Chapter 10

‘Fake, of course.’ I caught the faintest trace of a smile as he answered. ‘And arranged partnerships for mutual benefit happen more often than you think. We’re just skipping the dinner dates and going straight to the paperwork.’ And then he gestured for me to sit down, pulled out a sleek black notebook, and began listing terms. Like this was a bloody client meeting. I sat through the whole thing in a fog, nodding along as we discussed timelines, appearances, and what counted as acceptable hand-holding. At one point, he used the phrase ‘public intimacy quotient’, and I had to fight the urge to check if this was all some elaborate prank being livestreamed on TikTok. Even after we’d shaken on it, I still felt like I’d slipped into an alternate reality where men said yes to fake marriages without blinking and I somehow wasn’t being scammed. ‘There’s a party in three days,’ he said casually, like it was no big deal. ‘I’ll need you there. It’s time to announce our engagement.’ He paused, looking at me with that predator calm again. ‘And I’ll do the same for you, with your family. Let’s give them a show they won’t forget.’ *** I left his apartment in a daze, drifted back to mine like I’d just been abducted by aliens and deposited back on Earth without the instruction manual. Even when I slid into a booth across from Yvaine at our usual dinner spot, I still felt like I’d accidentally wandered out of my own body and into someone else’s wildly overdramatic Netflix show. ‘Hello? Earth to Mira.’ Yvaine waved her hand in front of my face. ‘You look like someone just told you your flat’s been repossessed by a cult.’ I blinked myself back to the land of the conscious and gave her the rundown. Getting fired from the coffeehouse, my mother’s role in it, the continued repercussions of my cutting ties with Rhys, everything. Yvaine’s face scrunched up like she’d just tasted battery acid. She let out a string of expletives so colourful it could’ve qualified as abstract art, most of them directed at my mother. I politely ignored the bit where she called Caroline a ‘fire-breathing dementor in a Chanel suit’. ‘That’s not why I called you,’ I said, waving away the job thing. ‘You know I couldn’t care less about the barista job. I mean, yes, RIP to my 40% staff discount, but that’s where the mourning ends.’ ‘Still,’ Yvaine huffed, ‘that’s no excuse for what Caroline pulled. I mean, does she wake up and choose villainy every morning or is it a spontaneous thing?’ Before she could continue her spirited campaign to have my mother tried for emotional war crimes, I hit her with the real headline. ‘I’ve, uh… sort of gotten engaged.’ Yvaine froze mid-sip. Her eyes went so wide I was half-worried they’d roll right out of her head and into her cappuccino. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve gone back to Rhys.’ ‘God, no.’ I made a face like she’d just suggested I marry my cousin. ‘This is worse. Or better? I don’t even know anymore.’ I launched into the full saga: my mother trying to auction me off to the Skyline City edition of Daddy Warbucks, my desperate bluff about already having a more powerful fiancé, and how I somehow ended up convincing my absurdly hot neighbour – who also happened to be my rebound one-night stand – to go along with the madness. Yvaine didn’t interrupt once. Her eyes just kept getting bigger until I was convinced she was morphing into a human bush baby. ‘Right,’ she finally said, after a long pause and possibly some internal screaming. ‘Now I’m dying to meet this mystery man.’ ‘You will. There’s a party in three days. He wants to make the engagement public. You know, the usual fake fiancé PR package. I’ve got you an invite.’ Yvaine nodded slowly, as if her brain was still buffering. Then she raised her coffee mug. ‘I suppose this calls for a celebration.’ ‘It’s a fake engagement.’ ‘Yes, but no one else knows that, do they? Besides, I’m not celebrating that. I’m celebrating the fact that you’ve finally told Caroline where to shove it. And that you’re officially free of Rhys the walking red flag.’ I clinked my mug against hers. ‘I’ll drink to that.’ And we did. Then we smiled at each other. Yvaine had this uncanny talent for turning total chaos into a party theme. With her around, even my absolute train wreck of a life felt kind of… fun. ‘This calls for wine, not caffeine,’ she declared, snapping her fingers at a passing waiter. ‘Bring us the wine list!’ It was shaping up to be a properly celebratory afternoon. Right up until Rhys waltzed into the same bloody restaurant. With Catherine hanging off his arm like a Dior handbag. She swanned over to our table and gave us this wide-eyed look of manufactured surprise and went, ‘Oh! Mira? I didn’t expect to see you here.’ Before I could say anything remotely scathing, she leaned in just enough to seem intimate and murmured, ‘Mum mentioned you’re seeing someone now… an older gentleman, wasn’t it? Mr Shaw, I think?’ She said it casually, but her eyes flicked to Rhys, like she wanted to make sure he was catching every word. Then came the sigh, soft, almost regretful. ‘I believe he’s been through, what… four divorces?’ She let that hang in the air just long enough to sting, then added, with this serene, saintly little smile, ‘But of course, to each their own.’ Her tone was all indulgent big sister, the kind who wouldn’t dream of judging your choices out loud, even though she was clearly dying to hand you a pamphlet titled Why You’re Doing It All Wrong. Rhys’s expression shifted like someone had just told him his stocks had tanked. He looked straight at me, eyes all moody and brooding, and demanded, ‘So this is why you ended the engagement?’ I briefly considered baptising them both in merlot, but this place was far too classy for that kind of scene. Also, I really didn’t want to end up on a viral TikTok titled ‘Local Woman Loses It in Midtown Bistro’. Yvaine crossed her arms, eyes blazing, and sneered at Rhys like she was seconds away from launching her drink at his face. ‘You of all damn people know exactly why Mira ended the engagement. Don’t you dare stand there and play the victim—you’re not fooling anyone.’ She gave him a disappointed look. ‘You know, I used to think you were better than this. Turns out I was giving you way too much credit.’ Then she tilted her chin towards Catherine with a cold little smirk. ‘You two really are a perfect match. Trash finds trash, after all.’ Rhys’s face went redder than the merlot in my glass. ‘Say that again and your modelling career’s over.’ That’s when I’d had enough.