Chapter 4 CH. 4

SERA VOSS

Today's lesson is a masterclass in French cuisine. We're learning to prepare duck à l'orange. Fancy name, complex flavors, and, according to Madam Vivian, the ultimate test of finesse in the kitchen.

I've been laser-focused for the past hour, meticulously searing, glazing, and tasting. The smell of caramelized orange sauce wafts through the room, blending with the savory aroma of roasted duck. It's intoxicating, but not enough to distract me from the daggers Amara's been shooting into the back of my head.

Let her stare. I don't care.

The timer dings, and I carefully plate my dish. The duck glistens under the soft kitchen lights, perfectly golden, with a glossy orange glaze pooling artfully around it. It's a masterpiece. All that's left is to present it to Madam Vivian for assessment.

I take a deep breath, lifting the plate, and turn to make my way to the front. But just as I step forward-

Wham!

Amara "accidentally" bumps into me. My plate wobbles in my hands, then crashes to the floor.

Time slows as my masterpiece shatters, sauce and duck splattering everywhere.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the carnage. The sweet tang of orange fills the air, mocking me.

"Oh my gosh!" Amara gasps, clutching her chest like the world's worst actress. "I'm so sorry, Sera! I didn't see you there!"

Liar.

My fists clench, nails digging into my palms as I force myself to breathe. She's staring at me with faux innocence, her lips twitching in barely contained glee.

"Amara!" Madam Vivian's sharp voice cuts through the tension. "Be more careful! This is unacceptable!"

"I didn't mean to-" Amara starts, but Madam Vivian silences her with a glare.

Turning to me, Madam Vivian softens. "Sera, I'm sorry this happened. You can redo the dish at home and bring it to the next class for grading."

I nod stiffly, swallowing the bitter lump of frustration rising in my throat. "Thank you, Madam Vivian."

As the class begins to wind down, I gather my things, still fuming. I'm stuffing my notebook into my bag when the door swings open, and a man in a tailored black suit strides in.

He looks completely out of place in the chaotic kitchen, his polished shoes clicking against the tiled floor. His eyes scan the room before settling on Madam Vivian.

"I'm looking for Ms. Sera," he says in a deep, formal tone.

Wait-what? Me?

Madam Vivian glances at me, eyebrows raised. "Sera, it seems you have a visitor."

I step forward, confused but intrigued. The man nods and says, "Mr. Caldera is waiting for you outside."

My stomach flips. Lucian's here.

I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, and can't resist glancing at Amara. Her face is a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"Amara," I say sweetly, "why don't you tag along? You'll want to see this."

I lead the way out of the building, Amara trailing behind like a suspicious shadow. As we step outside, murmurs ripple through the crowd gathered near the entrance. Phones are out, cameras rolling.

And then I see him.

Lucian Caldera, billionaire, heartthrob, and my fake boyfriend, is standing by his sleek black car. He's dressed impeccably as always, but what really catches my attention is the bouquet of vibrant flowers in his hand.

He spots me, his face lighting up with that devastatingly charming smile-the same one that had me asking to kiss him last night. My heart skips a beat as he walks toward me, and before I can process what's happening, he leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek.

Gasps echo around us. Phones flash. Jaws drop.

Including Amara's.

"Hey, babe," I say, recovering quickly. My voice drips with nonchalance, but inside, I'm doing cartwheels.

Lucian steps back, his piercing gaze flicking to Amara briefly before returning to me. "Ready to go?"

"Almost." I lean in, lowering my voice so only he can hear. "Can you put your arm around my waist? It's for dramatic effect."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. "Dramatic effect, huh?"

"Yes. Don't make me beg, Luc."

Amusement dances in his eyes as he slides his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. His touch is steady, grounding.

I turn to Amara, who looks like she's just swallowed a lemon. Her eyes dart between me and Lucian, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"By the way," I say, my tone saccharine sweet, "I expect you to be bald by next class."

Lucian raises an eyebrow but says nothing, his smirk firmly in place.

I give Madam Vivian a polite nod. "Goodbye, Madam Vivian. See you next class."

