and turned to her with a genteel nod. "Miss Sinclair," he said, voice deep and smooth as aged scotch. "Would you walk with me a moment?"

Evie returned the nod with the grace she had been rehearsing in her head all evening. "Of course, Your Grace."

They strolled in measured silence through the pergola's shaded path, the scent of wisteria sweet on the summer air. Courtiers and guests drifted like finely dressed ghosts in the distance, but Evie felt the weight of this moment as if the entire garden had narrowed to just the two of them.

"I must commend you," the Duke began at last. "You handled Miss Alcott with... remarkable composure. Admirable, given the circumstances."

"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied evenly. "Though I didn't come here to create spectacle."

"No," he said, casting her a sidelong glance, "you came to do your job."

Evie hesitated, brows knitting. "Forgive me, Your Grace... but what job would that be?"

They stopped walking. The Duke turned to face her fully now, hands clasped behind his back, expression cool and unreadable.

"Your role," he said slowly, "as the future Duchess of Ashford."

Evie blinked.

For a second, the breeze seemed to vanish.

Evie blinked again, her smile holding-but only just.

For a moment, the breeze through the pergola seemed to still.

She met the Duke's gaze, head tilted slightly, lips parting into a soft, careful smile.

"Ah... of course," she said, voice velvet-smooth. "A marvelous role, Your Grace."

She stepped lightly forward, her hands clasped, her eyes steady.

"And if I may say so-you and the Duchess perform it to perfection."

The Duke's lips curved into a knowing smile, his gaze lingering just a heartbeat longer.

"A compliment wrapped in wit," he said, voice smooth as aged brandy. "You wear it well, Miss Evelyn. Not many would dare-fewer still would succeed."

He reached for a nearby tray and plucked two crystal flutes, offering one to her with a graceful gesture.

"Consider this your reward," he added lightly. "Now... enjoy the evening. The night still has much to unveil."

Evie took the glass with steady fingers, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

Across the terrace, Miles shot her a discreet thumbs-up.

She caught it, her smile breaking free-quiet, genuine, and for once, effortless.