NO STRINGS, JUST LIES

"You're late."

Rhyland leaned against the marble reception desk like he owned the place which, knowing him, he probably did. He had one hand shoved in his pocket, the other cradling a phone he wasn't using. His gaze skimmed down my body, pausing on the crumpled diaper bag slung across my shoulder and the sleepy toddler clinging to my neck.

Fantastic. I was ten minutes late and already being judged by a man who once thought "cleaning up" meant removing the vodka bottles before a girl woke up.

"You're still a jerk," I said, adjusting my grip on Noah. "Some things never change."

"Neither do your manners," he said, pushing off the desk and walking toward me like a wolf circling a rabbit. "Didn't know house-sitting came with attitude."

"I didn't know babysitting came with billionaire baggage."

His brow rose, amused. "That's your way of calling me hot?"

I let out a dry laugh. "No. That's my way of calling you the most exhausting man I've ever met."

Noah squirmed in my arms, his tiny hand smacking against my cheek as he babbled something incoherent. Teething was doing things to this child, demonic things.

I glanced around the penthouse lobby. Glass walls, high ceilings, a chandelier that probably cost more than my college degree. My brother's place was intimidating even on video calls in person. It felt like I'd walked onto the set of a reality show where poor people got voted off one by one.

"Where is my brother?" I asked. "He said he'd meet me."

"Delayed flight," Rhyland said. "Dubai storms grounded his jet. You've got me instead. Lucky you."

Lucky me.

I set Noah down, and he immediately waddled toward a low-slung glass table covered in coffee table books and delicate ceramic sculptures.

"Noah, no," I said, reaching for him

Too late.

Tiny toddler fingers wrapped around the edge of a thousand-dollar art book.

Rhyland stepped in, scooping both the book and my son into his arms in one practised move. He held the book high and Noah low, like a man who'd been dodging sticky fingers for years.

"Not bad," I muttered. "Didn't know you were good with kids."

"I'm not. But I am good at saving furniture."

"You could try not being a smug bastard for five minutes."

"I could," he said, "but where's the fun in that?"

The elevator chimed.

A man stepped out with silver hair, a crisp navy suit, and the kind of aura that said my name is on buildings. He looked around, eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of Rhyland, me, and Noah in the same room.

"Mr. Granger," Rhyland said quickly, setting Noah down and extending a hand. "You're early."

"I like to be," the man said, shaking his hand. "Wanted to meet the family. And this must be your fiancée."

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She's-" Rhyland's arm slid around my waist like it belonged there. "Yes. This is Emery. And our son, Noah."

Or what?

Granger's smile deepened. "Wonderful. Family men tend to be more grounded. More dependable."

I was still processing my fiancée and our son when Granger's attention turned to Noah.

"How old is the little guy?"

"Eighteen months," I said automatically.

Rhyland nodded beside me like it was true. I could practically feel the heat rolling off him. I was truly taken off guard.

"Looks just like his father," Granger said with a wink. "You've done well, Rhyland. A family man building a business people love that story."

I turned to Rhyland slowly. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He smiled politely at Granger. "Excuse us."

I grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the hallway with enough force to make Noah giggle.

"What the actual hell was that?" I hissed once we were out of earshot. "Fiancée? Son? Are you out of your damn mind?"

"Calm down."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down? You just made me your fake baby mama in front of a billionaire investor!"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't plan it, all right? He's obsessed with image and wants to invest in people who look like family men. Stable. Settled. Not... me."

"So you panicked and lied?"

"Yes. But it worked. He smiled. He's into it. I can close this deal."

I stared at him. "You are unbelievable."

"Look, you're already here. You need a place. I need a fiancée. It's mutually beneficial."

"Oh, I see," I snapped. "You lie to your investor, and I get free rent in exchange for what? Cooking your meals and acting like I don't hate your guts?"

"No one said anything about cooking," he said. "And you don't hate me. You wish you did."

I shoved his shoulder. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I'm not. I'm offering a deal."

"You're offering a disaster."

"You have nowhere else to go, Emery," he said quietly. "Your ex is still texting you. Your brother's out of the country. This penthouse has security, space, and a spare bedroom. All you have to do is play along when Granger's around. A smile here, a kiss on the cheek there. That's it."

Noah's laugh echoed from the living room. He was dancing now flailing, babbling nonsense, chewing on a throw pillow.

