Monaco shimmered like a dream dressed in diamonds.
The private estate where the gala was being held perched dangerously on the edge of a cliff overlooking the endless sweep of the Mediterranean Sea. The sky was velvet blue, the ocean below catching every golden glint from the chandeliers strung through the open-air ballroom. Luxury wasn't just present—it was breathing.
Everything sparkled
The water
The sky
And the tension between them
Selena descended the grand marble staircase like a vision born to ruin men. Her red gown clung to her like it had fallen in love. Slits rode high on both legs, the neckline daring, the backless dip barely moral. Her skin glowed under soft lights and the diamond cuff at her wrist caught every flicker of attention in the room.
Julian Wolfe stood at the base of the staircase in a black tux, expression cool, whiskey in hand but when he saw her—really saw her—he didn't breathe for a full second.
He said nothing.
But his eyes never left her.
That one look said more than a thousand soundbites. In this world of make-believe and manipulation, it was the only honest moment between them all night.
The gala bloomed around them—soft jazz under strings, murmured conversations in multiple languages, laughter sharp as crystal. They moved together like seasoned actors through the scene, sipping champagne, offering polite smiles, standing just close enough to spark speculation.
But even with the charade perfectly intact, something had shifted, something real lurked underneath.
They danced once.
Just once.
A slow waltz under gold-draped canopies and a moon too beautiful to be trusted. Julian's hand rested low on her back, his touch a whisper over silk. Selena's fingers curled lightly at his shoulder. The world faded to nothing but the pressure between them, the unspoken question hanging in the space between heartbeats.
As the music slowed Julian leaned in. His breath brushed her ear like the wind off the sea. "Do you ever stop performing?"
Selena looked up at him, her eyes steady and unreadable. "Do you ever start feeling?"
For the first time, he didn't smirk.
Instead, he reached up and gently brushed a stray curl from her cheek.
And kissed her.
No cameras.
No audience.
No script.
Just heat.
His lips were warm, sure and then—gentle. It wasn't rough or hungry. It was soft, reverent. Like he wasn't just kissing her, but testing the edge of something neither of them had prepared for.
Selena didn't pull away.
Not even when her heart threatened to betray her, pounding wildly in a rhythm she couldn't fake.
And when they did part her eyes stayed locked on his; defiant, daring.
Julian's voice was low, shaken in a way he rarely allowed. "That wasn't part of the deal."
Selena tilted her chin slightly, her voice just above a whisper. "Then maybe it's time we rewrite it."
That should've been the end of the night.
But stories like hearts, rarely follow the outline.
Hours later, alone in her Monaco suite the city lights winking across the dark sea, Selena stood barefoot in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, still wearing her gown. She hadn't taken it off, couldn't. Her skin still hummed from the kiss and the way his fingers had lingered at her waist when they left the ballroom. The world felt tilted—off-axis, like the air itself had changed.
A knock might've shattered her, a message from him, a sign that maybe the lines between fiction and fact were finally blurring.
But it wasn't a knock.
It was her phone.
Buzzing quietly on the glass coffee table.
One new email, no subject line.
She unlocked it.
RE: The Wolfe x Hart Campaign
"As previously discussed, Savannah Leclair was originally confirmed as lead for the clean beauty collaboration with Wolfe Global. After her sudden withdrawal, Selena Hart was contacted as a secondary candidate. Attached are the original press kits prepared for Savannah including promotional mockups. Please confirm receipt."
Her breath caught, a strange, sickening silence filled the room.
She opened the attachment.
And there it was.
Savannah.
Perfect, posed, wearing the same shade of red lipstick Selena had been told to use.
Same title: The Wolfe x Leclair Collection.
Same tagline: Real Beauty for Real People.
The only difference… was that it wasn't her.
Selena sat down slowly, the document slipping from her hand like an afterthought. Her heart wasn't racing, it wasn't even breaking; It was sinking. Quiet and deep.
She was never the first choice.
Not even close.
Not for the campaign.
Not for the press.
Maybe not even for him.
She had been the backup plan., the salvage, the spin. The phoenix, yes—but only because someone else had burned out first.
The red dress, the kiss, the dance, the deal—it had all felt real for a flicker of a second.
But she had forgotten one important rule: In Julian Wolfe's world, everything sparkled—but not everything shined.
And definitely not her.
Chapter Six: Paper Lies
Chapter Six: Paper Lies
The email glowed in the darkness like a wound refusing to close.
Selena sat on the edge of the bed in her Monaco suite, the silence around her so sharp it felt like it might cut skin. The red gown still hugged her body, the hem pooling around her bare feet like blood spilled across marble. Her phone trembled in her hand, though she wasn't sure if it was the vibration or her fingers shaking.
