Page 141 of Pretend To Be Mine

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Chris again. He’d been calling all day, trying to make sure I was okay, still apologizing for the hundredth time for his role in the disaster. I silenced it without looking.

I joined the stream of people entering, kept my head down, didn’t make eye contact. Security barely glanced at my ticket. They were too busy managing the chaos of checking in celebrities and influencers and fashion royalty. I recognized faces from magazines, from Instagram, from the shows I’d attended over the past weeks. People who’d once smiled at me and asked for my design opinions. They used to treat me like I belonged.

Now I was invisible to them. Just as well.

Inside, the space was breathtaking. They’d created this massive runway down the center, with seating that rose up on both sides like a theater. Screens everywhere showing the Blackwell logo with the Fashion of Love Week branding. There were images from all the previous shows—New York, London, Paris, Milan. A visual chronicle of the last week. Before it had fallen apart.

It was a celebration, a tribute, exactly what the brothers had envisioned when they’d first conceived of this way to honor their father.

And I was lurking in the shadows like a ghost at my own funeral.

I found a spot at the very back, near one of the exits where the crowd was thinner. People were too busy finding their seats, greeting friends, taking selfies with the dramatic lighting as their backdrop to notice one more person in sunglasses and a shawl pressed against the wall.

My heart was racing. This was a mistake. Being here, seeing all of this, knowing I should be backstage with Annika and the team instead of hiding in the crowd like a criminal. Knowing that somewhere in this building, Adrian was preparing for his big moment, probably not even thinking about me.

Why would he? I left. Once he found out it was Chris that ran his mouth and exposed our arrangement, he would never want to talk to me again.

And I didn’t blame him.

I wondered if Clara would be walking in the show tonight. If I saw the woman, I wasn’t sure I could contain my anger. I wanted to claw the bitch’s eyes out. I wasn’t a violent person, but that woman had gone too far.

“Miss, you need to find your seat.” A venue worker appeared at my elbow. “The show is starting soon.”

“I’m fine here.”

“Fire code. Can’t have people blocking the exits.” She was polite but firm, clearly having dealt with difficult guests all evening. “Your ticket number should correspond to a seat.”

“I don’t need a seat. I’m not staying.”

She looked confused, clearly trying to figure out if I was a problem or just eccentric. Before she could decide, the lights dimmed and music swelled and everyone started moving toward their seats. The energy in the room shifted, anticipation building.

I pressed myself against the wall, trying to be invisible. Just a few more minutes. I’d see the show start and then slip out before anyone noticed. Before anyone could point and whisper about the fake fiancée who’d tried to scheme her way into the Blackwell family.

The curtain was still closed, but I could see movement behind it. The shadows of people getting into position. I imagined Annika back there, making last-minute adjustments, pins between her teeth, completely in her element.

I should be there with her. Should be part of the team instead of hiding like a coward. I missed being part of the action. I missed the frenzy of trying to get everything just perfect. The electric energy as models got the finishing touches. Music and lighting were dialed in.

Then, in a gap between fabric panels, I saw him.

Adrian.

He was peeking out at the crowd, scanning the seats with a frown. Even from this distance and the dim lighting, I knew that face. I had memorized every line. I knew every expression. The way his jaw set when he was stressed, the way his eyes softened when he looked at something he cared about, the way his mouth curved when he was trying not to smile.

Was he looking for me?

No. That was ridiculous. He was probably just checking attendance, making sure the VIPs were in place, doing the CEO thing he did so well. He would be making sure everything was perfect for this final show. His final tribute to his father.

But something about the way he was searching, the almost desperate quality to it made me concerned. Was there something going on backstage?

No. It was clear he was looking for someone. Maybe he was looking for me.

Panic hit me like a wave. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. I couldn’t be here. I couldn’t watch him up there being hot and perfect while I lurked in the shadows in disguise. I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened if I’d been brave enough to be honest.

I needed to leave. Now. Before the show started, before I did something stupid like try to go to him.

I turned toward the exit, ready to slip out and back into obscurity. I was ready to go back to my apartment and my old life. I realized now it wasn’t so bad.

A soft hand caught my wrist.