THE FIRE

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

I hated that I was doing this.

I hated that I was standing in front of some shabby apartment of a woman I despised. And I hated it more that I was here to pick her up. I knocked on the door once. No answer.

I hadn't ask for any of these. The marriage. Her. Nothing. I only had one business; to get her out of here before the gala tomorrow night. And I absolutely didn't give a fuck if she doesn't like it. The office had been a choas all week. Between prepping for the gala and juggling last minutes meeting I barely had time to breathe.

It made me sick. The press was navie. It would question me and this marriage especially when there had been scandals surrounding me. First, it has been an affair with a famous model - False. Then the daughter of a business rival - False. And I hadn't kept track after that. Fuck, I wasn't ready for the spotlight tomorrow.

I knocked on the door twice. No answer. Typical. I knocked again, harder this time. I sighed when I heard the faint sound of footsteps from the other side. I hadn't been shocked when Livia's parents told me about her absence. She was stubborn. I had been sure she was reckless as hell though she said she'd be returning a night before the gala. I was just speeding up the process. (I didn't trust her as well).

When the door creaked open, she stood there with an oversized tshirt and shorts that clenched her thighs perfectly. Her hair was tied up in a loose ponytail and she looked nothing like the polished bride from a week ago. I couldn't almost reconcile between two versions of her.

Her green eyes narrowed seeing me and I tugged my hands into my pockets. "What are you doing here, Lucas?" She asked, her voice was sharp and laced with frustration.

"Picking you up, my love." I gave her a tight smile.

Dang, I love how it pisses her off and I noticed it the first time I called her love, the way her face twitched in disgust and the way it pushed her wall.

She gave me a glare, crossing her arms over her chest. "I told them I'd come back before the gala. You didn't have to show up like some hero."

I laughed, shaking my head dramatically. "Oh, no, heros are overrated, love." She clenched her jaw and for a second I thought she might actually slam the door in front of my face but instead she took a lungful breath and stepped aside, letting me in. "Now, are you coming with me or should I throw you over my shoulder and take you with me?"

"Weren't you trying to be a good husband on our wedding? The impression lasted, don't change it by acting toxic." She clicked her tongue, her tone neutral but face somehow mocking me.

"Nice place." I said, dryly, completely ignoring her comment. The place didn't like it could hold someone like Livia for a week yet she stayed and probably enjoyed herself, given that there had been pizza boxes all around the table, photographs that had been scattered on the couch and the TV was on with the faint sound in the background. I didn't care about it but now, it was the time she should come out of whatever hole she had been hiding in.

Vivian, my ever efficient, PR manager had been very clear -  "If you two want this charade to work, you need to look like a real couple - chemistry, stories, the works. The press isn’t stupid, Lucas. They’ll dig into everything: your body language, how you look at her, how you touch her. And if it doesn’t feel genuine, your reputation is toast."

She wasn’t wrong. This gala was no casual affair. It was a treasure hunt for the press, filled with their cameras and their sharp tongues. Every step we took, every glance we exchanged, would be analyzed and judged. They’d bring up my past - those dating scandals, the women I’ve been linked to, all false. 

Vivian had a checklist, of course. She always did. How to act, what to say, even when to hold hands and for how long. We had to memorize our "story" tonight - the details of how we "fell in love." First date? A quiet dinner at an exclusive restaurant. Anniversary? A weekend getaway to the countryside. It was all fabricated, of course, but it needed to feel as real as the air we breathed.

"Ten minutes. Be ready and pack your things." I sighed, brushing past Livia and sitting on the couch. She glared at me, her hands dropping by her side.

"Who are you to order me?" She questioned.

"Well, I'm legally your husband, love even if you want to kill me." I retorted, looking around the apartment. Fuck, for a minute, I thought she is going to throw me out of her apartment but instead, she moved away to collect her things. Her shoulders stiffened, eyes particularly saying how much she hated me.

I hated her. Livia Huang was a type of woman who'd sulk in some shabby apartment instead of facing the reality. She wasn't actually the polished bride she'd show herself as, she was a rebel.

Vivian was minutes away from her meltdown and Grandfather had already bursted. I couldn't do anything. It was not my fault that my bride had run away. Funny. Haha. I mean, hell, I hated this entire setup as much as Livia did. But I hated it more that the press was going to sink their teeth into us, they'd look for a crack, a single flickering emotions on our face that'd show we don't love each other...and boom, they'd throw my reputation straight into the fire.

"I don't know why you even care. You hate this as much as I do."

I looked behind, staring down at Livia, who stood across the room, drying her hair with a towel. She had changed into a white pant and blue shirt and I didn't realise she had showered and packed her bags while I was busy fucking with my thoughts.

I stood up, fixing my cufflinks, "I care because this little arrangement of ours has consequences, whether you like it or not, love." I replied, my tone sharper than intended. I couldn't help it. Between the office and the planning for the gala, my patient was wearing thin.

Livia ran a hand over her shirt, soothing it, and moved towards me, her eyes narrowing again, "don't worry," She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll play the part of a wife who loves you...unconditionally, despite those dating scandals." She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She brushed past me, her shoulder touching mine, the touch lingering hot just for a second before it vanished into the realisation of what she said.

Fuck.