"No, absolutely not." I stared at the dress Sophia was holding up—a slinky emerald number with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. "I'd spend the entire evening worried about a wardrobe malfunction."

We were in one of the Blackwood mansion's many guest rooms, which had been temporarily converted into a makeshift fitting room. Racks of designer clothes lined the walls, and a professional stylist named Margo was assessing my "potential" with the clinical detachment of a scientist studying a new species.


"You have the collarbone for it," Sophia insisted, holding the dress against me. "And it matches your eyes."

"My collarbone isn't going to be the part of me on display in that dress," I retorted, pushing it away.

It had been three days since I'd signed Caleb's contract, and I was already questioning my sanity. The "preparation" for my role as his girlfriend was more intensive than finals week. Family histories to memorize. Social protocols to learn. A complete wardrobe overhaul that I'd initially resisted until Caleb pointed out that his family would expect his girlfriend to dress the part.


"What about this one?" Margo held up a midnight blue gown with a more modest cut but still more elegant than anything I'd ever worn. "The silhouette is classic, but the back has enough interest to make a statement."

I touched the fabric—soft, expensive silk that probably cost more than my monthly rent. "This... might work."


"Try it on," Sophia urged, pushing me toward the changing screen in the corner.

As I slipped into the dress, I couldn't help but marvel at how quickly my life had changed. One minute I was an ordinary student worrying about essays and overdue library books; the next, I was being styled for high society events as the fake girlfriend of a man who still felt like a complete enigma.

I emerged from behind the screen, feeling self-conscious as both women assessed me.

"Oh," Sophia said softly. "That's the one."

Margo nodded in agreement, guiding me to the full-length mirror. I barely recognized myself. The dress hugged my curves in a way that was flattering without being vulgar, the deep blue making my skin glow and my eyes look more green than hazel.

"Caleb will approve," Margo said with professional satisfaction.

"I'm not dressing for Caleb's approval," I said automatically, though even to my own ears it sounded like a lie. Of course I was—this entire charade was for his benefit.

"No, you're dressing to look like you belong at his side," Sophia corrected, coming to stand beside me in the mirror. "There's a difference."

Before I could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Sophia called for the person to enter, and Lucas—Caleb's friend from the coffee shop—poked his head in.

"Sorry to interrupt the makeover montage, but Caleb's asking for Eve," he said, his easy smile making the interruption seem less intrusive. "Something about reviewing family connections before dinner."

I sighed. "More homework. Joy."

"You look nice," Lucas offered as I gathered my regular clothes to change back. "Blue suits you."

"Thanks." I ducked behind the screen, calling out to Sophia, "Tell Caleb I'll be there in ten minutes. I need to change and call my dad first."

"Take your time," Lucas replied instead. "He's in one of his intense moods anyway. Probably best to let him stew a bit."

I emerged in my jeans and sweater, feeling more like myself again. "Does he have any other kind of mood?"

Lucas laughed. "Fair point. Though you seem to bring out... something different in him."

"Irritation?" I suggested.

"Fascination," he countered, his expression turning more serious. "Which is rare. Caleb doesn't fascinate easily."

Something about his tone made me uncomfortable, like there was a subtext I wasn't grasping. "Well, I'm just doing my job. Playing a part."

"Of course," Lucas agreed, though his smile suggested he thought otherwise. "I'll tell him you're on your way."

After he left, I turned to Sophia. "Is he always so..."

"Perceptive?" she supplied. "Yes. It's what makes Lucas such a good beta."

"Beta?"

"Second-in-command," she clarified quickly. "In the business. He's Caleb's right hand."

I nodded, though the terminology seemed odd. Everything about the Blackwoods had a strange formality to it, like they were operating by rules from another century—or another world entirely.

After calling my dad to check on him and the bookstore (both fine, though he was curious about my new "research job"), I made my way to Caleb's study. The mansion was still a maze to me, but I was starting to learn my way around the main areas.

I found Caleb at his desk, surrounded by papers and looking intensely focused. He glanced up as I entered, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"Eve," he said, my name still sounding like something special when he said it. "Come in."

