POV Adrian
Morning hits and I’m immediately drowning in the corporate bullshit that comes with fake engagements. The board wants a press conference. The employees want answers. And I need to make this performance look convincing enough to fool people who’ve made careers out of spotting lies.
“Brittany!” I call out, watching her practically teleport to my office door.
“Yes, Mr. Marlowe?”
“Press conference. Thursday afternoon. Main conference room.” I don’t look up from my computer because eye contact would require more energy than I have. “Also set up an all-hands meeting right before. Full media circus.”
Her eyes go wide like I just told her we’re colonizing Mars. “What’s the announcement?”
“You’ll find out with everyone else.”
She deflates but nods. Smart enough not to push.
After she leaves, I sit there processing the fact that I’m about to lie to the entire world about being in love. Which means I need props. Specifically, a ring that screams “this cost more than your house and yes, I’m serious about this woman.”
Optics matter. There’s only one place in this city that can sell me a lie that looks like a promise.
I shrug into my jacket, text the driver, and reroute my afternoon—calendar be damned. Ten minutes later we’re gliding toward a block built on old money and older loyalties.
The family jeweler is this cramped little shop that’s been taking Marlowe money for decades. Mr. Goldstein treats me like his favorite grandson, probably because we single-handedly fund his retirement.
“Adrian! What brings you here today?”
“Engagement ring.” No point dancing around it.
His eyebrows nearly launch into orbit. “Adrian Marlowe is getting married? Your father must be beside himself with joy.”
“Something like that.” I scan the cases full of rocks that could probably end world hunger. “I need something that makes a statement. Money’s not a factor.”
He shows me options ranging from expensive to completely fucking insane. I go with insane – a three-carat solitaire that probably has its own gravitational pull. The kind of ring that stops conversations.
“She’ll be speechless,” Mr. Goldstein promises, boxing it like he’s handling nuclear material.
That’s the plan.
Back at the office, Emilia’s deep in client files, looking every inch the executive she was always meant to be. It’s weird seeing her in my space – our space now – without the secretary act.
“Got something for you,” I say, pulling out the little velvet box.
She looks up with that expression she gets when she’s calculating seventeen moves ahead. “Please tell me it’s not a prenup.”
“Open it.”
She stares at the box like it might bite her. “Adrian…”
“Just fucking open it.”
Her fingers are careful when she lifts the lid. The diamond catches the light and throws sparkles across her face, and for about three seconds she looks less like a corporate warrior and more like a woman seeing something genuinely beautiful.
“Oh my God.” Her voice goes soft. “You didn’t have to buy such an expensive ring for your fake fiancée.”
The word ‘fake’ hits wrong. Like she’s reminding us both that this is just business.
“Of course I do.” It comes out harder than I mean it to. “Fake or not, my fiancée only gets the best.”
Something twists in my chest when I say it. Something that feels dangerously close to meaning it.
She slips the ring on and it fits perfectly. “It’s beautiful. Completely ridiculous and probably worth more than most people’s annual salaries, but beautiful.”
“That’s the point.”
“Right. Making people believe this is real.”
“Exactly.” But watching her wear my ring does something to my supposedly dead heart that I’m not ready to examine.
* * *
Thursday shows up way too fast. The conference room is packed with employees who never get called to all-hands meetings, plus enough media to make this feel like a presidential announcement.
I’m wearing my best armor – the suit that cost more than most cars, the confidence that comes from years of hostile takeovers. But my pulse is doing something erratic that has nothing to do with public speaking.
“Thanks for coming,” I start, voice carrying that Marlowe authority that’s been bred into me since birth. “I have an announcement that affects both our company’s future and my personal life.”
Dead silence. Reporters lean in. Employees look confused.
“Marlowe Enterprises is entering a strategic partnership with Hart Industries. This merger represents significant growth for both companies.” Pause for effect. “But I also want to share some personal news.”
This is it. Time for the performance of a lifetime.
“I want to introduce my fiancée, Emilia Hart.”
She walks from the side of the room, wearing her confidence that makes even luxury seem incidental. Cameras start flashing immediately, like she’s walking a red carpet instead of across corporate carpet that probably costs more per square foot than most apartments.
When she reaches me, I take her hand—the one wearing my three-carat statement. The diamond catches the lights and goes full disco ball.
“Emilia and I are excited to announce our engagement,” I continue, her hand warm in mine. “This represents both a personal commitment and a professional alliance.”
She lifts her hand slightly, letting the ring catch more light, and the cameras go absolutely insane. Flash after flash, capturing what’s supposed to be the happiest moment of my fake romantic life.
But standing there, holding her hand while she shows off the ring I picked out specifically for her, something feels less fake than it should.