With that, Lucian and I walk toward his car, leaving Amara and the crowd in stunned silence. He opens the back door for me, and I slide in, trying not to look as smug as I feel.

Once inside, he settles into the seat beside me, glancing at me with a bemused expression.

"Bald?" he asks as the man from earlier starts the car.

"It's a long story," I reply, grinning.

And for the first time all day, I feel like I've won.

As the car glides smoothly down the road, I can't help but glance at the bouquet in my lap. The flowers are stunning-vibrant and fragrant, a kaleidoscope of colors. I don't even know their names, but they scream "expensive."

I tilt my head, smiling softly at the petals before I blurt out, "So... why'd you bring these?"

Lucian's focus shifts to me briefly, his face as composed as ever. "It's what a boyfriend should do."

Simple. Direct. But the words still send a strange flutter through my chest.

I nearly blush, but I stop myself just in time. This isn't real, Sera. He's not your actual boyfriend. Snap out of it.

He seems unaware of the internal storm brewing in me, his focus back on the road. "There's a gala next week," he says casually yet purposefully. "My parents will be there. They're... eager to meet my girlfriend."

My heart freezes mid-beat. "Your parents?"

"Yes."

"Lucian, I'm not ready for that kind of thing. Meeting the parents? That's-"

"You'll be fine," he interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. "Just stay by my side."

I blink, my mind racing. "That's it? Stay by your side? I feel like there's more to this. Aren't there... I don't know, billionaire rules? Some etiquette lessons I need to take? Like, 'how to hold champagne without looking poor 101' or 'how to survive dinner without calling someone's caviar weird fish eggs.'"

Lucian glances at me, his expression unreadable, before saying, "What?"

"You heard me. Billionaire rules," I say, meeting his stare.

"Do you actually think that's a thing?"

"Well..." I trail off, suddenly self-conscious. Why does he have to stare at me like I've grown two heads?

To my surprise, his lips twitch, almost like he's suppressing a smile. "And how exactly did you know there's something like that?"

I freeze. Crap.

His gaze sharpens. "Sera?"

"I-uh... I don't," I stammer, floundering like a fish on dry land. "I just made it up! You know, for dramatic effect."

"Right." His skepticism is palpable, but he lets it drop. For now.

"Do you have any appointments today?" he asks suddenly, changing the subject.

"No."

"Good." He leans back against the seat, looking far too pleased with himself. "There's somewhere we need to go."

Somewhere? Just like that? I raise an eyebrow, but he doesn't elaborate. Against all common sense, I say nothing. Why? Because apparently, I have no self-preservation instincts. That, and he's rich.

The car eventually slows, pulling up to a sprawling villa that looks like it stepped out of a luxury lifestyle magazine. It's massive, with sleek modern architecture and a manicured lawn that seems to go on forever.

My jaw nearly drops. "You live here?"

"No," Lucian says, stepping out of the car. "This is one of my properties."

One? Oh, I've hit the jackpot.

I scramble out of the car, trying to keep up with his long strides as he heads toward the villa. "So, do I get a place like this as your girlfriend?"

He stops abruptly, turning to face me. His dark eyes are sharp, cutting right through me. "Have you always been this materialistic?"

Without hesitation, I nod. "Yes. Pretense won't get me anywhere."

He blinks, clearly taken aback. Then he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. "Unbelievable."

I grin and fall into step beside him. "So, what are my privileges as your girlfriend? Do I get a villa? A credit card? Maybe a yacht?"

"Keep dreaming," he mutters, striding ahead without another glance.

I hurry after him, still grinning.

When we reach the front door, a butler appears out of nowhere, bowing slightly as he opens it for Lucian. "Mr. Caldera."

Lucian nods and steps inside, and I follow hesitantly. "Thank you," I say politely to the butler, who gives me a small, approving smile.

Inside, the villa is grand and pristine, every surface gleaming with quiet luxury. Four maids stand in a line, waiting for instructions.

"Get the book," Lucian says to one of them, and she immediately disappears down a hallway.

The other maids look at him expectantly, but he waves a hand. "You're all dismissed for the day."

