Chapter 3 Faux Romance

Emilia's POV

The chandelier above the ballroom shimmered like a galaxy one polished crystal for every secret in the room.

Emilia stood near the marble entrance of the Federal Palace Grand Hotel, straightening the waist of her black silk gown for the fifth time. Her heels were already killing her, her clutch was too small to be useful, and she couldn't remember the last time she felt this off balance before an event. She had orchestrated countless high-profile appearances for clients and managed PR nightmares in real time.

But this?

This was a storm wrapped in a tuxedo.

Maddox King hadn't arrived yet, and of course he was late. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe she was early because she didn't trust him not to flake on their very public, very fake debut as Manhattan's newest "it" couple.

The ballroom glittered with political power, social media darlings, and CEOs dressed like Bond villains. Every guest had a camera-ready smile and a glass of champagne.

A warm voice cut into her focus.

"Emilia Hart. I thought you only worked behind the scenes."

She turned to find Colin Avery-one of New York's sleaziest PR men and her least favorite ex. He wore a smug grin and an overpriced bowtie.

"I only come out for clients who matter," she said sweetly. "You wouldn't understand."

He chuckled and raised his flute. "Good luck salvaging, King. The man's a lost cause."

"I've done more with less," she said, then walked away before he could follow up with another backhanded compliment disguised as flirtation.

Just as she reached for a glass of champagne, a shift in the room's energy hit her.

People turned toward the main entrance.

Cameras clicked.

And then-he walked in.

Maddox.

Dressed in a deep charcoal suit that fit like sin and restraint stitched into cloth, he moved like he owned the building. His eyes found her immediately, and for a moment, the crowd blurred.

He made his way to her without a smile, without hesitation.

"Miss Hart," he said, voice smooth and unreadable. "I hope I'm appropriately accessorized."

She raised an eyebrow. "Charcoal. Pocket square. I'm impressed."

He offered his arm. "Shall we convince them?"

She looped her hand through his and smiled like it was real. "Let's."

The cameras ate them up. Posing, walking, subtle glances-Maddox followed her cues perfectly. If she hadn't known better, she'd think he was used to playing the doting partner.

He wasn't exactly warm. But he was present. Poised. And devastatingly focused on her.

"Do you always pretend so well?" she asked quietly between flashes.

"Pretending is easier than feeling," he replied without missing a beat.

Emilia turned slightly, masking her reaction behind a poised smile. There it was again-his icy detachment. A wall she couldn't scale yet.

Still, as they worked the room, he didn't let go of her arm. He whispered her name when introducing her. He even brushed an invisible thread off her shoulder once, and she hated the way her stomach flipped.

This was an arrangement. A performance. And she needed to remember that.

At the champagne tower, she leaned in to speak while their photo was being taken.

"Careful, Maddox. If you keep looking at me like that, they'll think we're in love."

His lips barely curved. "That's the point, isn't it?"

For one dizzy second, it felt real.

Too real.

They found a quiet corner beneath a vaulted alcove. She took a sip of water to calm her nerves.

"That wasn't awful," she said. "You didn't threaten anyone, you remembered to blink, and I only had to fake-laugh twice."

His gaze dropped to her lips. "That wasn't a fake laugh. The second one."

She froze slightly. "You noticed?"

"I notice everything."

And then, he took a small step closer.

Not much.

But enough to close space that had once been professional.

"Maddox..."

He didn't touch her. He didn't have to.

"I don't believe in pretending either," he said, voice low. "But for the first time in a long time, I don't hate being seen."

The words lingered between them like smoke.

And before Emilia could decide if she was angry or flattered-or afraid of how real he sounded-someone interrupted.

"Oh my God," a woman gasped from behind them.

Emilia turned, heart already dropping.

It was her.

Celeste Carrington.

The ex-fiancée.

Draped in silver. Eyes sharp. Smiling like a shark.

"Maddox," she purred. "Still good at making headlines, I see."

Emilia barely registered Maddox's jaw tightening. Her own instincts kicked in.

"Hi. I'm Emilia Hart. Maddox's-"

"Publicist?" Celeste cut in. "Or rebound?"

Emilia kept her face calm. Professional. "Both, depending on the day."

Maddox's hand slid to her lower back. Not tight. Just a soft, steady touch.

"Excuse us," he said with a voice like cracked ice. "We were just leaving."

And for the first time, Maddox King walked away from a confrontation.

With Emilia in his arms.

Outside, the cold air hit them like a slap. Emilia exhaled hard and stepped away from him.

"Was that her?" she asked.

Maddox didn't answer.

She shook her head. "You could've told me."

"I told you," he said quietly, "not to ask about my past."

She opened her mouth-then stopped.

Because the look in his eyes wasn't cold.

It was haunted.

And she didn't know what scared her more: the possibility that he was still broken by the woman inside that ballroom...

Or the possibility that she was starting to care.