Chapter 3 Tangled Lies

I typed back, fingers shaky: Long story. At Damian’s soon. Call you later. I didn’t know how to explain this—not to her, not to myself. The car sped through Brooklyn, weaving toward Manhattan’s glittering skyline. My mind spun with questions. Why did Damian need a fake girlfriend? Why were investigators after me? And why did his touch last night feel so real?

We pulled up to a towering glass building in Midtown, its sleek lines screaming money. Vince led me through a private entrance, past security who didn’t even blink, into an elevator that shot up so fast my stomach lurched. When the doors opened, I stepped into a penthouse straight out of a movie—floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights sparkling below, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than my entire life.

Damian stood by the bar, pouring whiskey, still in last night’s suit but somehow looking sharper, more dangerous. His blue eyes locked onto mine, intense, unreadable. “You okay?” he asked, handing me a glass of water instead of liquor.

I took it, my hands trembling. “No, I’m not okay. There were guys at my door, Damian. Investigators. About your company. What’s going on? And what’s this about moving in and playing girlfriend?”

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Sit.”

I didn’t. I crossed my arms, glaring. “Talk.”

His lips twitched, like he was impressed by my nerve. “Fair enough. Black Enterprises is under scrutiny. My family’s pushing me to marry into another tech dynasty to stabilize things—mergers, power plays, boring shit. I need a girlfriend to shut them up, keep the board happy, and distract the media. You’re perfect. Your influencer status, your… charm.” His eyes flicked over me, lingering a second too long.

I flushed, equal parts flattered and furious. “Charm? You mean my trainwreck life? My career’s toast, I’m broke, and now I’m dodging suits because of your company? What are you into, Damian?”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, like he sucked up all the air in the room. “Nothing you need to worry about yet. Play the part, Ava. Move in, smile for the cameras, post some cute couple shit. In return, I’ll pay off your debts, get you a new place, set you up with legit brand deals. You’ll come out on top.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re bribing me?”

“I’m offering a deal. You said you owe me a favor. This is it.”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “A favor’s not indentured servitude! I lied to Brittany to save face, not to play house with a billionaire who’s got shady guys chasing him!”

His expression darkened, but his voice stayed calm. “Those investigators? They’re fishing. My company’s clean, but competitors are stirring shit. You’re in this now, Ava. Those photos from last night? They’re everywhere. Back out, and you’re on your own with the vultures.”

I sank onto the plush couch, head spinning. He wasn’t wrong. My phone buzzed again—more notifications, a DM from Brittany: Nice try, Ava. Let’s see how long this lasts. Bitch. She’d posted the reunion pics with snarky captions, fueling the fire. My follower count was climbing, but so was the scrutiny.

“Why me?” I asked, voice softer now, raw. “You could’ve picked anyone. Models, heiresses. Why the washed-up influencer?”

Damian sat across from me, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes softened, just a fraction. “Because you’re real. People love you, Ava. Even after your scandal, they’re rooting for you. I need that. And…” He hesitated, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “I always noticed you in high school. Quiet, smart, kind. You didn’t care about the spotlight, but you had it anyway.”

My breath caught. Was he serious? The Damian Black, high school heartthrob, noticed me? I wanted to believe it, but doubt gnawed at me. “You’re full of it,” I said, but my voice wavered.

“Am I?” He stood, moving to the window, staring out at the city. “Agree to this, and we’ll both get what we want. You get a fresh start. I get breathing room. One month. That’s all I’m asking.”

I chewed my lip, torn. The money, the chance to rebuild—it was tempting. But this was Damian Black, a man whose company had investigators sniffing around, whose life screamed secrets. And yet, that spark from last night, his hand on my waist, his lips brushing my temple—it lingered, dangerous and warm.

“Fine,” I said finally, standing to face him. “One month. But no lies, Damian. If I’m in, I need the truth.”

He turned, his smile slow, predatory. “Careful what you ask for, Ava. Truth’s a tricky thing.”

Before I could respond, my phone rang—Lena again. I answered, desperate for her familiar voice. “Ava, where are you?” she demanded, her tone frantic. “I just saw those posts. And… I got a weird call. Someone asking about you and Damian. They mentioned Black Enterprises, something about surveillance tech. Ava, what’s happening?”