Dismissed? I stare at him, swallowing hard. Me and him in this giant house alone? Oh boy.

The maids murmur their thanks and vanish, leaving an almost oppressive silence in their wake.

I clear my throat, fidgeting slightly. "So... what now?"

Lucian turns to me, an unreadable expression on his face. "Now, we talk."

Talk? About what? My stomach twists nervously. This man is a puzzle I'm nowhere close to solving.

The maid returns with a thick leather-bound book, her movements efficient and silent

The maid returns with a thick leather-bound book, her movements efficient and silent. She places it on the polished coffee table and steps back. Lucian nods once. "You can leave now."

The maid dips her head and retreats, leaving me and Lucian alone in the cavernous room. My pulse quickens.

He gestures to the sofa. "Sit."

I hesitate, glancing at the book like it's cursed, but his cold stare pins me in place. Reluctantly, I sink into the plush cushions, watching as he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair. Then he starts rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing forearms that could probably crush walnuts.

My stomach flips for no good reason. Focus, Sera. He's about to throw something ridiculous at you.

"Open it," he commands, motioning to the book.

I reach for it cautiously, flipping open the cover. The pages are filled with photographs, timelines, and text that screams rich people history. My brows knit together as I skim over words like Caldera Holdings and multinational expansions.

"This," Lucian begins, standing in front of me like a professor about to lecture a failing student, "is the history of my family. If you're going to pass as my girlfriend, you need to know this. You'll be expected to hold a conversation with my parents, maybe even my grandfather."

I glance up at him, incredulous. "This feels more like wife training than pretend-girlfriend training. I thought I just had to show up, smile, and maybe laugh at your dad's jokes."

His expression hardens. "You're not here to joke around, Sera. Read."

"But I'm not your fiancée or your wife!" I argue, closing the book with a snap.

His cold glare could freeze lava. I lower my eyes, pretending to read again.

"Fine," I mumble. "What am I supposed to say if someone asks how we met?"

"You'll tell them we met while I was on a business trip to France."

My head jerks up. "But I've never been to France."

His jaw tightens, ignoring me entirely as he plows forward. "What's your hobby?"

"Cooking," I answer without hesitation, then add cheekily, "and drinking while cooking."

Lucian palms his forehead, muttering something under his breath.

"What?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Cooking is fine," he says, his voice strained. "But drinking as a hobby? Do you want my family to think I'm dating a bum?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Wow, thanks for the confidence boost."

"If my parents are going to get off my back, you have to be perfect," he snaps. "What do you do for a living?"

I swallow. "Uh... nothing right now."

His eyes narrow. "Nothing?"

"I lost my job two months ago."

The look of disbelief on his face is almost comical. "What were you doing before that?"

"I was an intern at this... company," I say vaguely, not meeting his eyes.

"What kind of company?"

I fidget. "A... low-class one?"

"This won't do," he mutters, pacing like a frustrated teacher dealing with the worst student of his career.

"What if I tell them I'm a chef?" I suggest brightly.

He stops pacing, considering it. "Do you own a restaurant?"

I blink, an idea forming in my head. Smiling wickedly, I stand and walk up to him, stopping just inches from his face. "You could open a restaurant for me. You know, to make it realistic."

Lucian's eyes narrow. He raises a single finger and pushes me back gently but firmly. "Is that why you agreed to this? So I could fund your dreams?"

I cross my arms over my chest, holding his gaze. "And if it is? What's so bad about that?"

His jaw tightens, but I press on, stepping closer again.

"I know why you asked me to be your girlfriend," I say, my tone sharper now. "This isn't about your parents, not entirely. It's about your reputation. Having someone like me on your arm makes you look better. Admit it-this is transactional. You get what you want, and I get what I want. Fair trade."

For a moment, he doesn't speak, his dark eyes boring into mine.

I smirk. "Would you rather the world see you as a CEO who sleeps around and escorts women, or as a respectable man in a committed relationship? Because I think we both know what's better for your image."

Lucian clears his throat, visibly bristling. "Building a restaurant for you is a lot to ask."

