His Regret, My Benefit.

~Angela Pov~

The sound of my labored breathing woke me. My head throbbed in concert with the pulsations of my heartbeat, an unstoppable steady ache for which even the faintest of sounds cut like a shard of glass. Sharp fumes of booze and sweat clung to the air, together with that vague, sweetish, citrus scent of strange sheets.

I opened my eyes, and the golden light of morning stabbed like so many tiny knives through my half-closed eyes. Cruel brightness that burns to ashes chances of staying in a cocoon of blissful ignorance. My hand slowly moved on the rough sheets below me, shaking. It was not my bed.

Panic slid up my spine, and my heart, sluggish only a moment before, was suddenly hammering in my chest as realization hit: this wasn't my room, this wasn't my home.

I moved, the ache in my body sharper with the motion. Every muscle screamed, protesting; and a dull soreness across my thighs sent a wash of fire and shame through me. Fragments of memory - like slivers of broken glass - swirled within reach and then eluded my grasping mind: laughter, not mine; heavy bass of music, a strong hand digging into my waist. My breath hitched.

No.

I forced myself to turn and look at the other side of the bed, a space that was previously forbidden for my gaze to set upon. I caught sight of him amidst my churning stomach.

He lay on his back, the rise and fall of his chest marking the regular cadence of his sleep. His skin shone with a soft glow in the morning light, and his tangled brown hair stuck out at odd angles as if my hands had been tangled in it. My throat was so tight it ached. A ghost of a smile danced on his lips, soft, as though he were dreaming of something pleasant. Or someone.

Who is he?

I scrambled upright, clutching the sheet to my chest like armor. Breathing fast and shallow, eyes darting frantically around the room. Marble, cream-colored walls embracing a wall of glass, windows to the floor and from the floor to the ceiling. All screamed luxury. But me, tangled in the bed that wasn't mine with the man I didn't know, no.

"What...what happened?" My whisper cut the quiet.

He stirred with the sound, a low groan slipping from his lips as he rolled onto his side. My heart leaped in my throat as gray, though sleepy, eyes hit mine.

He stared at me, and across his face flickered confusion. Then we were simply staring into the other's face, where neither could speak due to shock. Then his eyes furrowed, going over me, the sheet, and lastly around the room.

"What the hell?" his husky, sleepy voice croaked out.

My fingers dug further into the sheet as my knuckles went white. "I-I don't remember a thing," I stammered. "You?"

His jaw clenched and he sat up, muscles rippling down his back with the motion. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowing while he fitted together pieces of some puzzle. "No," he said. "Not really."

That did little for me if not feed the panic blooming into full-blown terror in my chest.

Suddenly, a muffled commotion out in the hallway broke the heavy silence. My head jerked in its direction, and my heart raced. The voices grew louder, more frantic, and chaotic until-

The door burst open.

The next few seconds took on some sort of fuzzy hue. Faces flowed in, cameras flashing light bright. Noises, eardrum-splitting sounds, questions, jacked-up clicks of shutters, feet shuffling in their push and scramble to press in around the bed.

"Angela Castle!" one of them shouted, shoving a microphone toward me. "Is it true you've been seeing him in secret?"

"Who is he?" another demanded. "A lover? A scandalous rendezvous?"

I couldn't breathe. My throat closed up, and the panic had me in a tight squeeze. My hands were digging for the edge of the sheet, yanking it up to my neck to cover myself from prying eyes and questions. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Mumbling curses under his breath, The man's face was red as blood, with his jaw tightly clenched, he was glaring at them. "Get out!" he exploded, drowned by pandemonium.

Cameras clicked on and on, and one question after another bombarded me. I felt like some wild animal in a cage, every movement cataloged, every inch of skin exposed to the press.

"Enough!

The sharp, commanding voice cut through the din; for one brief, blessed moment, the room fell silent. My gaze shot to the doorway, a wave of relief washing over me, and there stood Fiona, an angry red dot of fury and determination, flanked by hotel security.

"Get these vultures out of here now!" she snapped, one accusing finger-pointing at the reporters.

The security guards whisked them away with efficiency like some herd of wildebeests gone berserk. It boomed shut behind them with a deafening thud.

I collapsed back against the headboard shaking all over. Fiona leaped to my side, peering at me with wide, dark, worried eyes. "Angela," she said in a soft voice, softer now but laced with alarm. "What happened here? Are you okay?"

I shook my head, my throat too tight for words. My mind flew around, grasping at an explanation, but only shards were there - pieces of a night I couldn't fully recall.

"I... I don't know," I finally whispered.

Fiona turned to the man then, her face hardened. "And who are you?".