My blood ran cold. Surveillance tech? I glanced at Damian, who was watching me, his expression unreadable. “I’m at his place,” I said carefully. “It’s… complicated. I’ll explain later.”

“Don’t trust him,” Lena whispered. “He’s not what he seems. I’m coming over.”

She hung up before I could argue. I looked at Damian, my pulse racing. “Lena’s on her way. She’s worried. Said something about surveillance tech. Care to explain?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he poured another whiskey, offering me one. “You’ll need this,” he said, voice low.

“Why?” I snapped, fear creeping in.

Before he could answer, the elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and there stood Brittany, her platinum hair gleaming under the penthouse lights, a smirk on her face. In her hand was a USB drive, and behind her were two men—the same suits from my apartment.

“Ava, darling,” Brittany purred, stepping forward. “And Damian. So cozy. Care to explain this?” She held up the USB, her eyes glittering with malice. “Because I’ve got proof your little love story’s a lie—and Black Enterprises is dirtier than anyone thinks.”

My heart stopped. Damian’s hand brushed mine, a warning or reassurance, I couldn’t tell. But one thing was clear: this wasn’t just about a fake relationship anymore. I’d walked into a trap, and the walls were closing in.

My heart jackhammered against my ribs as Brittany stood in Damian’s penthouse, her manicured fingers twirling the USB drive like a trophy. The two suits flanked her, their faces blank but their presence screaming trouble. The Manhattan skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the air inside felt suffocating, thick with secrets. I glanced at Damian, his jaw clenched, blue eyes narrowing as he stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me. Protective or possessive? I couldn’t tell, but his touch from last night still burned in my memory, making my skin tingle despite the chaos.

“Brittany,” Damian said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “Didn’t know you made house calls. What’s this about?”

She laughed, sharp and cold, her sapphire eyes glinting. “Oh, don’t play coy, Damian. You and Ava, the hot new couple? Please. It’s a stunt, and I’ve got the receipts.” She waved the USB, her smirk widening. “And while I was digging, I found some juicy dirt on Black Enterprises. Care to comment before I go public?”

I opened my mouth to snap back, but my throat was dry, my hangover headache pulsing. This was spiraling way beyond a high school reunion lie. “You’re bluffing,” I managed, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You’re just pissed I one-upped you last night.”

Brittany’s gaze flicked to me, her smile venomous. “Cute, Ava. But this isn’t about your little ego trip. This is about him.” She pointed at Damian. “And his company’s shady deals. Surveillance tech sold to some very bad people. Ring any bells?”

Damian’s expression didn’t flicker, but his hand brushed mine again, a subtle signal. “You’re out of your depth, Brittany,” he said coolly. “That USB’s probably as fake as your marriage.”

Her face twitched, a crack in her perfect facade. Ouch. I remembered the rumors—her tech mogul husband was bleeding money, their perfect life a sham. But she recovered fast, stepping closer, heels clicking on the marble floor. “We’ll see who’s fake when this hits the internet. Your little influencer girlfriend won’t save you.”

The suits shifted, one pulling out a tablet, scrolling through something I couldn’t see. My phone buzzed in my purse, but I ignored it, my eyes darting between Brittany and Damian. What was on that USB? And why did Lena’s warning about surveillance tech echo in my head?

“Enough,” I snapped, stepping forward, my anger overriding fear. “You barge in here with your goons and some mystery drive? If you’ve got proof, show it. Otherwise, get out.”

Brittany raised an eyebrow, amused. “Feisty. Fine.” She tossed the USB to one of the suits, who plugged it into the tablet. A grainy video flickered to life—security footage, timestamped last month. It showed a man in a dark office, handing over a briefcase to another figure in shadows. The audio was muffled, but I caught “Black Enterprises” and “data transfer.” My stomach twisted. The man’s silhouette looked eerily like Damian—same broad shoulders, same confident stride.

“That’s not me,” Damian said flatly, but his voice was too calm, like he was holding back a storm.

“Sure it isn’t,” Brittany sneered. “And Ava’s not your real girlfriend. This is just the start, Damian. I’ve got more.”

I turned to him, my pulse racing. “Is she right? What’s on that video?”

His eyes met mine, intense, searching. “It’s not what it looks like. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” I laughed, bitter. “I’ve known you for, what, twelve hours? And now I’m dodging investigators and dealing with this?” I gestured at Brittany, who looked way too pleased.