Confidence pov
It didn't take two minutes before Ethan started with his interrogation.
"So… how did you both meet?"
I froze.
I didn't have a story prepared.
I didn't even have a sentence prepared.
My entire brain was a buffering circle.
And before I could say I didn't want to talk about it—
Charles answered smoothly.
The audacity of that man.
But as he spoke, I realized something terrifying:
He actually had answers. Realistic ones. Quick ones. Ones that even I couldn't poke holes in.
And Ethan?
Ethan was studying us like he could sniff out lies.
Every time Ethan said something sarcastic, Charles matched his tone effortlessly.
Every time Ethan tried to belittle someone, Charles shut him down politely but firmly.
It was… shocking.
The two of them sat across from each other like two tigers sharing one territory.
And then Charles started with the touching.
His hand brushed my waist.
Then my shoulder.
Then my fingers.
It looked so natural that Jean and Ruth were smiling like our relationship was goals.
Meanwhile I was dying inside.
Ethan kept glancing at Charles like he couldn't believe I could "pull someone like this."
And honestly?
I couldn't believe it either.
But the real death sentence came when Ruth noticed the little cut on Charles' hand.
"Oh—what happened here?"
Before I could say he stubbed his hand on a door, Charles opened his mouth and casually destroyed my entire existence.
"Oh that? Me and Confidence had a rough night."
I INSTANTLY inhaled my drink wrongly and choked.
He was not done.
"From the kitchen counter to the floor… the chair… every corner of the house probably still has our sweat on it."
I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Ruth covered her mouth, giggling.
Jean fanned herself.
Ethan looked like he wanted to flip the table over.
My heart thumped violently.
This man had no self-control.
Then—before I could glare the life out of him—Charles invited them to a party.
Of course he did.
Ruth accepted immediately.
Ethan pretended to hesitate, but jealousy was burning through him like fire.
The moment the bill was paid, I practically ran into the elevator.
Silence.
The kind of silence that makes you sweat.
Ruth pressed the button to their floor.
Charles pressed one for a higher floor.
I pressed a different button entirely.
Ruth blinked. "You two don't stay in the same room?"
My heart fell out of my body.
I was about to stutter out something stupid like we're experimenting with space when Charles suddenly gave a smooth explanation that somehow made sense.
And before I could breathe, the elevator dinged.
Ethan and Charles stepped out on the same floor.
I froze.
Because that meant only one thing:
I had no choice but to follow Charles into his room.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
God was definitely laughing at me today.
The hallway felt too quiet—too soft—too luxurious for the kind of storm swirling inside my chest.
Charles walked ahead of me, tall, confident, annoyingly relaxed, while I followed behind like a criminal being escorted to jail. Every step felt heavier. Every breath louder. Every second more humiliating.
When he stopped in front of the hotel room door and swiped the key card, my stomach dropped.
This was happening.
I was actually going inside this man's room.
He opened the door. "Well? Are you coming in or sleeping in the hallway?"
I wanted to slap him.
I wanted to turn back.
I wanted to jump off the building.
Instead, I walked in with all the dignity a woman with shaking legs could manage.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Suddenly the room felt too warm.
It was huge—bigger than my entire apartment back home. Marble floors, floor-length windows, a bed that looked like a cloud, the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air.
His scent.
I hated that I noticed.
He tossed his jacket onto a chair and loosened his tie with slow confidence. "You're welcome, by the way."
"For what?" I snapped.
"For saving your reputation out there. And your lie."
"My lie?" I scoffed. "You're the one who started spinning stories like you were selling tickets!"
"Oh please," he said, stepping closer. "If I didn't speak, you would've choked on your own panic."
"Excuse you—"
"You're terrible at lying." He smirked.
I folded my arms, mostly to stop my hands from trembling. "You didn't have to say all those… things."
"The rough night part?" he asked innocently.
My whole face heated. "Yes! Why would you say something like that?!"
