Charade

I've always hated the sound of my alarm. It's not the gentle chime most people imagine for someone of my... status. No, it's an unholy screech that jolts me awake at 4:30 AM sharp. But that's the point, isn't it? No time for a gentle wake-up when you're running an empire.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my toes sinking into plush carpet. The floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse offered a view of Seattle that still, after all these years, took my breath away. The city twinkled in the pre-dawn darkness, full of promise and possibility. And problems. Always problems.

Speaking of problems, my mind drifted to yesterday's bombshell. The fake engagement to Alex Russo. God, what a mess. How did a simple misunderstanding spiral so out of control? And why did I agree to go along with it?

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. No time for that now. I had a company to run, a daughter to raise, and a world to change. Just another Tuesday.

My home gym called to me, and I answered. Forty-five minutes of punishing exercise later, I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and, hopefully, some of the anxiety about this whole engagement fiasco.

As I dressed in my favorite Armani suit – charcoal gray, impeccably tailored – I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My green eyes stared back at me, a little too wide, a little too worried. I smoothed a hand over my curly brown hair, taming it into a sleek ponytail. The small sun tattoo on my left wrist peeked out from under my sleeve, a reminder of a more carefree time. I tugged the sleeve down. No room for carefree in my life now.

At precisely 6:15, I knocked on Emilia's door. "Rise and shine, sweetheart."

A muffled groan answered me. I smiled, pushing the door open. My daughter was a lump under the covers, only a mess of dark curls visible. She'd inherited my hair, poor thing.

"Come on, Em. Big day today, remember?"

The lump stirred. "Do I have to?"

"Unless you've changed your mind about wanting to be class president."

Emilia's head popped out, eyes wide. "The speech! I forgot!"

"Relax. We practiced last night, remember? You've got this."

Twenty minutes of mild chaos ensued – breakfast gobbled, clothes donned, backpack packed. As I helped Emilia with her tie (private school uniforms were a pain), she looked up at me with those serious eyes of hers. So much like her father's, it sometimes hurt to look at them.

"Mom, what if they only vote for me because of you?"

My heart clenched. It wasn't the first time she'd voiced this concern. "Hey. You're smart, kind, and have great ideas. That's why they'll vote for you."

"But—"

"No buts. Being my daughter might get you attention, but it's what you do with that attention that matters. Understand?"

She nodded, but I could see the doubt lingering. I made a mental note to revisit this conversation later. Maybe it was time to consider that therapist my friend had recommended. God knows I could use one myself these days.

The elevator whisked us down to the private garage. Marcus, my driver, was waiting with the Tesla. He's been with me for five years now, one of the few constants in my ever-changing life.

"Good morning, Ms. Silver. Miss Emilia."

"Morning, Marcus," Emilia chirped. "Guess what? I'm giving a speech today!"

"Is that so? Well, I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead."

As we drove through Seattle's awakening streets, I helped Emilia run through her speech one last time. These moments were too rare, too fleeting. The constant push-pull of CEO and mother was a tightrope I walked daily, and some days I wasn't sure which side I was going to fall off.

Pulling up to the school gates, I felt the familiar pang. "Knock 'em dead, kiddo," I said, echoing Marcus. "I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

I watched until Emilia disappeared into the building, then turned to my phone. Time to switch gears.

As Marcus navigated through traffic, I immersed myself in work. The Tokyo market was in turmoil. A key supplier in Germany was threatening to pull out. And my PR team needed approval on a statement about the "engagement."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Right. That was still a thing.

By the time I reached Silver Innovations' headquarters, I'd put out three fires and ignited two calculated ones. The lobby hushed as I strode through, heels clicking authoritatively on marble. I could feel the stares, hear the whispers. News travels fast in this town, especially when it involves Seattle's most eligible bachelor apparently getting hitched to his biggest rival.

"Morning, Ms. Silver," Jared, my assistant, fell into step beside me. Fresh out of business school when I hired him three years ago, he'd proven himself invaluable. Even if he did look at me with those puppy dog eyes sometimes. "You have back-to-back meetings until 2, then a lunch with the potential investors from Dubai. Oh, and Mr. Russo's office called. Twice."

I nearly stumbled. Damn it. "What did he want?"

"Wouldn't say. Just that it was urgent."

Of course it was. Everything was urgent with Alex Russo. The man had two speeds: full throttle and asleep. And why did my heart rate pick up at the mere mention of his name? Clearly, I needed more coffee.

"I'll deal with it later. What's first?"

The morning blurred by in a whirlwind of meetings, decisions, and power plays. I thrived on it, each challenge met and overcome sending a thrill through me. This was my element, the arena where I excelled. Where I didn't have to think about fake engagements or piercing blue eyes or...

No. Focus, Ava.

At 1:55, I strode into La Petite Maison, Seattle's most exclusive restaurant. The maître d' ushered me to a private room where three men in expensive suits waited. I plastered on my most charming smile, the one that said 'I'm approachable, but I will eat you alive in the boardroom.'

"Gentlemen, I trust your flight was comfortable?"

Pleasantries were exchanged, wine poured. As the first course arrived, one of the men – Samir, if I remembered correctly – leaned forward with a glint in his eye that made me want to reach for my metaphorical armor.

"Ms. Silver, I must admit, we were... surprised by this morning's news."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth. Here we go. "Oh?"

"Your engagement to Mr. Russo. It's quite the power move."

I set my fork down carefully, mind racing. Deny it, and I'd appear weak or indecisive. Confirm it, and I'd be diving deeper into this charade. A charade that, a traitorous part of my brain whispered, might not be entirely unwelcome.

No. Absolutely not. Alex Russo was infuriating, arrogant, and far too handsome for his own good. This was business, nothing more.

I took a sip of wine, buying myself a moment. "Gentlemen, let me be clear. My relationship with Mr. Russo, whatever its nature, does not affect the value of what Silver Innovations brings to the table. Now, shall we discuss the projected returns on your investment, or would you prefer to gossip about my love life?"

The men had the grace to look abashed. Crisis averted, I steered the conversation back to safer waters. By the time dessert arrived, I had them eating out of my hand – figuratively and literally.

As I left the restaurant, I felt the familiar rush of a deal well negotiated. My phone buzzed. Jared again.

"Mr. Russo called again. He says if you don't call him back, he'll—" Jared's voice dropped to a whisper, "—come to your office himself."

I sighed. It seemed the other shoe was about to drop.

"Fine. Tell him I'm on my way."

I ended the call, squaring my shoulders. Whatever Alex had to say, I was ready for it.

Probably.

As Marcus drove me back to the office, I gazed out at the Seattle streets. My city. The place where I'd built my life, my company, my future. And now, it seemed, the stage for this elaborate charade with Alex.

Why was a part of me, a part I didn't want to examine too closely, almost looking forward to seeing him? It was madness. This whole situation was madness.

I shook my head, banishing the thought. Focus, Ava. Whatever game Alex was playing, I needed to be sharp. Ready.

The car pulled up to Silver Innovations. I took a deep breath, centering myself. Then I stepped out, ready to face whatever came next.

***