Chapter three

The aroma of freshly baked blueberry muffins hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the tension simmering between me and Ethan Kingsley. He took a cautious bite, his eyes closed in what seemed like genuine appreciation.

"Not bad," he finally conceded, a hint of a smile gracing his lips for the first time since entering my apartment. "Almost as good as the rumors claimed."

The praise, however, couldn't penetrate the wall of suspicion I'd built around myself. "So," I started, my voice steady despite the nervous tremor in my hands, "the whole truth, Mr. Kingsley. No more vague pronouncements about family obligations."

He sighed, setting down the muffin. The carefree facade from yesterday seemed to have vanished, replaced by a weariness that etched lines onto his face, making him look older than his years.

"Very well," he began, his voice low and laced with a hint of bitterness. "It all boils down to a will. My grandfather's will,to be precise."

My eyebrows shot up. "Your grandfather? What does that have to do with… us?"

Ethan leaned back in the worn armchair, steepling his fingers. "My grandfather, William Kingsley, is a man obsessed with control. And according to his will, I can't inherit his vast fortune unless I'm married."

A bewildered laugh escaped my lips. "Seriously? A billionaire can't inherit his own money because he isn't married?"

"Apparently not," he said, a wry smile twisting his lips. "The old man believes in traditional values, family legacy and all that jazz."

The absurdity of it all washed over me. "So, you need a wife. A fake wife, to appease your cranky grandpa and score a hefty inheritance."

"Not exactly a wife," he corrected, his gaze locking with mine. "The contract stipulates a marriage in name only. Public appearances, weekends at his estate – all a carefully curated charade."

A charade. The word echoed in my head. Playing pretend in exchange for a hefty sum that could save my bakery. It was tempting, incredibly tempting. But the potential benefits were overshadowed by a nagging fear.

"What kind of public appearances?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

"Charity galas, social gatherings, the occasional interview," he said casually, but I could detect a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"Interviews?" Panic flared in my chest. "I'm a baker, Mr. Kingsley, not a socialite. I don't know the first thing about navigating the shark tank of high society."

He seemed to sense my fear. "Don't worry, you'll have help. A team of stylists, PR managers, the whole shebang. They'll turn you into a polished socialite in no time."

The thought of being molded into someone I wasn't sent a shiver down my spine. Yet, the image of Sweet Dreams,thriving and bustling, battled the fear.

"And after the six months?" I pressed, the question hanging heavy in the air. "What happens then?"

"We go our separate ways," he replied simply. "No strings attached."

"No strings attached," I echoed, the words tasting like a foreign language in my mouth.

The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken questions and the weight of the decision before me. As much as the financial security appealed, a part of me rebelled against the idea of being a pawn in someone else's game.

Then, a memory surfaced. Nana, standing behind the counter with flour-dusted hands, her eyes twinkling. "Sometimes,Olivia," she'd said, "the greatest risks lead to the sweetest rewards."

The memory offered a sliver of hope, a nudge towards the unknown.

Finally, I looked up, meeting Ethan's gaze head-on. "Let me see the contract again," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise and something else, perhaps curiosity, crossing his features.

A silent battle raged within me. Fear wrestled with desperation, convention with the promise of a new beginning.

As Ethan slid the contract across the table, the aroma of fresh coffee and muffins filled the room, a strange backdrop to what could be the start of a most unconventional adventure.

Taking a deep breath, I began to read. Each word held the potential to alter the course of my life, to transform a struggling bakery into a roaring success, or to entangle me in a world of secrets and lies.

The decision, it seemed, was mine to make. And as I scanned the legalese, a single question echoed in my mind: could a marriage of convenience ever lead to something real?

The contract was dense, a labyrinth of legalities that swam before my eyes. Through the legalese, however, a few key points stood out: a lump sum payment upfront, enough to clear my bakery debts and secure the lease for another year, and a monthly stipend that could finally turn Sweet Dreams into a real business.

But the benefits came laced with constraints. Public appearances had a specific time limit, exceeding which would incur hefty penalties. My social media would be monitored, and any unsanctioned photos or statements could jeopardize the entire arrangement. It was a gilded cage, one with plush cushions but bars nonetheless.

As the minutes ticked by, Ethan remained patient, his gaze unwavering. He wasn't just offering a solution; he was offering a gamble. A gamble with his reputation, and one that could potentially turn my life upside down.

Finally, I closed the contract with a sigh. "Alright, Mr. Kingsley. Here's the deal. I'll consider your proposition, but under one condition."

His lips twitched into a half-smile. "Do tell."

"Transparency. No more secrets. I want to know everything about your grandfather's demands, his expectations, and what role I'm truly expected to play in all this."

Ethan hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "Transparency," he repeated, the word seemingly holding a bitter taste in his mouth. "Very well, Miss Moore. But be warned, the truth might not be as sweet as your pastries."

I stared back at him, the weight of the decision settling on my shoulders. The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty,laced with potential rewards and hidden risks. But as Nana's words echoed in my mind, a flicker of determination ignited within me.

"Let's hear it then," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "The whole truth, Mr. Kingsley. No sugarcoating."

A slow smile, genuine this time, spread across his face. "Welcome to the world of the Kingsleys, Miss Moore. Buckle up,it's going to be a wild ride."