I approached his desk, noticing the documents spread across it—family trees, photographs, what looked like dossiers on various people. "More studying?"

"You need to be prepared for the Silverton dinner tomorrow night," he said, gesturing for me to take the seat beside his. "It's a smaller gathering than the gala will be, but important. The Silvertons are close allies of my family."

"And by allies, you mean...?"

"Business partners," he said smoothly. "Their family and ours have shared interests for generations."

I sat down, picking up one of the photographs—a striking woman with platinum blonde hair and cold blue eyes. "Who's this?"

"Vivian Winters." His tone was neutral, but I caught a flicker of distaste. "The woman Marcus wants me to consider as a suitable match."

"She's beautiful," I observed, studying her perfect features.

"She's calculating," Caleb countered. "And loyal only to her own ambitions."

I set the photo down. "Will she be there tomorrow?"

"Yes. Which is why it's crucial that our relationship appears genuine." He turned to face me fully, his amber eyes intent. "Vivian is perceptive. She'll be watching for any signs that we're not what we claim to be."

"No pressure," I muttered.

To my surprise, Caleb's lips curved into a small smile. "You'll do fine. Just be yourself—with a few adjustments."

"What kind of adjustments?"

He leaned back in his chair, considering me. "You're naturally reserved with strangers. That works in our favor—no one will expect you to be overly familiar with everyone. But with me..." He paused. "You'll need to show affection. Comfort. The ease that comes from genuine intimacy."

My cheeks warmed at his choice of words. "Right. Girlfriend behavior."

"We should practice," he said matter-of-factly.

I blinked. "Practice what?"

"Physical familiarity. Small touches. The way couples interact when they're comfortable with each other."

"You want to rehearse being a couple?" I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice.

"I want our performance to be convincing," he corrected. "The more natural it feels to be in each other's space, the less we'll have to think about it when we're being observed."

He had a point, though the idea of "practicing" intimacy with Caleb made my pulse quicken in a way that was decidedly unprofessional. Still, I'd agreed to this arrangement. Making it convincing was part of the deal.

"Okay," I said, squaring my shoulders like I was preparing for an exam. "How do we start?"

Caleb stood and held out his hand. "Come here."

I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet, trying to ignore the now-familiar jolt that accompanied his touch. He guided me to stand in front of him, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

"The key is to appear comfortable," he said, his deep voice softer now. "Like this is familiar territory."

He placed his hands lightly on my waist, and I instinctively stiffened.

"Relax," he murmured. "In public, I would stand like this when we're talking to others. You would lean into me slightly, maybe rest your hand here—" He took my hand and placed it on his chest. "Or here—" He moved it to his arm.

I could feel the solid muscle beneath his shirt, the warmth of him seeping through the fabric. His heartbeat was steady and strong under my palm.

"This feels awkward," I admitted.

"Only because you're overthinking it." His eyes held mine. "Try closing your eyes. Focus on the physical sensations without the visual input."

Feeling slightly ridiculous but willing to try, I closed my eyes. Immediately, my other senses heightened. The cedar-and-rain scent of him. The warmth radiating from his body. The gentle pressure of his hands on my waist.

"Better?" he asked, his voice closer now.

I nodded, keeping my eyes closed. "It's less intimidating when I'm not looking at you."

"I intimidate you?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"You know you do," I said, opening my eyes to find his face inches from mine. "You intimidate most people."

Something like regret flickered across his features. "Not by choice."

"It's not just your size or your position," I explained, finding it easier to be honest in this strange bubble of proximity. "It's the way you watch everything. Like you're seeing things others miss."

His lips curved slightly. "I could say the same about you."

Before I could ask what he meant, the study door opened. We jumped apart like guilty teenagers as Marcus Blackwood entered, his cold eyes taking in our position with calculating interest.

"Nephew," he said, his gaze sliding to me. "And Miss Mitchell. How... cozy."

"Uncle," Caleb acknowledged, his posture shifting subtly—more alert, almost defensive. "We were just reviewing for tomorrow's dinner."

"Indeed." Marcus's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I wasn't aware the Silverton dinner would include your... new friend."

"Eve is my girlfriend," Caleb said firmly. "Of course she'll attend."

