Chapter 6

Frances, though still wary, took the bait. My promise of helping her had, for the moment, stopped her campaign of petty sabotage. A fragile, unspoken truce settled between us.

My days became a series of calculated maneuvers, pushing the two protagonists of the novel closer together. I was no longer a character in their story; I was the stage manager, arranging the scenes for their inevitable romance.

A week later, I booked a table at the most romantic restaurant in the city, a place famous for its long waiting list and a view that could make anyone fall in love. I told Caleb it was for a business dinner he was required to attend.

He showed up, looking annoyed and handsome in a dark suit. I had already arranged for Frances to be there, "coincidentally" having dinner with a friend.

Just as the main course arrived, the restaurant manager announced a special anniversary promotion: a free bottle of champagne and a dessert for any couple willing to share a kiss for their "kiss cam."

I stood up abruptly, pressing a hand to my forehead. "I'm not feeling well," I announced. "I need some fresh air."

Caleb started to get up, a flicker of something-annoyance? concern?-in his eyes. "I'll come with you."

"No," I said, turning to him. My eyes flickered meaningfully towards Frances, who was watching us with wide, hopeful eyes. "Stay. Don't let a good bottle of champagne go to waste. I'm sure Frances would be happy to help you win."

Before he could protest, I turned and walked quickly out of the restaurant, leaving them alone under the soft, romantic lights. I got in my car and drove away, not looking back.

Another time, I organized a small get-together with some old university friends, insisting Caleb come along. Frances, of course, was also on the guest list.

At the end of the night, Frances, a surprisingly good actress, pretended to be too drunk to stand. I pushed her into Caleb's arms.

"You should take her home," I said, my voice firm and practical. "I'll grab a cab."

"What about you?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he struggled to support a "swooning" Frances.

"Don't worry about me," I said, pressing my car keys into his hand. "Make sure she gets home safe. And Caleb? Don't rush back."

I walked away, hailing a cab on the corner, leaving him standing there with the heroine in his arms, the car keys to my ridiculously expensive sports car in his hand.

He was starting to look at me differently. The cold resentment was still there, but now it was mixed with a deep, unsettling confusion. He couldn't understand my behavior. One moment, I was the jealous, possessive girlfriend from hell; the next, I was actively pushing him into the arms of another woman.

He was starting to see the pattern. The "chance" encounters. The way I always found an excuse to leave them alone.

He finally confronted me after the party. He came home late, smelling faintly of Frances's perfume.

"What are you doing, Jaliyah?" he asked, his voice low and strained. He wasn't yelling. It was worse. He was trying to understand.

"What do you mean?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"You know what I mean," he said, stepping closer. "The restaurant. The party tonight. You're throwing me at her. Why?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. He was smarter than the novel gave him credit for.

"Maybe I'm just tired of fighting," I said, shrugging. "Maybe I've realized you two are meant to be."

He stared at me, his dark eyes searching my face for the truth. For a terrifying second, I thought he could see right through me, past the lies and the act, to the desperate fear underneath.

But then his expression hardened again, the familiar mask of cynicism sliding back into place. He thought it was another game. Another way to manipulate him.

"I don't know what you're planning," he said, his voice cold again. "But it won't work."

He turned and went to his room, leaving me alone in the silence. It was working perfectly. He was confused, angry, and spending more and more time with Frances. Everything was falling into place.

I was getting closer to my exit.