Faking Fate [Book 1]

Chapter Eighteen: Two Birds, One Stone

The taxi's tires squealed as we navigated the choked arteries of New York City. I sank into the seat, my phone clutched in my hand as I glanced through the latest barrage of news articles that seemed determined to remind me just how screwed up my life had become.

I scrolled through the headlines like:

"Alexander Wolfe's Fake Fiancée: The Drama Unfolds"

"Emily James: The Woman Behind the Scandal"

"Caught on Camera: Alexander Wolfe's Private Life Exposed"

It was like a gauntlet of judgment and mockery, each article more absurd than the last. My finger hovered over the screen, landing on one particularly venomous comments section. The words blurred together as I skimmed:

@GossipGuru27: She's just a gold-digger playing the victim.

@DramaSeeker: Is this wedding even real, or are they just here for the drama?

@CelebritySkeptic:They seem more like enemies than lovers. Classic celebrity stunt.

@BreakupBets: How long until they announce a breakup? My bets are on next week!

@NotHerWorld: She doesn't belong in his world.

@PublicityHound: This whole thing is a publicity stunt.

Oh yeah, because faking a fiancé and having my life blasted across headlines is exactly how I wanted to spend my year. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.

A grim chuckle escaped my lips. Wasn't it just classic how people could make such sweeping judgments from behind their screens? My irritation flared, and I felt an unexpected surge of defiance. I needed a little distraction—something to channel my frustration.

@NotSoFake: Maybe you'll finally afford that personality transplant you desperately need.

@NotSoFake: Right, because your life's a rom-com, and you're an expert on love. How's that working out for you?

With each comment I posted, I felt a spark of satisfaction. It was petty, sure, but it felt good to push back, to assert that Emily wasn't just some caricature for the tabloids.

The taxi jolted to a stop, pulling me back from my digital tirade. I slipped my phone into my bag, took a deep breath, and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Katherine had texted me the address of the venues, and now I was here, standing in front of one of them.

I stepped out of the taxi, the cool breeze of New York City evening brushing against my cheeks. As I made my way to the entrance of the venue, the chaos of the city seemed to fade into the background. The place in front of me was a charming, boutique hotel, nestled in a quieter corner of the city. Its façade was adorned with ivy, and warm, golden lights flickered softly from the windows, casting a welcoming glow onto the cobblestone street.

The entrance was marked by a grand wooden door, intricately carved with floral patterns. A brass handle gleamed in the light, inviting me in. I pulled it open and stepped into a space that felt like a warm embrace after the cold reality of the outside world.

Inside, the hotel lobby was a picture of understated elegance. The space was small but inviting, with plush armchairs and cozy sofas arranged around a crackling fireplace that warmed the room with its gentle flames. The walls were lined with soft, muted wallpaper in shades of cream and taupe, adorned with vintage black-and-white photographs in ornate frames.

A large, antique chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals sparkling like stars in the dim light. The polished wooden floors were covered with richly colored Persian rugs that added a touch of homeliness to the sophisticated ambiance. The scent of fresh flowers from a nearby vase mingled with the subtle aroma of cedar from the fireplace, creating a comforting atmosphere.