The way he said it—so definitive, so possessive—sent an unexpected thrill through me despite knowing it was all for show.

Marcus's gaze swept over me, assessing and dismissive at once. "How fortunate that you found someone so... suitable... just when the question of your leadership was being raised."

The tension in the room thickened. I could feel Caleb's anger like a physical presence beside me, though his expression remained impassive.

"Eve and I have been seeing each other for some time," Caleb said, the lie smooth and practiced. "I simply chose to keep my private life private."

"How uncharacteristically discreet of you." Marcus turned his attention fully to me. "Tell me, Miss Mitchell, what attracted you to my nephew? Besides the obvious advantages of his position?"

The question was a trap, designed to make me seem like a gold-digger or to catch me in a lie. I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze steadily.

"His mind," I said simply. "Caleb sees the world differently than anyone I've ever met. He challenges me." I glanced at Caleb, finding it surprisingly easy to continue with the truth. "And he listens when I speak, really listens, instead of just waiting for his turn to talk. That's rarer than you might think."

Something shifted in Caleb's expression—surprise, followed by something warmer that made my heart beat faster.

Marcus looked between us, his eyes narrowing slightly. "How... quaint." He turned back to Caleb. "The council meeting has been moved up. Tomorrow morning, before the dinner. They want an update on the Moonstone situation."

Caleb nodded once, his expression closing off again. "I'll be prepared."

"See that you are." Marcus gave me one last assessing look before leaving, closing the door with deliberate softness behind him.

As soon as he was gone, I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Well, that was pleasant."

"You handled him well," Caleb said, sounding genuinely impressed. "Most people either cower or try too hard to impress him."

"I'm not most people." I moved back to the desk, needing some distance after the intensity of the last few minutes. "So that's what we're up against? His constant suspicion?"

"Among other things." Caleb ran a hand through his dark hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "Marcus has been consolidating power for years. He won't relinquish it easily."

"And where do I fit into all this, really?" I asked, voicing the question that had been nagging at me. "There's more to this than just appearing 'settled' enough to lead."

Caleb was quiet for a moment, seeming to debate how much to tell me. Finally, he said, "There are... factions within the family. Those who support me, and those who support Marcus. Your presence helps solidify my position with certain key allies."

"Because they believe you've chosen a mate—I mean, a partner," I corrected, catching his terminology.

His eyes sharpened at my slip. "Yes. In our... circle, commitment is valued. Stability. Thinking beyond oneself."

I had the distinct feeling there was still something significant he wasn't telling me, but before I could press further, my phone buzzed with a text from Harper.

"Everything okay?" Caleb asked, noticing my frown as I read the message.

"It's Harper. She's worried because I've been 'missing in action' for days." I sighed. "I should probably see her, reassure her I haven't been kidnapped by a cult."

His eyebrows rose. "A cult?"

"Her words, not mine." I tucked my phone away. "She's heard the rumors about your family."

"Ah." He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you should introduce us. Properly this time. It would help establish our relationship publicly."

"You want to meet my friends?" The idea of Caleb in my normal world, sitting at our usual booth at The Grind or hanging out in Harper's cluttered apartment, seemed surreal.

"If we're dating, it would be expected." His logic was impeccable, as usual. "Tomorrow night is the Silverton dinner, but perhaps the night after? We could go to that coffee shop you like."

The casual way he referenced my habits reminded me that he'd been learning about me too, preparing for his role just as I was preparing for mine.

"Okay," I agreed. "But fair warning—Harper will interrogate you mercilessly."

"I think I can handle one curious fashion student," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I wasn't so sure. Harper had an uncanny ability to see through people's facades. If anyone could spot the artifice in our arrangement, it would be her.

As if reading my thoughts, Caleb added, "Trust in the story we're creating, Eve. The best deceptions contain elements of truth."

"And what elements of truth are in our story?" I challenged.

His amber eyes held mine, intense and unreadable. "More than you might think."

The cryptic response stayed with me long after I left his study, along with the lingering sensation of his hands on my waist and the memory of how right it had felt to stand in the circle of his arms—even if it was all just practice for a performance neither of us truly wanted to give.