My breath caught, and the world seemed to come to a standstill.

"What?" The word finally climbed out of my throat after what felt like an eternity.

"It’s only temporary," he said smoothly, as though he hadn’t just casually detonated a bomb between us. "If the press or your family catches even the slightest inconsistency, they’ll tear the story apart."

He pushed off his desk and stepped closer, closing the gap between us. He stopped only about a few inches away from me, close enough that my pulse immediately betrayed me.

"You wouldn’t want that, would you?" The way he said it—low, deliberate, with that dangerous glint in his eyes—sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I quickly looked away before shaking my head as the words remained lodged in my throat. "Living together eliminates suspicion and makes our plan foolproof."

I stared up at him, my mind reeling.

Sharing a roof with Rhys Carson was dangerous enough as it is. But being near him day and night? Pretending to be in love in public while trying to ignore the very real tension simmering between us? I wasn’t quite sure if my heart could handle that.

It felt like the kind of risk no amount of strategy could prepare me for. And judging by the faint gleam in his dark eyes, he seemed to know it too.

"So," he said, his voice low and deliberate when I didn’t say a word, "what’s it going to be, Evelyn?"

My pulse thundered in my ears. Fake dating my ex was one thing, but moving in with Rhys Carson? I wasn’t sure about that.

Something told me that if I said yes, nothing about my life would ever be simple again. But then again, this could be the start of something new. I was a fool for what I did back then, maybe the universe had so kindly given me a second chance to work things out with my ex.

The question lingered in the air between us, heavy and impossible to ignore. Every logical part of me was screaming that this was a terrible idea, one that would likely end with a broken heart. The worst-case scenario would be two broken hearts.

And yet...this seemed to be the best solution after everything that had unfolded this morning. If we were going to sell this relationship to the public, to my family, there could be no room for doubt. No inconsistencies. No cracks for the media—or my father—to exploit. Not especially with the upcoming gala.

My lips were pressed into a tight line as I continued to shuffle through the options. Rhys said nothing, merely watching me with those sharp, unreadable eyes of his. Patiently waiting.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to move into your home, pretend to be madly in love with you in front of half the city, and somehow survive being in close quarters with you twenty-four hours a day."

When I put it like that, it sounded even more absurd. Rhys, however, looked entirely unbothered.

"I fail to see the problem."

The silence stretched. Then, before I could lose my nerve and the little bit of courage that I summoned, I lifted my chin to meet his gaze. "Fine."

One dark brow arched. "Fine?"

"I’ll move in with you."

The corner of his lips curved, though whether in amusement or satisfaction, I couldn’t tell. "Appreciate the enthusiasm," he remarked, sarcasm oozing from his tone.

I scoffed. "So, when do I move?"

A smirk morphed itself onto his lips. "Someone’s eager," he mused, amusement glistening in his dark brown eyes.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I playfully smacked him in his arm as he let out a low chuckle. "I’m asking a serious question."

The smirk still lingered on his lips. "Tonight."

My head snapped back toward him so fast I would have almost broken my neck. "Tonight?"

I didn’t have much to pack, but still, to say this was unexpected was an understatement. Besides, I wasn’t even mentally prepared. It wasn’t as though I woke up this morning knowing that I was going to become in a fake PR relationship with my ex, and even move in with him the same night.

"Mhm...the gala is in three days. We don’t have time to waste."

Of course, he had already thought this through. He was always five steps ahead, and that was one of the things I used to love about him.

I exhaled sharply. "Do you always enjoy springing life-altering decisions on people with no warning?"

"Yes."

The answer came so smoothly that I stared at him. He gave me a perfectly straight look before the faintest hint of amusement flickered across his sharp features.

I huffed, pinning him with a glare. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," he murmured, stepping even closer, "you keep agreeing to my terms."

My breath hitched in my throat. He was close enough now that I could catch the faint scent of cedar and something darker—clean, expensive, unmistakably him. It was distracting. Dangerously so.

I forced myself to step back, letting the cool air rush in to fill the space between us. "This is strictly temporary."

His expression shifted, becoming unreadable once more. Silence wrapped around us for a brief moment before he finally said something. "Temporary," he muttered under his breath. "Of course."

The odd flicker of disappointment in his voice was so subtle I almost thought I imagined it.

"I’ll help you with the moving."

"That won’t be necessary. I can pack my own belongings."

He looked back at me. "I know you can, Evelyn Hart," he started, drawling as if he was savouring the way my name tasted on his tongue. "But I want to help. So let me." It sounded more like a demand than a plea, but maybe it was both.

"I told you I can do it myself," I insisted.

"And what if your family or ex-husband makes things difficult for you again?"

"They won’t. I moved out, they don’t know where I am." I inhaled a deep breath. "I told you, I can do this myself."

He cocked his head slightly. "Have you always been this stubborn? Why won’t you let me help?"

"Because I’m staying at a hotel!" I blurted out, and almost immediately, his eyes lit up with understanding. It must have finally clicked inside his head as a smirk started forming on his face once again.

"So that’s why you didn’t want me to help?" He moved closer to me, closing the gap I had put in between us earlier. "You are afraid that something would happen?" He questioned, a teasing note in his deep voice as he held my eyes captive.

I knew exactly what he was insinuating. Heat began to climb up my neck, painting my cheeks pink. I quickly averted my eyes as I cleared my throat audibly. "I’m...not afraid."

Rhys’ smirk widened, slow and knowing, as though my flustered reaction had confirmed every suspicion he’d had.

"No?" he drawled, his deep voice laced with amusement. "Then why are you blushing?"

"I am not blushing." The denial came far too quickly to sound convincing.

His gaze dropped deliberately to my face, taking in the heat staining my cheeks before lifting back to my eyes. That infuriating glint in his dark irises sharpened.

"Evelyn," he murmured, leaning in just enough to make my pulse skip, "your face is practically crimson."

I hated how aware I was of him.

The way his cologne wrapped around me, woodsy and expensive. The way his broad frame seemed to fill every inch of space, making the office suddenly feel far too small. The way his voice dipped lower whenever he wanted to get under my skin.

And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.

Straightening my spine, I forced myself to meet his gaze and folded my arms across my chest. "You’re imagining things."

A soft chuckle escaped him. "After seven years, you are still so terrible at lying." I stood there, stunned. "I’ll see you after work, my love."

***

Rhys showed up at my desk at 5 p.m. sharp, not a minute early, not a minute late.

"Time to go, my love," he greeted before leaning in closer towards me to whisper in my ear, unbothered by the stares of everyone else around us. "We got things to do."

Before I knew it, we had arrived at the hotel where I had been staying ever since the day I moved out.

The elevator ride up to the twentieth floor was suffocatingly silent. When the silver doors slid open after what felt like forever, we exited the elevator and padded down the hallway. My heart was still pounding against my chest as I pushed the door to my room open.

Warm yellow light spilled across the room as the door swung open, cool air brushing against my skin. Rhys stepped in behind me, the soft click of the door shutting echoing far too loudly in the silence.

The sound sent an odd shiver down my spine. Then my heel caught on something soft sprawled across the carpet. A gasp tore from my throat as my balance gave way.

Instinctively, my hand shot out and latched onto the nearest solid thing I could find—Rhys Carson.

My fingers curled into the front of his shirt, dragging him down with me.

"Ah—!"