He flung his hands up in a mock surrender and clenched his jaw. "Look, I don't know any more than you do. I was in my room and then..." He stopped and glanced toward me.

"What?" Fiona snapped. "And then I woke up here," he finished.

Fiona's lips pressed into a hard line. "Convenient," she said, crossing her arms. "Angela, do you have any idea what kind of damage this could do to your reputation? To your father's company?"

It was like a slap in the face, and I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her accusation heavy in my chest.

"It's not his fault," I whispered low, my voice a little steadier. "I. I think I went to the wrong room."

Fiona turned her hawk-like stare in my direction, with a baldly disbelieving arch of an eyebrow. "You think? Angela, this isn't some small, inconsequential mistake; this is a PR nightmare if it ever gets in motion, and it has been running wild with the presses already!"

He coughed to clear his throat. The man cleared his throat to get our attention. "Look," he said, with an even voice. "I'm sorry about all of this. I am. However, I don't see how just standing here fighting and arguing is going to straighten anything out."

Fiona whirled on him, her voice oozing sarcasm. "Oh, you don't think so? Thank you, Captain Obvious." Moving forward a step, she snared him with a narrowed eye. "Why don't you leave before you make anything worse?"

He stammered to a stop, his eyes darting to me as if he wanted to say something. But I couldn't see his eyes. A moment later, he let out a sigh and walked toward the door, his broad shoulders tense.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room in heavy silence.

Fiona turned to me, frustration and concern etched on her face. "Angela," she said in a softer tone, "what are we going to do? Your father is going to find this out, and you know how he'll react."

I buried my face in my hands, shame, and panic swirling inside me like a storm. She was right. The last thing I needed now was my father's wrath.

But as Fiona paced the room, rattling off potential damage-control strategies, I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in my gut. Something about this felt bigger than some drunken mistake.

Something about this felt like the beginning of the end.

~Angela Pov~

The door shut behind Fiona, and I was left to my silence of thoughts. Morning chaos weighed upon me; my stomach churned as if with a vice. The paparazzi, scandals, my father. Just the mere thought of him finding out sent my panic into overdrive.

"Angela, we need to talk," Fiona's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

I turned to her; she paced across the room, her fingers twitching nervously. She stopped abruptly, her sharp blue eyes locking onto mine. "This is bad. Your father will lose his mind when he hears about this."

I swallowed the truth in her words a fist of impact. My father was the kind of man who sustained himself on order and control, for whom I wasn't his daughter but a face on the Castle family imagery of perfection he paraded to the world. What happened this morning would surely mar the image.

"What am I to do?" Finally, words found their way out of a thread above a whisper.

Fiona stopped pacing. Her face was a mask of concern and determination. "We have to move, damage control. We have to give the press another story, something that'll make this ..." Her hand waved at the general dishevelment around us. "...look planned."

I frowned. "Planned? Fiona, nothing about this looks planned."

"Then we shall make it appear so," she concluded. "Angela, you'll have to call your father and tell him that this man who came this morning is your fiancé. If the press believes this was one of those love misunderstandings, it will lap up that story, and for certain your father won't take your position away from you."

I felt like she'd just slapped me. "Fiancé? Are you nuts?"

"Have you got a better alternative to this?" snapped Fiona. The pitch of her voice continued to rise. "Otherwise, your father will use it to throw you out of Turner PLC, and you know his temper!"

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn't come. She was right. My father would show no hesitation in removing me as CEO. Still, the thought of lying about a fake fiancé, about making this whole mess an even greater farce-just seemed so wrong.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand before I could reply. That sound sent a chill of fear down my spine. My shaking hands reached for the phone and gripped hard as I stared at the screen. My father's name glared at me there, a warning.

"It's him," I whispered, my throat dry.

Fiona's face hardened. "Answer it."

I hesitated, every nerve screaming at me to run. But there was no escaping him. Not this time.

I swiped to answer and pressed the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Angela." His voice was sharp, cold. "Explain to me what I just saw on the news."

I could feel the blood drain from my face. "I...I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me!" he snarled. "There are photos of you in some hotel room with a man. Half-naked! Do you have any idea what this is doing to our family's name?"

My chest seemed to shrink, weighted down by the force of his anger. "I'm sorry. It's not what it looks like-

"Not what it seems?" he interrupted. "You think the board is concerned with that? Do you think our investors are interested? Your blatant irresponsibility is costing everything I found!"

"I didn't mean-"

"I'm removing you as CEO."

The words tumbled from his mouth like a sledgehammer, to fall upon me. "What? No! You can't do that!"