He shrugged. "It made Ethan jealous. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"I never asked you to—"
"Well, you're welcome." He removed his cufflinks one by one, his fingers brushing over the small scratch I caused last night. "You owe me."
"Owe you?" I barked a laugh. "For throwing me under the bus with a story about—about sweating all over your furniture?!"
"That part," he said, stepping even closer until I had to tilt my head up, "was just for fun."
My breath hitched.
I hated that it did.
I hated the heat crawling up my neck.
I hated that he smelled good—clean, woodsy, expensive.
I took a step back. "Let's get something clear. I'm only here because they think we're together."
"Mm-hmm."
"And this—" I gestured between us wildly. "—is not a thing. Never. Not even in your dreams."
He chuckled, low and warm. "Sweetheart, trust me. My dreams are way better than you imagine."
I blinked.
My brain blanked.
My mouth refused to form a comeback because my heartbeat was thudding everywhere—in my neck, in my stomach, in the room.
He continued, voice softening just a little. "Relax. You're safe here."
I wasn't.
Not even close.
I moved away and sat on the far end of the bed, crossing my legs tightly. "So what now? We just sit here pretending to be… whatever we're pretending to be?"
"No," he said. "We prepare."
"For what?"
"For the party."
I groaned. "Why did you even invite them? Haven't I suffered enough?"
"That party is where deals happen," he said simply. "Ethan will be there. And you—" his eyes swept over my clothes— "need something that doesn't look like it came from a thrift store."
My mouth dropped open. "Wow. Just—wow. You really know how to talk to women."
"I'm honest," he said. "Painfully so."
"You're an ass."
"And you're broke."
I shot up from the bed. "Say that again."
He raised a brow. "Which part?"
"The part where you act like you're better than everyone."
"I don't act," he replied. "I just am."
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. "For your information, I didn't ask for help. I didn't ask for pity. And I don't need your money."
He walked toward me slowly, his steps deliberate, eyes locked on mine—steady, unreadable.
"You needed it last night," he said quietly. "When you fainted."
My heart stuttered.
Oh.
So he remembered that.
I swallowed. "That was… different."
He reached me, close enough that our breaths mingled. "Confidence."
The way he said my name…
Grounded. Serious. Too soft. Too warm.
"I brought you to the hospital because you scared the hell out of me," he murmured. "Not because I think I'm better than you."
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
For a second—just a second—I saw something real behind his eyes. Something unpolished, unfiltered.
Then, like a switch flipping, the arrogance returned.
"But the clothes," he said, stepping back, "are still terrible."
I threw a pillow at him.
He caught it easily and laughed.
That laugh did something strange to my stomach.
"Get dressed," he said. "We're going."
"Going where?"
"To fix your wardrobe. You can't show up to a high-end party looking like you wandered out of a motivational TikTok video."
I wanted to strangle him.
With love? No.
With a lamp? Possibly.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I declared.
"Yes," he said calmly, grabbing his wallet. "You are."
"Why?"
He looked me dead in the eye.
"Because if we're doing this fake relationship thing, you're not showing up beside me looking like Ethan's charity case. You're walking in like a woman who left a man like him behind and upgraded."
My heart did something stupid again.
"Besides," he added, opening the door, "you owe me a new jacket."
"I do not!"
"You scratched me."
"You pushed me!"
"You touched my twenty-five-thousand-dollar coat."
"You scared me!"
He tilted his head. "Exactly. Let's go."
I stared at him…
At the doorway…
At my reflection in the glossy dark window.
And I hated that he was right.
I needed clothes.
Shoes.
Something to make Ethan regret everything he ever did.
I grabbed my small bag with a defeated sigh. "Fine. But I'm not thanking you."
"Wouldn't expect it."
"And I'm not apologizing."
"Not surprised."
"And I'm not impressed by you."
He smirked. "You will be."
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain.
But I still followed him out.
Still walked beside him down the hallway.
Still let him lead me toward the elevator.
Because for tonight—
for this one stupid night—
Charles and I were on the same team.
Enemies.
Allies.
Whatever we were…
We were going shopping.