My eyes immediately narrow.Ryan?I step closer to the bouquet, already feeling the tension in my chest. It can’t be Ryan. He hasn’t sent me flowers in years—our relationship had never been the romantic, spontaneous kind. I pull the small note attached to the bouquet. The handwriting is neat but not familiar. My heart does a weird little flip as I read.“Glad we’re back on, fake girlfriend. You’re stuck with me now. Forever… or at least until Ryan comes to his senses—Luke.”A laugh bubbles up in my throat, catching me off guard. Of course. It’s Luke. Who else would be so damn cheeky? I snatch my phone out of my bag and dial his number, my fingers drumming on the edge of the desk as I wait.He answers after the first ring. “Good morning, Julie.”I roll my eyes, though I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face. “Flowers? Really, Luke?”“Hey, you texted me, remember? Saying the deal is back on. I asked myself what a fake boyfriend could get as a ‘welcome back’ gift to his fake gi
I swallow hard, my throat dry as his words hang in the air between us, thick and heavy. My brain is screaming at me to push him back, to tell him to stop this ridiculous game, but my body has other ideas. Heat rushes through me, and my mind refuses to form a coherent thought. Before I know it, he’s closing the remaining distance between us. Another step, and we’re practically nose to nose. His breath is warm on my skin, his scent filling my senses, and I’m frozen, caught in the web of whatever this is.“Make a choice, Julie,” Luke says.I need to say something, anything, but my brain is short-circuiting. All I can focus on is how close he is, how his eyes flicker with amusement and something darker, more dangerous.“Julie,” Luke says, “you’ve got that look.”“What look?” I manage to ask, though it comes out more breathless than I’d like.“The one that says you’re thinking way too much,” he whispers, his lips dangerously close to mine now. “You’re overthinking this. Just go with it.”
~~Luke~~I think something’s wrong with me. And that something is a five-foot brunette whose heart belongs to someone else.Julie’s standing on the deck, wide-eyed and practically glowing as she takes in the view of my yacht. The way her lips are parted, eyes slightly wide, it’s like she’s just seen a unicorn. I can’t help but follow her gaze, half expecting to see something new, something I must’ve missed after all these years of owning the damn thing. But no, it’s still the same sleek, luxurious vessel that’s been my playground for a while now. Maybe she’s seeing it with some kind of magical filter. “You really haven’t been on a yacht before?” I ask, leaning against the railing, arms crossed.She turns. “Do I look like the kind of person who lounges around on yachts?”“Well, this is New York. Your husband’s a billionaire. Half the billionaires in the city own one of these, and the other half have been on one or two. I’m just surprised you’ve been missing out.”“Yeah, well, I guess
Julie laughs, but it’s more nervous than before. “That’s the point, right? I mean, it's supposed to look real.”I watch her carefully. I don’t even know how to answer that without giving myself away. I see something flicker in her eyes—something unsure, maybe even vulnerable. But she brushes it off, returning her focus to the iPad, as if that will shield her from whatever tension is building between us.“Let’s get back to the plan,” she says.And so we dive back into the details, hammering out strategies and scenarios, but all the while, I’m watching her, realizing what I really want.I want Julie.I’m determined to get her.I’m going to play along with her stupid plan—because one way or another, she’s going to end up mine.~~~I drop Julie off in front of Paragon Jewels, my eyes following her as she steps out of the car. She adjusts her blouse, throws a glance at the building, then back at me. Her smile makes me wonder if she can read my thoughts. God, I hope not. If she knew the wh
I lean back in my chair, forcing myself to stay calm. My face gives nothing away, but I feel the tension coiling in my muscles, especially in my jaw. The silence stretches between us. Even the hum of the air conditioning feels deafening, and the ticking of the wall clock sounds like gunfire.The nerve of Ryan O’Brien to come at me with a question like that. I take a deep breath. No way am I letting him see me lose it. Not now.I let my body relax, settling deeper into my chair. When I finally speak, my voice is calm. Too calm. “I’ve read about you, Mr. O’Brien,” I say. “Harvard, right? Top of your class in Business Administration. And what was it? A Master’s degree in International Economics? Impressive.” I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes just a little. “Tell me, at what point during all those years of education did they teach you it’s okay to ask your business partner a question like that?”Ryan's face remains neutral, but there's something in his eyes. Smugness? I’m not sure, but i
~~Julie~~I’m home early, lounging in the living room, pretending to flip through a fashion magazine. But my focus keeps drifting to Emily. She’s sprawled out on the yoga mat, twisting her body into impossible poses that make me question if she’s made of rubber rather than bone.“Doesn’t that hurt?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself. There’s no way a human being can bend that far without something snapping.Emily chuckles, glancing over her shoulder at me without breaking her stretch. “Actually, it feels freeing.” She turns her head just enough to offer a mischievous smile. “You should try it. Might help you loosen up.”I snort. “Yeah, right. I’m in my thirties. My body doesn’t do… that,” I gesture toward her, “and I’m perfectly happy keeping all my joints intact, thanks.”Emily slowly untangles herself from the pose and shifts into another, making it look as effortless as breathing. “Age is just a number, Julie. You’re only as old as you feel.”I flip a page in the magazine, pretend
As I stand here, trapped between my mother’s vice-like grip and the dark water below, a long-buried fear claws its way up through me. Every inch of my body wants to twist away, run from this hellish, familiar grip. But it’s like being eight again, clinging to the hope that it’s different this time, that she’ll look at me with something other than contempt.“Let me go,” I say. But her nails dig deeper into my skin.“Not until you make that promise.”My blood turns to ice. It’s crazy because, at the same time, I want to laugh at how absurd this is. My own mother is standing here, threatening me on a bridge like something out of a thriller. But looking into her eyes, I know she’s dead serious. Several memories can attest to that. Those cold nights when she’d shove me outside, locking the door from the inside because I’d dared to spill milk on the kitchen floor or did some other silly thing she deemed punishable. I’d stay there for hours, curled up on the floor, listening to her pace back
“What?” he says. I repeat, “Did you tell her to throw me off Brooklyn Bridge?”He looks at me like I’m speaking in tongues, his mouth opening and closing, grasping for words. “Julie, I... I’d never do that. What are you even talking about? Your mother said you attacked her.”My jaw drops. “Attacked her?”“Wasn’t that what happened?”“She tried to throw me off the bridge, Ryan! What language have I been speaking?”His face falters. He steps forward, trying to reach for my hand. “Julie, I’m sorry… I didn’t know—”I yank my hand back. “Sorry? You don’t get to be sorry, Ryan. Sorry implies you care. And if you did, you wouldn’t have sent that witch to me in the first place. You know how much I despise it when you do that. Yet you do it every time to piss me off. Is this one of your kinks? You somehow get off on pissing me off?”“Please, Julie,” he murmurs. “I know how much you’re hurting right now. I know how scared you must have been on that bridge, fighting for your life. But please, l