Sophie's POV
I looked up at him, my lashes fluttering. I hid the smile forming at the corner of my lips.
"Easier than I expected", I thought. "He was trapped. Not like he has other choices."
"What do you mean?" I asked, standing up, continuing my act. My brows twitched in feigned confusion.
"Are you insane?" I added.
His frown deepened, and I wondered for a second if my target ever smiled.
"Listen to me, Miss..." He stopped, his eyes raking over me.
"Anna. Anna Walter," I completed for him.
"Whatever. Don't get the wrong idea. You put me in this uncomfortable situation. Are you planning on ruining my reputation?" he snapped.
And I was beginning to get irritated by his attitude.
"So I should just marry you because you say so? Is marriage a child's play to you? What kind of mentality do you have?"
I could see his nose flare. He was very short-tempered… or maybe the situation was fucking too much for him.
I had to admit I was scared for a second, that he might change his mind and throw me out of the room. Ruining my entire plot.
"I can't do that. I have principles I stand by."
" 'Principles?' That's a rich word coming from a woman that snuck and lay beside a man she barely knows," he said.
"What? I told you what happened," I protested.
"And why should I believe you?" he asked.
My heart started pounding, but I was confident in my act. There was no way he could see through it.
Never. Even a seer would doubt his skills. I was that confident.
"I won't let you insult me just because you're some billionaire," I said, holding his gaze, trying to steer the argument.
But I never anticipated his response.
"Some billionaire? If it was that easy, why aren't you one?"
Shock.
Not only was he arrogant—he was proud.
Oh, how much I will enjoy ruining him.
I bit back the words—the ones Sophie Brooks would say.
"Damn you," I replied.
"Miss—"
"Anna!" I almost screamed it. "What's so difficult about remembering my name?"
"I have more important things in mind. That's why I'm going straight to the point—what are your final thoughts about marrying me?" he asked, his face now professional.
Of course, that was what I wanted. But agreeing right away would be too suspicious.
"It's not as easy as you make it—" I started, but he cut me off.
"You said your parents needed to see your fiancé. I can play that role for you. Think about it. Three months. We get married for three months. After everything cools off, we can shake hands and say goodbye."
"Until things cool off..."
More like—until he gets the contract.
That dream I was going to shatter.
I stared thoughtfully at him.
This man was something else.
I had planned to make some money off him, I expected him to offer to pay me to be his wife.
I should have come up with a better story if I knew it would lead here.
I didn't want to push the idea myself. He looked like he was on his last straw. And any wrong move could break it.
"I still don't think—" I began, trying to sound reluctant.
"Thoughts. You keep having them. Can't you make a decision already?"
I exhaled. "Alright. I'm only agreeing to this because of my situation. Three months," I said.
"Nice. Miss Anna Walter."
"We'll need to sign a contract or something," I said.
"Way ahead of you. I'll get that sent to you."
He strode over to the table and tore a page from a notebook like he did it every day.
"Here. Write down your full name, age, email, and contact address."
I looked up at him, one brow lifted in amusement.
A control freak. Classic.
"Don't keep my hand hanging," he snapped, impatient.
I snatched the pen and paper from his hands, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, and started jotting down my details.
"I'll send the contract to your address. If you want any changes, call me. Only between 11 a.m. and 12 p.m. Any other time, your call will be disconnected before it even rings," he said.
"Business man to the core," I thought.
He flicked his card onto the table.
"Name's Ethan Petrov. You don't need to know my address yet. Anything else you want to know, you'll find it on social media," he added, snatching the paper from me before I could even finish the dot on my 'i'.
He scanned it.
"Thirty," he muttered under his breath, then looked up at me.
"What is it?" I asked, already bracing for the nonsense.
He scoffed, lips twitching in that irritating way. "Just that you look a lot older."
Excuse me?
Of all the things he could've said, that was what he chose?
I was twenty-six. Twenty-six. And now I "looked older than thirty?"
"You've got a mouth on you and no filter. You should get your eyes checked."
"I do. Once every month," he said casually.
I stared at him, utterly speechless.
"I'm leaving," I announced, getting to my feet. My job here was done anyway.
"I'd suggest you wait, so we leave together. Unless, of course, you want paparazzi swarming you out there," he said, already heading toward the bathroom, towel slung over his neck like this was just another day in his perfectly ridiculous life.
I sat for what felt like an eternity. Truth was, I could've slipped out unnoticed, blended into the crowd without a single paparazzi recognizing me. But I chose to wait. When he dropped me off, I'd have the perfect chance to plant a listening device in his car.
Who knows, maybe I'd hear something juicy today and toss this whole marriage idea in the trash.
I smirked at the thought.
Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my pocket-sized mirror and took a long look at my reflection. I traced the contours of my face with my fingers.
Was I really aging fast?
Ugh, seriously? I groaned. I was actually letting his comment get to me.
I brought the mirror closer.
What a joke. He's probably never even met a woman half as gorgeous as me.
Maybe he thought that because my hair was a bit messy. I quickly started fixing it.
Just then, I caught a reflection in my mirror– Ethan's reflection, with a robe tied. He was staring at me like a disappointed father catching his daughter playing dress-up in public.
I nearly jumped. Snapping the mirror shut, I looked up and met his eyes.
"You're finally done? Hurry up, you're not the only one with a schedule," I snapped.
"Move to that side of the room and face the wall," he said without blinking.
"Excuse you?"
"Can we not waste each other's time? I need to change."
"I'm not your employee, or some servant you can bark orders at," I retorted.
He tilted his head, one brow raised.
"So you want to see my bare skin?"
"What the fuck?!" I nearly howled.
"It's quite a sight, but I won't give you that pleasure."
That was it. I grabbed my bag. This guy was insane. Actually, insane.
Then his phone rang.
"Hold on—don't leave yet," he said, heading over to where his phone sat.
I wanted to scream, "Fuck you, I'm leaving. I'd gladly let paparazzi shove a mic down my throat and flash a camera straight into my soul than stay here with you."
But instead... I just stood there.
Watching him answer his call.
"And there's nothing that can be done?" he asked, low.
I watched his shoulders drop the tiniest bit. If I hadn't been studying him, I might've missed it.
Something was definitely up.
Still, his face remained carved from stone. Seriously—who frowns as a default expression?
"Alright then. I'll handle things on my end. Do yours. No mistakes." He hung up.
I tilted my head, staring, letting my face do all the questioning.
"Change of plans," he said, already
reaching for his jacket. "We're heading to an emergency board meeting."
I blinked.
"Huh? We?"
He didn't look at me. "You're playing fiancée, remember? Time to start earning your fake ring."