Viola's POV
I'm an idiot.
A stupid, swooning, idiotic idiot.
Because no matter how much I tell myself this is fake, there's a small part of me that wants it to be real.
That part of me that felt special just holding his hand, that part that nearly melted when he looked at me like I wasn't a burden, but someone worth spending time with.
"Get a grip, Viola," I mutter, fumbling with my keys. "He's your fake sugar daddy. You are not allowed to fall for him."
(Too late)
I sink onto the floor, hugging my knees. I can't like him. I really, really can't.
This is all just pretend.
He's doing me so many favors already.
He's my boyfriend in name only and I'm just the buffer between him and whatever mess he's avoiding.
But I still feel that traitorous flutter in my chest.
---
Garrett's POV
The moment the woman door snaps shut, the curve of my lips vanishes like it was never there.
I slide into the car.
My expression hardens like ice. I don't glance at the apartment, where viola is probably melting into a puddle right now due to my charms.
She's predictable that way, sweet, sincere, utterly transparent.
As the car pulls away from Viola's apartment building, the warm illusion I'd carefully constructed tonight peels away like layers of cheap paint.
Viola is perfect.
Not because she's beautiful, though she is, all soft curves, blonde hair, big doe eyes.
No, she's perfect because she's desperate. Naive. Easy to manipulate.
And more importantly, she believes me.
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, but I don't check it. Instead, I lean back against the leather seat and let my gaze unfocuse for a moment, already compartmentalizing the evening.
She played her part well.
The little stutters. The flushed cheeks. The shy, awkward smile.
Anybody would eat it up.
I picked her because she was convenient. Naïve.
Desperate enough to say yes.
She wears her feelings on her sleeve, which makes her the perfect pawn.
People like me, people like my 'family', they can smell deception from miles away.
But Viola is genuine.
That's what makes her useful.
She would buy me time.
Time I desperately need.
The car pulls up to the entrance of the Place that started all this, the Hacylon Hotel, the place I've been calling home for the past few days.
One of my security men stands at the door. I toss him the car keys as I pass, not bothering with a word. He knows the drill.
But he wasn't the only one waiting.
Paul Kevin, a Yale graduate with two honours to his name and my secretary and my personal informant.
The man is waiting in front of the lobby and falls into step with me immediately when I reach him.
The short redhead is dressed like he just stepped out of a hedge fund meeting, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
"Sir," he starts, breathless due to long strides. The redhead barely comes up to my shoulder and adjusts his glasses three times in as many seconds. "Your grandmother has requested a meeting. Again. She's very insistent."
"Stall her," I say coolly, not missing a beat. "Tell her I'm reviewing our acquisition portfolio."
"You used that line yesterday," Paul mutters sardonically. "And the day before."
"Then come up with something better. That's your job, isn't it?"
Paul splutters something incoherent but wisely keeps following.
"Also," he continues, checking the tablet he carries religiously, "you have back-to-back meetings starting at ten tomorrow. Mergers, board reviews, and the Kesselman dinner."
"Cancel them."
"Sir!" he squawks, stopping short. "You can't just- these are critical! Kesselman flies in from New York and the merger meeting has been scheduled for weeks."
I step into the private elevator and press the button for the top floor. Just as the doors begin to close, I look him dead in the eye.
"Cancel. Them." I order menacingly.
Then I let the elevator doors slide shut on his appalled face.
Silence. Blessed, suffocating silence.
The elevator glides upward smoothly. My floor opens into the penthouse, home sweet home.
I pull off my tailored jacket and tie in one fluid motion and toss them onto the couch, not caring where they land.
Dalwyn City sparkles beyond the glass, a galaxy of lights.
I stand there for a moment, breathing it in. Then, slipping a hand into my pocket, I pull out a small, faded object.
A yellow brooch.
Cheap. Frayed. One of the plastic gems is missing, and the pin is bent slightly from wear.
I thumb over it gently, like it might crumble in my hands.
"I'll get it back," I say quietly to the empty room.
The words hang there, suspended in the air, heard only by me and the silent city beyond the windows.
"Everything they took from me... I'll get it all back." I finish softly, my eyes burning in remembrance.
A reminder.
A promise.
They think I've forgotten. That I've moved on.
But everything
I've built, every lie, every sweet word, every fake smile like the ones I give Viola, is for one thing.
To take back what was stolen.