I blinked, caught between fury and exhaustion.

"What's in it for me?" I asked finally.

"Peace. Safety. And when this is over if I land this deal you'll get a cut."

I frowned. "How much?"

"Five figures."

I hesitated.

"You hate me," he said. "But I'd never let anything happen to you or Noah."

That stopped me. For all his flaws, Rhyland had been there the night I called my brother crying, bruised, and terrified after my ex showed up at daycare. It was Rhyland who'd picked me up. Who stood between me and Caleb like a wall. Who punched him hard enough to leave a mark and didn't even apologize.

I hated him for a lot of reasons. But I didn't doubt that he'd protect us.

I looked down the hall where Granger was sipping his drink, talking to my son like he was a boardroom associate.

"This is going to blow up in your face," I muttered.

"Probably," Rhyland said. "But it'll look good until it does."

He held out his hand.

"Do we have a deal?"

I stared at it.

Then at him.

At my son, who had just stuffed a designer coaster down the front of his onesie.

And back at him again.

"Fine," I said. "But if you touch me in public, it better be convincing."

Rhyland's grin was slow. Dangerous. "Oh, I can do convincing."

"And no surprises," I added. "No weddings. No real rings. No actual romance."

"Of course not," he said.

We both knew he was lying

Rule #1: No touching unless necessary.

Rule #2: No real kissing.

Rule #3: No looking at me like that.

"You're staring," I told him without looking up.

"I'm thinking," Rhyland said, arms crossed and propped against the kitchen island like some Calvin Klein ad gone smug.

"Think somewhere else."

"I live here."

"Unfortunately."

We'd only been going for three hours, the most ridiculous setup of my life, and I was already thinking about strangling him with one of his pricey throw pillows.

Noah wailed from his high chair, spilling a handful of bananas onto the hardwood floor like some tiny warlord.

"I see he's inherited his mom's genes," Rhyland muttered, grabbing a towel.

"Sticky but charming? Thanks."

"Unpredictable and sticky."

"Careful," I warned. "I've got a full diaper bag and nothing to lose."

Before he could respond, his phone rang on the counter.

He glanced at the screen, grumbled under his breath, and answered it. "It's Granger's assistant. Hold on."

He stepped into the next room, speaking low and fast.

I spun around to Noah, wiping the banana off his fingers and trying not to think about the fact that I had a fake fiancé and a real headache.

This was not supposed to go this way.

I came to New York to escape the chaos, not dive headfirst into it with the man who once informed me my baking was made of regret.

Rhyland returned two minutes later, his face wasn't too bright.

"Problem?" I asked.

"We've got company. Granger's wife is coming down, and she's bringing a personal gift for Noah. A baby care basket or something."

"Seriously?"

"She's walking up. Like, now."

I sprang up so fast I was about to knock over the high chair. "We're not ready. We haven't even talked about the story of how we met, how long we've been together"

"Nobody's requesting a novel. Just act like you like me."

"That's expecting a miracle."

He crossed the kitchen and took the dish towel from my hand. "You're overthinking it. It's one woman. She'll peek in, smile at the happy family, and leave."

As if on cue, the elevator dinged.

I started feeling uneasy.

Rhyland turned to me. "You trust me?"

"No."

"Good. Let's fake it."

The doors opened and in walked a glamorous woman in her fifties bearing a Tiffany-blue gift bag and the sort of polished energy that screamed old money and expensive Pilates.

"You must be Emery!" she declared, flashing me a dazzling smile.

I smiled back, not sure whether to shake her hand or bow.

"I'm Lillian Granger. Elliott has spoken to me about you and your sweet little boy." She bent down to smile at Noah, who automatically offered her a soggy Cheerio.

I cleared my throat. "Thank you ever so much for coming."

She looked at Rhyland. "Elliott is just thrilled. I've never seen him this excited about an entrepreneur in years. He said that your family saga is uplifting."

Family saga. Yeah.

Rhyland wrapped an arm around my waist. "We've had our ups and downs, but we make it work."

"Oh, I can tell," Lillian smiled. "You two have real chemistry."

I stifled a laugh. "Yeah. Like fire and gasoline."

Rhyland grinned a little too hard. "She keeps me humble."

Lillian handed the bag to me. "Organic baby shampoo, handmade bibs, the works. You'll love them."