"Savannah Leclair was originally confirmed for the Wolfe campaign before Selena Hart's team was approached…"
That one sentence shattered something she hadn't realized she was still holding onto. Her lungs locked. She forgot how to breathe.
The message was official—clinical even. No apology, no hesitation, just a dry summary of business decisions and branding shifts as if her entire world wasn't shifting beneath her in real time.
She scrolled.
There, in the attachment was the proof.
Savannah Leclair.
Poured into a crimson dress like it had been sewn onto her skin.
Wolfe Global's logo stamped beside her name.
The same tagline, the same aesthetic, the same luxury sheen.
Real Beauty for Real People.
Selena's chest constricted.
It was the campaign she had built her hope on, the one that had pulled her back from the digital gallows. That kiss on the balcony, that dance beneath the stars, that fake romance that was starting to feel frighteningly real—it had all been sparked by this deal and this deal had been hers.
Except… it hadn't.
She had been a replacement.
A plan B in lipstick.
The second choice all along.
The air in the room seemed to tighten, her gaze remained locked on the glossy image of Savannah smiling flawlessly beside Julian, posed like power and perfection had fallen in love. His arm around Savannah's waist in the mockup mirrored the way he'd held Selena just hours ago.
But that had been a copy.
Not a first draft.
Her fingers hovered over the phone screen. For a moment, she considered deleting the email. Pretending she hadn't seen it, letting the illusion live just a little longer.
But pretending was what had gotten her here in the first place.
She tossed the phone onto the bed where it landed face-up, Savannah's image still glowing on the screen.
Selena stood slowly, her feet icy against the marble floor. She walked to the mirror, the one framed in gold leaf and imported from Italy—everything in Monaco was imported—and stared at herself.
The woman looking back wasn't broken, not yet but she was no longer intact either.
Selena touched the place on her cheek where Julian's fingers had brushed earlier that night, where he'd looked at her like maybe she wasn't just useful—but wanted.
Had she believed it?
Had she really allowed herself to hope?
The laughter, the glances, the kiss.
It had all felt like something shifting into place. Like maybe—maybe—this wasn't just strategy. That behind the perfectly curated headlines, they were writing something unscripted, something raw.
But it was all paper.
Paper lies, printed in ink and approved by PR departments. Carefully folded and sold as reality and she, fool that she was, had taken it as truth.
She closed her eyes.
Just once, she had wanted to be someone's first choice. Not the understudy brought in after the star collapsed, not the spin, not the salvage, not the consolation prize in couture.
But life had a habit of handing her almosts and calling them miracles.
Behind her the ocean whispered against the cliff like it knew all her secrets. A breeze crept in through the open balcony doors and she let it wash over her as if it might cool the anger beginning to rise in her chest.
Not rage, not yet, just the slow, sick burn of betrayal.
He didn't even tell me, she thought. Julian knew.
Of course he had. Julian Wolfe didn't not know, he had known from the very beginning that she wasn't their first choice and yet he had stood in front of her, night after night playing the part of the man who had seen something in her others didn't.
He'd kissed her.
Touched her like she was the only thing in the room.
Made her believe—if only for a moment—that she wasn't just part of the campaign.
That maybe she was the campaign.
But the data had been clear all along.
Selena Hart: secondary candidate.
An acceptable replacement.
Marketable in crisis.
Clickable.
Sellable.
Forgettable.
She turned back toward the bed, eyes locking once more on the email. It sat there like a ghost, reminding her what she was worth in the currency of Wolfe Global: less than Savannah Leclair but more than nothing.
That wasn't going to be enough.
Not anymore.
Selena moved with quiet purpose, grabbing her phone, pressing it to her chest, grounding herself. The fake relationship might still be on but the rules have changed. She would still play the game—but this time, it would be on her terms.
If Julian wanted to lie with his eyes, she would match him with her smile.
If Wolfe Global wanted to turn her into a story, she would write the ending herself.
And if Savannah Leclair wanted to make a comeback?She'd have to come through Selena Hart first because second choice or not—Selena wasn't finished, not even close.
Julian looked up from his glass of whiskey as Selena stormed into his penthouse.
"You lied to me."
He didn't flinch. "I didn't lie."
"You just failed to mention that Savannah was your first pick and I'm just… the filler, the rebound. Your PR duct tape!"
Julian stood. "You're being dramatic."
"I should have known!" Her voice cracked. "You never looked at me like I mattered, only like I worked."
He exhaled. "Savannah dropped out last minute. You were the best fit after that, it wasn't personal."
She laughed bitterly. "That's exactly the problem, Julian. None of this was personal."
And with that, she walked out.
He didn't chase her.