I should've known the night would be a disaster the second my heel snapped on the curb.
Because that's the kind of luck I have — the kind where the rent's overdue, my shift runs late, and my best friend bails on girls' night to chase a guy who's probably allergic to commitment.
But none of that compared to what happened when I turned the corner and quite literally crashed into a man worth more than my entire apartment building.
"Watch it," a deep voice snapped.
I looked up, ready to fire back, and froze.
Damian Knight.
The Damian Knight, CEO of Knight Enterprises. The man who practically owned half the city, whose name graced every magazine cover, and whose face was the stuff of billionaire thirst trap Pinterest boards.
Up close, he was taller than I expected. Sharp suit. Sharper jawline. And eyes the color of a storm — cold, unreadable, and somehow locked onto me.
"I—I'm sorry," I stammered, stepping back.
But before he could brush past me, a burst of camera flashes lit up the night like fireworks. A group of paparazzi swarmed the sidewalk, shouting questions I couldn't make out.
"Is it true about Marissa?!"
"Are you sleeping with your partner's wife?!"
"Care to comment, Mr. Knight?!"
Damian's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked between me and the cameras, calculating.
And then, to my complete horror, his arm snaked around my waist.
"She's my girlfriend," he said smoothly.
The sidewalk went silent.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Play along," he murmured against my ear, his voice a low warning meant for me alone. "Unless you want to be tomorrow's headline too."
And just like that, I was pulled into a world I had no business being in.
The billionaire CEO was now my… what exactly?
Boyfriend?
Liar?
Problem?
I hadn't decided yet.
But I had a feeling this was one disaster I wasn't walking away from.
I didn't realize how much of a disaster this night would be until we reached the sleek black car parked a few feet away.
Damian didn't wait for me to catch up, just pulled open the door with one fluid motion and motioned for me to get inside. The paparazzi were still snapping pictures, and I could feel their eyes on me, burning like heat from a thousand spotlights. I felt like I was drowning in it — this world that wasn't mine.
"I really need to be somewhere," I managed, swallowing hard. "I have work in the morning."
He didn't respond, just gave a single nod to the driver, who immediately pulled away from the curb and out into the empty streets.
The silence in the backseat was suffocating, and I shifted in my seat, my mind racing. I wanted to scream at him, ask him why he had to drag me into his mess. But for some reason, every time I opened my mouth, the words seemed to catch in my throat.
He turned his head slowly, his eyes scanning me with a calm, almost calculating expression. "You're fine," he said, as if sensing the anxiety radiating off me. "I'm not going to bite."
The irony of his words didn't escape me. He might not bite, but he was the kind of man who could destroy everything in his path just by breathing wrong. He was worth billions, connected to every power player in the city, a shadow in the tabloids, and here I was — some lowly waitress wrapped in a mess of fake affection and lies. All because I happened to bump into him at the worst possible time.
"You know, I'm not your typical 'girlfriend,'" I said, my voice tight with sarcasm. "I don't wear heels every day, and I don't know how to smile for the cameras."
Damian's lips twitched. "Good thing I don't need you to be typical. Just need you to play along for a little while."
The car slid into the parking garage of a building so tall I had to crane my neck to see the top. He didn't seem fazed by the size of it, like it was just another Monday. Meanwhile, I felt the panic crawl up my chest.
"What do you mean, play along?" I asked, finally finding my voice. "You can't just—"
"I can," he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "And you will. Just for a few weeks. It's easier if you don't think too much about it."
Easier for him, I thought bitterly.
The car stopped in front of a massive penthouse entrance. As we stepped out, a valet took the car, and I was once again thrown into his world — the world of expensive suits, crisp marble floors, and everything that screamed I don't belong here.
Damian led me inside with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. The penthouse was everything I imagined it would be — sleek, cold, minimalistic, yet with a view that made my stomach flip. The city sprawled below us like a glittering maze of lights, and I felt small.
"You can wait here," he said, gesturing to a sofa before disappearing into a hallway. "I'll be right back."
I sat, hands shaking in my lap, taking in everything — the modern art on the walls, the glass walls that overlooked the city, and the feeling of being completely out of place. I didn't belong here. I didn't belong with him.
I stood up, pacing to the window, staring out at the city below, my mind racing. Why me? I kept asking myself. There were a million women out there who would have gladly played the role of his girlfriend — women with names that didn't belong in Marlowe's Diner.
"Are you alright?"
I jumped, spinning around to find Damian standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable.
"I'm fine," I said quickly, forcing a smile. It felt weak. Like everything about this moment.
He didn't push it, just nodded. "You're doing well so far."
"Yeah, sure." I snorted, running a hand through my hair. "I'm great at pretending I'm dating a billionaire CEO. I've been practicing my entire life."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it vanished quickly. "Just keep doing what you're doing, and we'll get through this. One month. That's all."
"And then?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze softened, just for a second, before he turned away. "And then we go our separate ways. Simple."
I couldn't help the bitter laugh that slipped out. "Sounds simple enough."
But something in his eyes told me that nothing about this was going to be simple. And as much as I wanted to believe this was just a temporary arrangement, part of me knew it was more. For some reason, he needed me — and I had a feeling I was going to regret it.