"That's very sweet," I said, peering inside.

It's nothing," she said. "You're practically family now. And Elliott thought I'd ask you both to our foundation gala next week. Black tie. It will be a beautiful evening."

My anxiety intensified.

"Oh," I said. "That's"

"We'd love to," Rhyland cut in sharply. "Can't wait."

"Perfect," she said. "I'll have an invitation sent over. And Emery-if you ever need help planning the wedding, I know everyone.".

I swallowed a half-laugh, half-scream sound.

"I'll recall that," I said with a smile so wide my face hurt.

"Well, I won't keep you. Just wanted to say hello in person." She turned toward the elevator, then paused. "Before I go, can I get a quick photo of the three of you? I'm helping update the investor welcome board. Family bios and such."

I stood like my thoughts were wiped out for a moment.

"Noah just ate," I told her. "He's kind of a mess-"

"He's adorable. Just one picture."

I looked at Rhyland.

He edged closer, wrapped an arm around my waist, and leaned in to whisper, "Smile and let's get it over with."

I carried Noah up and turned to the phone.

Lillian aimed. "Say cheese!"

Rhyland leaned in. His lips brushed my cheek-warm, slow, far too real.

I breathed again.

Snap.

"There," she said, smiling. "Perfect."

I didn't move. Couldn't move.

His mouth lingered too long. His hand didn't fall.

"You can stop now," I growled.

He didn't look at me. "I know."

The elevator doors shut behind her.

I stepped back, nudging him. "What was that?"

"A good performance."

"You kissed me."

"On the cheek."

"You lingered too long."

He shakes his head. "Did it work?"

I hated that the answer was yes.

I placed Noah in his playpen and turned away, needing space. My heart was pounding and not the good kind.

"This is a terrible idea," I said to him. "We need rules."

"Absolutely," he said. "Rule one?"

"No more surprise pecks."

He held up a finger. "Only if they're not for show."

"Don't be smart."

"I'm being serious. Public displays of affection are part of the deal. You want me to bring this investor on board or not?"

I sighed. "Fine. But I'm writing rules."

He crossed to the fridge and opened it. "Make a list. I'll break them later."

"I'm not joking."

"Neither am I."

I grabbed a notepad from the drawer and started scribbling.

Rule #1: No touching outside of public events.

Rule #2: No real kisses. Ever.

Rule #3: No shirtless wandering.

Rule #4: Stop smirking at me.

Rule #5: Seriously, no smirking.

Rule #6: No sharing beds, under any circumstances.

I handed it to him. "Stick to it."

He read it, then glanced up at me. "What if I forget?"

"I'll remind you by stabbing you with a baby spoon."

He chuckled. "Romantic."

"I'm not here to fall for you, Rhyland. I'm here to survive."

His eyes flickered with a hint of dishonesty. "And if I fall for you?"

I blinked.

"What?"

"Hypothetically," he said lightly. "If I started to like this too much. What then?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't have one.

And I resented that he understood it.

"Careful," I whispered. "This is not real, but heartbreak remains real."

I wasn't planning to Google myself that morning.

But Rhyland's heightened voice, "What the actual hell?" from the kitchen was a pretty strong invitation.

I stepped out of the bedroom wearing my best I-don't-care face messy bun, baggy sleep shirt, and baby spit-up on the shoulder. Vogue, watch out.

He turned the tablet toward me. "Congratulations. We're famous."

I appeared confused. On the screen was an image, the image from yesterday. Rhyland's kiss on my cheek. Me snuggling Noah. A damn Tiffany gift bag sitting in the background like a ribbon on the lie.

The headline?

Billionaire Playboy Tamed: Rhyland Cross's Secret Family Revealed

"Ah no," I protested. "No, no, no."

"Page Six. And six other sites," he said, scrolling. "The comments section is. A war zone."

"Let me see." I leaned forward.

She's a beautiful, lucky woman.".

It won't last. He's a manwhore.

That baby's too cute to be his.

Plot twist: she's his best friend's sister. Filthy. I love it.

I let out a sigh. "Do we sue?"

"We smile. And make them believe what we want them to."

I stepped back. "No way. This wasn't the deal."

"This is exactly the deal. You pretend. I get the money. You live in a penthouse with a wine and oat milk stocked fridge."

