Chapter 18: Caught in the Spotlight

Adrian's voice was low, rough—like he'd been up all night.

She swallowed hard, gripping her phone tighter. "Adrian, I—"

"Have you seen the articles?" he cut in.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Yeah."

A tense silence stretched between them.

"This is getting out of control," she finally said.

Adrian let out a humorless laugh. "No kidding."

She could picture him now—jaw clenched, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"This isn't good for either of us," she continued, trying to keep her voice steady. "Your career, my job… this rumor is ruining everything."

His voice dropped. "Is that what you're worried about?"

She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come.

Because the truth was, the articles weren't the problem.

The problem was how much of it felt real.

Adrian sighed. "We need to get ahead of this. Meet me at my place in an hour."

"Wait, what?" She sat up. "Your place?"

"You want to control the narrative?" he asked. "Then we do this together."

Her pulse pounded. "Adrian, I don't think—"

"An hour, Olivia." And then he hung up.

She stared at her phone, heart racing.

This was a bad idea.

A really bad idea.

But as she grabbed her coat and rushed out the door, she realized something.

She was already in too deep.

—

An hour later, Olivia stood in front of Adrian's penthouse, taking a deep breath before knocking.

The door swung open almost instantly, revealing Adrian in a black t-shirt and sweats—casual, but effortlessly distracting.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside.

She walked in, immediately hit by the faint scent of cedar and something distinctly him.

"I didn't even know you had a place here," she said, looking around.

"I don't use it much." He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "Too quiet."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's surprising, coming from you."

His lips quirked. "What, you think I can't handle silence?"

"I think you like an audience."

His smirk faded. "Not the kind that twists the truth."

She exhaled. "So, what's the plan?"

Adrian studied her for a moment before pulling out his phone and showing her a post.

It was a picture of them at the jazz bar, him on stage, her watching. The caption read:

"If it looks like love and sounds like love… is it?"

Her stomach twisted. "This is everywhere."

He nodded. "We have two options. Deny it completely. Or…"

She looked up. "Or what?"

His gaze darkened. "We play along."

Her breath caught.

"Fake it," he continued. "Let the media have their story—at least for now. Then, when the heat dies down, we go our separate ways."

Her pulse pounded. "You're serious?"

"You wanted control," he said. "This gives us control."

She bit her lip. It made sense.

It was logical.

But it was also dangerous.

Because pretending to love Adrian Hayes?

Might not feel like pretending at all.