I scoff, throwing my hands up dramatically. "You're just broke, admit it."

His brow furrows, his expression darkening. "What did you just say?"

"Broke. Poor. Penniless. This is not peak billionaire behavior, Lucian. Haven't you seen any movies? Billionaire boyfriends are supposed to throw money around!"

His lips press into a thin line. Without a word, he picks up the book from the table and shoves it into my hands.

"This," he says coldly, "is real life, Sera. Not some ridiculous billionaire story."

I glare at him over the edge of the book. "Real life sucks."

He doesn't reply, turning away. But I swear I catch the faintest twitch of his lips before he walks off.

The next hour drags as I wade through the Caldera family's glittering history. The book is dense, a labyrinth of achievements, acquisitions, and carefully staged family portraits. They've really done it all-built empires, hobnobbed with royalty, donated billions to charity. It's enough to make me feel like a speck of dust in their polished world.

Across from me, Lucian sits with his laptop open, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose like they belong there. His brows are furrowed, his fingers flying over the keyboard. The warm light catches the edges of his sharp cheekbones, and I find myself staring.

This? I think. This is supposed to be the bad boy enigma Violet warned me about?

There's nothing black sheep about him. He's more like a golden retriever. A beautiful, expensive golden retriever with a never-ending trust fund.

"Keep reading, Ms. Voss," Lucian says without looking up, his voice low and calm.

I freeze. Ms. Voss. My stomach flips. "Wait. You know my surname?"

He finally lifts his eyes, peering over his glasses like a professor addressing a particularly dimwitted student. "The least I should know about the woman I'm parading as my girlfriend is her surname."

I press my lips together, resisting the urge to ask what else he knows. Instead, I murmur, "Makes sense," and drop my gaze back to the book.

But reading about someone else's success gets boring fast, especially when your own life feels like it's in a tailspin. A day ago, I was a broke woman in a dingy apartment. Now, I'm here, in a luxurious villa, pretending to be someone's girlfriend.

I pause, a wry smile tugging at my lips. Thank you, alcohol.

Lucian clears his throat. The sound snaps me out of my thoughts.

I set the book down with a thud, uncrossing my legs. "I'm done. I think I've got it."

He glances at me, unimpressed. "Good. Let's test you."

"Test?" My stomach flips again, but this time, it's nerves.

"Three questions," he says, closing his laptop. "First, what year was Caldera Holdings founded?"

I blink. "Uh... 1920?"

His lips press into a thin line. "1918."

"Close enough," I mutter.

"What's the name of my grandfather's charitable foundation?"

"Something... Caldera... something?"

His expression hardens. "The Caldera Global Impact Fund."

I groan. "Okay, fine. What's the last one?"

"What does the Caldera family primarily export?"

I open my mouth, then close it. Export? Export what? I rack my brain, but all I come up with is rich people stuff. "Uh... yachts?"

Lucian stands, slipping his hands into his pockets. His entire demeanor shifts. He's cool, calculated. Businesslike.

"Ms. Voss," he says, his tone sharp but not unkind. "Let me make you an offer."

I sit up straighter. "I'm listening."

"If you can successfully play the role of an amazing girlfriend for three months-to the press, my family, and some business associates-I'll get you the restaurant you've always wanted."

I stare at him, my brain short-circuiting. "You're kidding."

He doesn't smile. Doesn't flinch. His expression is a blank slate of seriousness.

"You're not kidding," I whisper, standing to face him. My heart is racing now, disbelief coursing through my veins. "You're actually serious."

"Completely."

I swallow hard, trying to process. "You'd really do that? Build me a restaurant?"

His gaze remains steady. "If you hold up your end of the deal, yes."

"Well," I say, regaining my composure. "Draft a contract, then. I don't trust you rich folks."

"Of course," he says smoothly. "You'll have it within the day. But know this-after three months, we break up and go our separate ways. No strings attached."

I extend my hand toward him. "Deal."

He takes it, his grip firm and warm. "Deal."

As he releases my hand, I can't help but feel like I've just sold my soul to the devil. A devil with impeccable cheekbones and a ridiculously expensive villa.

My type.