I crossed my arms. "You told me this would be low-key. Quiet. No public anything."

He shrugged. "Blame the kiss."

"I will. That kiss had no business being that... convincing."

He smirked. "Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

He raised a brow. "Felt like one."

I grabbed the tablet and set it facedown. "If my brother sees this-"

"He won't."

"Because he lives in a wifi-free cave?"

"Because he trusts you."

I shook my head. "You're enjoying this."

He didn't deny it.

Across the room, Noah clapped his hands as if he agreed.

"I need coffee," I said to myself.

It was an hour later that we were sitting at a tiny corner café four blocks from the penthouse. Rhyland was wearing sunglasses like he was avoiding the paparazzi. I was in a hoodie and hoped no one would notice me.

Noah sat between us in a stroller, chewing on a plastic giraffe as if it owed him money.

"Stop worrying over nothing," Rhyland said, sipping his beverage.

"I'm not worrying. I'm having a pensive moment"

"Same thing, but with worse posture."

I slouched still more, out of spite.

Rhyland settled back, looking at me like I was a puzzle he'd half-solved in his sleep.

"Do you regret saying yes?" he asked.

I blinked. "You mean to this whole debacle?"

"Yup."

I paused. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because Caleb doesn't know where I am. Because Noah slept through the night for the first time in weeks. Because I didn't wake up to the sound of my front door rattling in its frame."

His eyes eased.

"I didn't mean to open a wound," he whispered.

"You didn't. You just reminded me it's still there."

We sat there in silence for a moment. The hum of the city swirled around us-horns, feet, life passing too fast.

"I didn't think it was that bad," he said.

"I didn't say anything."

"Even your brother?"

I shook my head. "He would've come back home on the first flight. He got himself arrested. Lost everything. I couldn't do that to him."

He nodded slowly. "You kept him safe."

"And now I'm watching Noah. Which means living a lie with a man I barely tolerate."

He smiled. "But you do tolerate me."

"Barely."

"Still counts."

I raised an eyebrow. "What if all this goes up in smoke in our faces?"

He shrugged. "Then we dodge. And blame the baby."

Noah sneezed, as if in assent.

Meanwhile, back at the penthouse, I showered Noah in new pyjamas and sat with him in the playroom while Rhyland took a call in his office.

The image kept flashing in my head how real it was. How happy.

I hated how much I wished it wasn't fake.

Noah toddled over to me with a book. I swept him onto my lap, kissed his forehead, and started reading although I couldn't focus on one word.

The intercom beeped.

I startled. "Hello?"

"Delivery for Miss Emery Wells."

I opened the door to a courier holding a floral arrangement so huge I couldn't see his face behind it.

I signed, tipped, and set the thing down on the counter.

A note was passed in the bouquet.

You're hard to reach. We need to talk. – C

I stood rigidly still.

Rhyland entered the kitchen a second later. "Flowers? From whom?"

I handed him the card.

His face darkened. "Caleb."

"I thought he had no idea where I was."

"He doesn't. This hit your social media. He's investigating."

My throat went dry. "He's not done with me."

"No," Rhyland put down the card. "But I'm done with him."

His tone was reserved. Final.

"Don't," I said quickly. "You don't need to make this any worse."

"I'm not going to call him or show up at his office. Yet."

"That doesn't sound comforting."

"I'm doing this for your protection."

"I don't need protection. I need peace."

"And sometimes peace is a matter of threatening things behind the scenes."

I stared at him. "You're not afraid of anything, are you?"

"I'm afraid of lots of things."

"Like what?

He looked at me an honest look and for a moment, I saw a flash of something unguarded.

"I'm afraid of losing everything because I couldn't close my mouth."

He glanced over at the picture of us now on display on the investor's gift table. "Or my hands to myself."

The tension was high.

"Don't," I whispered. "Don't make this more complicated."

"I'm not attempting to."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm the solution to a problem you never asked."

He stepped forward.

"I'm terrible at this," he said. "Not the acting. Not the wanting something real."

"Good. Because this isn't real."

"I know." He smiled, painful and bitter. "But explain that to my heart."

I stepped back. "Stop."

"Tell me to stop really, Emery."

"I am."

"Why is your hand trembling, then?"

I turned before he could spot it.

My phone vibrated and the text was from Caleb.

"Nice picture. He has no clue, does he?"