"I can and I will," he replied icily. "You've proved you're incapable of handling the responsibility."

I felt desperation start to claw at me. "Wait! Please, just listen. The man in the photos-he's my...my fiancé."

They tasted like some alien, bitter concoction in my mouth. Fiona stared at me, wide-eyed, begging for the continuation in silence.

"We are engaged," I said breathlessly. There was quiet for a long while as we both breath into the speakers of the phone.

"Fiancé? Engaged?" My dad sounded like he was strangling his incredulity. "Since when?"

"Recently," I stammered. "We've kept it all private so far, but I suppose the media found out before we did anything to make any kind of announcement."

There was a dead silence on the other end for a few seconds, and I held my breath while praying he'd believe me.

"This isn't over," he finally said. "You and your fiancé are coming to the house tomorrow. I want to meet him."

The line died.

I dropped the phone and began trembling. Fiona immediately ran to my side. "What happened?"

"He wants to meet my fiancé," I said in a deadpan tone.

Fiona exhaled hard and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, that seals it. We have to find that guy this morning."

She turned toward the bathroom. "Get dressed. We've got work to do."

It didn't help to soothe my nerves one bit. I tried to make some sense out of everything under the steam of the water. My life was always so precisely controlled, every decision carefully thought out just so. And in one short morning, it was falling apart.

And who was I? Angela Castle, heiress of the Castle fortune? CEO of Turner PLC? Or just some sort of scared woman who found herself caught in a storm she couldn't outrun?

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body. Fiona was standing in the bedroom, clutching a sleek black dress.

"Wear this," she said. "You have to look confident like this is all within your power.

I nodded, wriggling my body into the dress that hugged my curves just right. Fiona handed me a pair of heels, and shaking from head to toe, I slipped them on.

"Alright, let's go, " she said.

It wasn't as dire to find him as I may have thought it could be: Fiona knew most of the ways in town to trace people. Of course, in about an hour, we stood facing the door to his hotel room.

I knocked on the door. My heart bobbed in my chest.

He looked just as surprised as I felt when he opened the door. His eyes, a deep brown, widened, and he ran a hand through his mess of hair. "You again? How did you find me?"

"Can we talk?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He hesitated, peering back into the room, then stepped aside. "Come in."

The room was as messy as I felt. Clothes were strewn over the floor, and an empty coffee cup sat on the nightstand. He motioned for us to take a seat, but I remained standing, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he said with much nervousness.

"No," I said icily, "Just sit."

He sank into the chair opposite me, and his posture straightened. I studied him for a moment, just taking in his appearance of hair that was rather unruly, sharp jawline covered in light stubble, attractive in an almost careless kind of rugged way.

"I need you to do something for me," I said finally.

He frowned. "What?"

I swallowed in; the words hung heavy on my tongue. "I want you to be my fake fiancé."

~Angela Pov~

Gary's brows furrowed as he stared at me, his shock evident. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just blinked at me like I'd spoken in an alien language.

"Wait," he said, holding up a hand. "You want me to do what?"

Be my fake fiancé, I repeated steadfastly, stared at him. "It is a simple arrangement, just playing the fiancés until all this media and daddy mess blows over; then we 'break up, and you get on with your life. That is it. A win-win situation." He gave a short laugh that was more incredulous than amused, and he shook his head. "No way. This is insane."

"Insane?" I crossed my arms over my chest, cocking an eyebrow. "What's insane is getting woken up by a bunch of paparazzi bursting into your room. What's insane is having your father breathe down your neck, ready to take it all away from the things I worked for, that is. This ain't a game for me, Gary, it is survival."

Gary wriggled in his chair, refusing to meet my eyes. "I think that you are in trouble of one sort or another, but I do not see how this would pertain to me. I don't know you well at all."

"You did not appear to have a problem with it this morning," I growled.

He colored pink as he squared his throat. "Look, Angela-"

"Miss Castle," I snapped sharply.

He let the breath hiss out of his lungs, his tone gentled: "Miss Castle, I'm sorry all this had to happen, but it's just not that kind of man. I keep my head down, live my life, and don't pose as any woman's fiancé for anything in this world."

I leaned forward, my green eyes boring into his. "Gary, this isn't a request. It's an offer. And it's not something I'm used to hearing no to."

He blinked again, caught between admiration and annoyance. "And what makes you think I'd agree to this 'offer' of yours?"

"Because I'm willing to pay."

That got his attention. His head tilted slightly, his gaze narrowing. "Pay?

"Yeah," I promised. "I'll make it worth your time. You will get enough money to take a vacation, pay bills, or whatever you feel you need. You won't leave empty-handed."

