Chapter 6 The Offer

Madison POV

Immediately I walked into Ethan penthouse, it wasn't just the size that struck me. It was how it scented. The smell of old scotch and leather book filled my nostrils. The room was colder than I expected, like I was walking into a fridge. And the fancy furniture laid there, perfectly arranged. Not exactly what I'd call cozy.

I stepped in, and I swear for a second, he had this look like regretted why he even called me to his place. His eyes flicked up like I'd knocked the balance out of his whole expensive world.

Ethan didn't bother to greet me. He just turned his head slightly, enough to acknowledge my presence.

His intense eyes locked with mine in a silent dare before any words came out.

"I wanna know why you called me?" I asked, folding my arms, as I took out a sarcastic tone, because being snappy was the only thing I think could keep me from feeling intimidated.

"You embarrassed yourself last night," he replied like he was pretending to be bored

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He turned fully now, sunlight's casting upon his face as he stared at me. "At the gala. The way you walked, held your glass, interacted with guests, so sloppy. Unrefined. You stuck out like a sore thumb."

Heat rose in my chest. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palm. "You asked me to pretend. I did."

"Pretend better," he snapped. "Because this isn't a game for you anymore. You want to be in my world? Then you'll have do it my way."

I crossed my arms. "So, to you now I've become a charity case? Some street-level journalist you're turning into a pet project?"

His voice dropped, in a calm tone. "You brought this on yourself, Madison. You wrote the article. You showed up at my party uninvited. You made the deal. And you expect to make things easy for you? You have to live by the terms."

I hated that he was right. But I hated more that his words made me feel small, like a child being reprimanded.

----

He put his glass on the table as he adjusted himself on the sit. "We need to discuss your role in this our arrangement. Pretending to be my fiancée means you have to act the part."

"I thought I was already doing that. Fiancé," I raised a brow.

He stood as he walked toward me. Not touching, just close enough to rattle something inside me. "No, you weren't, Ms. Russo because where I come from. Weakness is the beginning of your failure. Show them you're weak, and they'll rip you to shreds."

She stared back, bold and unflinching even with me towering over her. "You saying I'm weak?" she challenged.

"That's not what I meant," I replied, my tone gentler than I aimed for. "But they'll think it, and that's something I just can't let slide."

"I'm not here to be humiliated," I muttered.

"No," he said coolly. "I don't have any intention to either."

A middle aged lady walked into his office, she had a spot on, no nonsense vibe just like the etiquette suff she was ready to an etiquette tutor, showed up at the apartment right on time. She had a spot-on, no-nonsense vibe just like the etiquette stuff she was ready to teach.

Celeste. Impeccably dressed in cream slacks, a powder-blue blouse, and pearls so perfectly placed they looked surgically attached. Her blond hair was twisted into a bun so tight it could've given her a migraine.

"This is Celeste. Your etiquette coach. She'll be living here part-time to oversee your... transformation."

"Transformation?" I scoffed. "What am I, a swamp witch?"

Ethan ignored me.

I wanted to walk out right then. Every part of me was screaming: dignity, pride, common sense. But the stakes were too high, and I wasn't about to let Ethan-or anyone-think they'd broken me.

So I smiled. The fakest smile I'd ever worn. "Fine. Let's play, Blackwell. But don't expect me to make it easy."

---

My first session with Celeste felt like being back in high school detention with a drill sergeant in designer heels. We started with posture.

"Stand straight. Shoulders back. No slouching. You're walking like you're bracing for a fight."

"Maybe I am," I muttered.

She didn't flinch. "High society doesn't brawl, Ms. Russo. It dismantles. Quietly."

Then came walking in heels. I nearly twisted my ankle twice, and Celeste made a noise like she was physically in pain.

"Try again. And stop stomping. You're not chasing leads down a back alley."

I resisted the urge to throw the shoes at her head.

I started making deliberate mistakes. Swapping forks. I was getting all worked up, as I leaned my elbows on the table like some kind of a savage. Celeste just stayed calm, correcting me like a robot without flaws. Every time she did that, I felt like losin it.

By the time it hit noon, I was all sweaty and fed up with playin games. "Do you know what? Screw this," I snapped, adjusting myself to stand up fast. My chair screeched on the floor. "Let's just stop pretendin this is about being polite." This is about control. About him molding me into something more palatable for the shareholders."

Celeste blinked once. Slowly. "Mr. Blackwell merely wants to help you adapt to the expectations of his world."

"No. He wants to rewrite me. He wants to erase the parts that scare him. The ones that ask questions. The ones that don't bend."

"And yet you agreed to this arrangement."

That hit harder than I expected.

"I agreed to find the truth. Not to lose myself in the process."

I stormed out of the room, didn't even bother looking back. I just needed some space, some air.

---

As soon as I left the room I acted like I didn't see Ethan and I took a stroll till I stumbled in the library. I took a sit and decided to get busy with my laptop, surrounded by old reports and papers. I was trying to make sense of it all, piece together the crash and everything that led to this mess I'm in. My brain was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story.

I stared at the papers, tryin to focus, but my mind kept driftin back to Ethan. The way he looked at me. My stomach twisted into knots just thinkin about it. Was that real? Or just another manipulation?

I sighed, rubbin my eyes. I needed to focus, figure out what was goin on. But it was hard when my emotions were all over the place. I just wanted answers, wanted to know the truth.

I looked at the time. It was getting late then I took out my laptop in my hands and walked out. When I finally emerged from the library preparing to go home, I found him standing at the fridge, tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled up, sleeves creased from some long meeting that hadn't gone his way. He looked tired.

"Hungry?" he asked, glancing up at me.

"Starving. But only if I get to use the wrong fork," I shot back.

He cracked a smile. Barely. But it was there.

"You know," he said, closing the fridge and leaning against the counter, arms crossed, "you don't have to fight everyone all the time."

"And you don't have to try and fix everything."

His gaze darkened. "You think I want to? You think I like this? I never asked for any of it."

"But you're still playing the part," I said quietly. "Even if it kills you."

For a moment, the mask slipped. I saw it in his eyes-the pain, the confusion, the quiet desperation. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

He stepped toward me. Too close. My pulse hiccupped.

"Madison..."

I held my ground. "Don't. Not unless you mean it. Not unless you're done lying."

His jaw clenched. "You think this is easy for me? That I can just switch it off? I don't even know what's real anymore. You get under my skin and I can't think."

"Then stop pretending."

He reached for my hand, but I stepped back.

"Not until I know what game you're playing. Not until I know where I stand."

He didn't respond. Just stared at me like I was the puzzle he couldn't solve.

---

"I'm sorry I have to go."

I walked to where I kept my bag and picked it up to leave the house. I still caught his gaze on me when I walked out but he didn't utter a word.

The cold breeze hit me when I got outside then I took a cab home.