The Price Of A Lie

Chapter 7

Garrett's POV

After binge-reading several romance novels, I became convinced that I knew what love-or at least the appearance of it-was all about. The grand gestures, the flowery language, and the exaggerated display of affection finally led me to one conclusion: it wasn't about the feelings or emotions; it was about the actions. You didn't need to feel anything if you could make the other person believe you felt something. It was all a game of appearances, and I was playing it better than anyone.

Thorne had been through so much in the past weeks, and with his discharge from the hospital just around the corner, I figured it was now or never. If I was going to keep this charade up and make him really believe I was his lover, I needed to notch it up a level. And what better way than taking the advice I'd garnered from those endless romance novels?

I called for Oliver, my ever-efficient butler, and tasked him with ordering 999 red roses to be delivered to the penthouse. I'd read somewhere that the sheer number of roses you gave someone was a direct reflection of how much you loved them, and I wasn't about to half-ass it. It was all or nothing.

999 roses, Oliver. They need to be perfect. Not a single wilting petal," I informed him, leaving no room in my voice for negotiation. Of course, he nodded without questioning the absurdity of it.

"And make sure they're delivered by tonight. I want everything ready by the time Thorne gets back.

With that, I was left alone to prepare for the rest of the evening. My mind raced through the details, and I realized I had more to do than just flowers.

I had noticed, during the brief moments I had spent with Thorne over meals and conversations, that he had a bit of a sweet tooth. He had a sweet tooth, which I hadn't expected, but it was the sort of personal detail that counted. It was one of the few things I could use to make this all feel real. So, I ordered a cake—a rich, indulgent chocolate cake, just the way I imagined he would like it. Thick layers of dark chocolate ganache, heavy and rich, as if the cake itself could weigh down whatever walls Thorne had built around his heart.

There was one more thing that I had learned from the books—the most important thing: if you wanted to prove sincerity, you had to do things yourself. No shortcuts. No outsourcing. The grand gestures were all supposed to come from you, not from someone else. It was all about effort and paying attention to detail.

So I set to work, arranging the roses myself. The petals were soft to my fingertips, and I placed each one into position, forming them into the shape of a heart. It took longer than I had expected-hours, actually-but as I worked, I felt a sense of strange satisfaction. The room was beginning to take shape, the roses forming a vibrant red heart at the center of it all. It was an extravagant gesture, one that screamed passion and commitment, even when I felt neither.

But what did it matter? This was about the show. This was about making Thorne believe I was the person he needed me to be.

With the roses set, I moved on to the dinner arrangements: candles, wine-the works. It had to be perfect. I wasn't some novice idiot when it came to the orchestration of power plays, but this… this was different. This was about emotions, about convincing Thorne that I was who he thought I was. The dinner had to speak volumes without a word being said.

I’d set the table carefully, using the best of everything—the crystal glasses, the fine china, the elegant silverware. Everything had to be pristine. Every little detail had to align, or else the illusion would fall apart.

I slaved until it was just right. Sweat was on my brow from the mental strain much more than the physical work of laying the roses, but I couldn't stop. And finally, it was done, the final touch in place; then I stepped back to admire my work. The place resembled a scene right off the pages of those myriad mushy romance novels that I read voraciously. It was the kind of set aimed to impress and overpower.

I stood there for a moment, feeling this weird mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion. The heart-shaped roses, the cake, the candles flickering softly in the low light, the smell of freshly baked desserts wafting in the air-it all felt like I was creating a perfect lie. It felt like playing a role, and the role was getting harder to keep up.

As I walked toward the table and checked the final details once more, I couldn't help but think that this was all far more draining than any gang fight I'd ever been in. At least in those situations, the stakes were clear. There was no pretense. There was no pretending to be someone I wasn't. But here, now, I had to play a role of being someone I wasn't, for someone who might never truly see me as I was.

For a moment, I wondered what had possessed me to create this whole mess in the first place. Why had I claimed to be Thorne's lover? It hadn't seemed such a huge deal at the time. It had been a simple lie, something to keep him close, to make sure he trusted me enough to keep working with me, to keep him from slipping through my fingers.

But with all this in place—the roses, the cake, the candles—it felt like that lie had finally pressed down on me. Was it worth it? Was all this worth a lie that seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every passing day? The longer I kept up the ruse, the harder it was to tell where the lie ended and where the truth began.

I stopped for a moment and stared at the reflection of the room in the glass, the dim light from the candles flickering across the roses.

What the hell was I doing?

I didn't even know anymore what I was trying to prove. For Thorne-or for me? Maybe it was just a need not to be viewed in a light that made me a monster, a thing I had been building myself into in this world. Or maybe-just maybe-I was out to prove to myself I was capable of caring for someone.

But that wasn't part of the plan, was it? This was supposed to be just a game. A lie.

A lie that was getting more and more out of his control.