He frowned, eyes cynical. "How much?"

I could feel his resolve weakening, and I leaned in harder. "Enough to make it worth your time," I replied vaguely. "But you'll have to agree first before we talk numbers."

Gary leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck, and I could tell he was nervous yet intrigued by pursing his lips and darting his eyes around the room as if searching for an escape that wasn't there.

"You don't have much of a choice here," I added, lowering my voice. "If I wanted to, I could have made your life very, very uncomfortable."

His eyes jerked back to mine, a flash of defiance crossing his eyes briefly before fleeing altogether. Finally, he let out a deep sigh; shoulders caving he settled toward his knees in defeat. "Alright. I'll do this. But I am going through with this only because I need the money."

The small triumphant smile slipped through. "Great. Let's go."

"What? Now?" his voice was shocked.

"Yes, now," I said, raising and smoothing my dress. "My father doesn't wait for anyone, nor do I."

*The Mansion of the Castle*

I said nothing as the sleek black car whipped through traffic headed for my dad's estate. The tension was suffocating. Gary rode rod straight beside me, his fingers beating out a spastic rhythm on his knee. I gave him no comfort. It was good he was getting scared because that was only step one into what he'd gotten himself into.

But as a whole, in and of itself, the sprawling grounds surrounding this mansion, clean garden, high gates forming a fence far away, the house was a white marble-walled high-towering piece of architecture supported with columns and carvings that seemed to whisper to all who would listen about all of the money and power that one could ever want to have.

Gary whistled low as we drove up the long driveway. "This is-wow, impressive."

"It's intimidating," I corrected, my tone curt.

The car pulled to a stop and a butler opened the door for us. I stepped out first, heels clattering noisily on the stone steps to warn all, I was coming. Gary followed more slowly, his gaze darting to this and that like some lost child in a kind of museum.

If that was not enough, then more awaited inside, high ceilings with crystal chandeliers glistening, shining marble floors, and walls lined with artworks of value. It was one of those places where it didn't matter who you were, you just felt small.

The butler led us to my father's study, a great room with leather-bound books, reeking of cigar smoke. My father sat behind that enormous oak desk, commanding the room; his hair slicked back gray, gray eyes like pincers when they landed on us.

"Angela," he said in a firm voice. "And this must be your... fiancé."

Gary swallowed but nodded. "Yes, sir."

Father looked at him and then looked him over like some specimen under a glass microscope. "What is your name, boy?"

"Gary Preston," he replied, firm, but lowly.

"Gary," my father tried the name out. He leaned back in his chair, expressionless. "Tell me, Gary, what do you do for a living?"

Gary looked taken aback; he looked at me to bail him out, but I did nothing. This was his test to pass.

"I'm, uh...between jobs at the moment," he stammered.

My father's eyebrow arched and his lips twisted wryly into that mild condemning smile of his. "I see. And how did you exactly meet my daughter?"

Gary had begun to speak and I cut him off deftly. "It's unimportant, Father. It matters not, because it brought us together, both in love and happiness."

My father's glance cut to me glass-sharp. "Happy, are you? Then you wouldn't mind me making an announcement to the world about your engagement. It'll be a formal announcement to clear up misunderstandings about your behavior."

I tensed up. "That's not necessary. We can handle it ourselves."

"Nonsense," he said, flicking his wrist. "The media needs to see that everything is well under control, and tonight, the engagement will be announced, followed by the wedding shortly after."

"Wedding?" My voice rose a little, my composure cracking. "You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious," he said, leaving no room for argument in his tone. "You'll be married within the month."

I dug my nails into my palms, my fists clenched. "Father, this is not your decision to make. Gary and I will decide when or if we get married."

His eyes hardened, his voice falling to that low dangerous level. "If you want to stay CEO, you will do what I say."

The unspoken emotion in the room hung like lead. Gary shifted uncomfortably beside me, all that earlier bravado gone. I turned to him and watched as tension set in his jaw, the nervous fidgeting of his hands in his lap.

Finally, the fight was drained out of me, and I exhaled. "Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "We'll do it your way."

*Back at Gary's Apartment*

The ride back to Gary's place was about as quiet as it had been to my father's house. I leaned my head against the window and listened to my mind go on and on. How could my life have gotten so out of control?

Once we were at his apartment, Gary let us into his modest place. It was a far cry from Castle Mansion, but the place was clean and decent.

"So," he said finally, the silence broken. "This wasn't part of the deal."

I turned to him, my patience wearing thin. "What are you talking about?"

"The wedding," he said, his voice firm. You said I'd be your fake fiancé, not your husband. This changes everything.

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "What do you want then?"