The Proposal

Ava’s Point of View

The city was still asleep when I woke up, but my mind had been restless all night. The events of the gala played on repeat in my head—the way Damian’s cold, unfamiliar gaze had landed on me, the way he had looked at me like I was just another stranger in the crowd. It had taken everything in me to keep my composure, to not let the storm raging inside me show on my face.

I was still trying to push those thoughts away when my phone buzzed on my nightstand. Groaning, I reached for it and saw Olivia’s name flashing on the screen.

“Why are you calling so early?” I muttered, rubbing my temple as I answered.

“Have you seen the news?” Olivia’s voice was sharp, urgent. “You need to check it right now.”

Frowning, I pulled my laptop onto my lap and clicked on the first trending article. My breath hitched. There, splashed across the screen, was a photo of me and Damian from last night—our eyes locked in a stare that, to an outsider, probably looked intense, intimate even. But that wasn’t the worst part.

"Billionaire Damian Cross and Mystery Woman Caught in a Tense Reunion – A Scandalous Past?"

I scrolled further. Dozens of speculations flooded the page.

"Ex-lovers rekindling an old flame?"

"Who is the woman that rattled the tech mogul?"

"Damian Cross's past comes knocking – and she doesn’t look happy."

My stomach twisted as I read the last line:

"Insider sources claim this woman could be tied to the billionaire's forgotten past."

I slammed the laptop shut, my pulse hammering. This was bad. Really bad.

“Ava?” Olivia prompted.

I swallowed hard. “They think we were lovers once again.”

“Exactly, and you two simply breaking it off doesn’t help either. His PR team is going insane over this. They’re scrambling for damage control, and I have a feeling they’re going to involve you in their mess.” Olivia responded, then the call went silent for a minute. “Hold on, I’ll call you back.”

Before I could even respond or voice out a word, she ended the call. I swallowed as I wondered what this meant. We had never truly been public with our relationship back then, so this was a major mess. I groaned as I wondered what I was going to do.

As if on cue, my phone vibrated again—this time with an unknown number. I exhaled sharply before answering. “Hello?”

A crisp male voice greeted me. “Ms. Blackwood, this is Ethan Cross, Damian Cross’s PR manager. We need to talk. Immediately.”

I definitely didn’t need to ask what about.

***

An hour later, I found myself seated in Damian’s office.

The high-rise was as sleek and impersonal as I remembered, all cold glass and polished steel. The man himself sat across from me, dressed in a charcoal suit, his expression unreadable. The same man who had once shattered me, now looking at me like he barely knew me.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, Ethan cleared his throat.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the media storm that erupted after last night’s gala,” he said, sliding a tablet across the table. The headlines glared back at me.

“We need a solution,” he continued, “something to divert attention before it escalates. Investors hate scandals, and if Damian’s past becomes a spectacle, it could damage the company’s reputation.”

I folded my arms. “And why am I here?”

Ethan didn’t hesitate. “A fake engagement.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Damian, who had been silent until now, leaned back in his chair. His gaze, calm but calculating, met mine. “They want us to pretend we’re engaged.”

The words sent a sharp, piercing pain through my chest. This was insanity. After everything, they wanted me to play fiancée to the man who had ruined me?

I scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Ethan sighed as if he had expected my reaction. “Look, Ms. Blackwood, this isn’t just about Damian. The press is already linking you to him. The more you deny, the more suspicious it looks.”

I shook my head. “Find another way.”

“We don’t have another way.” Ethan pressed. “If we don’t control the narrative, the media will. And they’ll start digging into your past—into why you suddenly left the city five years ago.” His gaze turned sharp. A warning.

Panic clawed at my chest. He wasn’t bluffing. If they started digging, they could find— No. I wouldn’t let that happen.

I turned to Damian, who had been unnervingly quiet throughout all this. “And what do you think?” I challenged.

He studied me, his fingers tapping idly against the desk. “I don’t see another option.”

A humorless laugh left my lips. “Of course you don’t.”

Damian’s brows furrowed, but before he could say anything, Ethan jumped in. “The engagement would last a few months. Just enough to shift public interest elsewhere. You’ll be compensated, of course—”

I shot him a glare. “I don’t need money.”

“No,” Ethan said carefully, “but I think you want something else, don’t you?”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I did want something.

Revenge.

I had spent five years building a life away from Damian, away from the pain he had left me with. But now? Now, I had a chance to get close again. To remind him of what he lost. To make him feel what I had felt.

I exhaled, my decision settling in my chest like a dangerous promise. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

Ethan nodded, satisfied. “We’ll arrange an announcement by the end of the week.”

As I stood to leave, Damian spoke. “Why did you agree?”

His voice was low, curious. I met his gaze, my lips curling into a small, empty smile.

“Because sometimes, history deserves a rewrite.”

***

The moment the engagement was made public, chaos erupted. Headlines flashed across every screen. Social media exploded. The world buzzed with one question:

Who was Ava Blackwood, and how had she recaptured the heart of the elusive billionaire?

Damian and I were paraded in front of cameras, forced to hold hands, smile, and play the perfect couple.

Every time his fingers brushed mine, I fought the memories clawing their way to the surface. Every time he leaned in for a whispered comment, I reminded myself: this isn’t real.

But the world believed it.

“Ms. Blackwood, how did you and Mr. Cross meet?” a reporter asked during the press conference.

I smiled, my voice smooth. “It was fate.”

Beside me, Damian remained quiet. I wondered if his mind was scrambling for missing memories—for the truth he had forgotten.

He doesn’t remember, I reminded myself. And that was my greatest weapon.

***

The engagement had been official for two weeks when it happened. I was attending a charity gala, forced into yet another evening of pretending to be the devoted fiancée. Damian was at my side, ever the perfect actor. Then, amidst the sea of guests, I heard a small voice.

“Mom?”

My breath stopped. I turned sharply, and there he was. My son.

I barely managed to school my expression as I moved toward him, kneeling to his height. “Darling, what are you doing here?” I whispered, my pulse erratic.

Before he could answer, I felt a shadow behind me. Turning, I saw it was Damian. He stood there, his gaze flickering between us. Something unreadable passed through his eyes—a strange, unfamiliar tension.

I held my breath, but then, Damian simply shrugged and said, “Cute kid.”

Relief flooded me, but it was laced with fear. Because for one terrifying second, I thought he knew something.