Chapter 1 - The Fifty-Thousand-Dollar Lie
At 11:45 on a rainy Friday night, my phone lit up with the one name that could turn a quiet evening into a crisis. By midnight, Adrian Moretti was offering me $50,000 to pretend I loved him for one week—and by his mother’s seventieth birthday, neither of us would be pretending anymore.
Steam had just begun fogging the bathroom mirror when my phone vibrated across the counter. The second I saw Adrian’s name, every relaxed thought disappeared.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Emily.” His voice was low and clipped. “I need you in my office. Now.”
Then he hung up.
Twenty-three minutes later, I stood outside the double oak doors of his penthouse office in jeans, sneakers, and a cream hoodie pulled over still-damp hair. Rain streaked the windows behind me, turning Midtown Manhattan into a blur of gold and silver.
For one irrational second, I considered leaving.
Then the door opened before I could knock.
Adrian filled the doorway in a black shirt with the collar undone and the sleeves rolled to his forearms. At six-foot-three, dark-haired and green-eyed, he looked less like my boss and more like the version of him Manhattan whispered about after dark.
“Come in.”
I stepped past him.
Two years of working as Adrian’s assistant had taught me how to manage his impossible schedule, remember birthdays he forgot, and solve problems before they reached his desk. But I had never been alone with him in that room after midnight.
The office was all dark wood, leather, and floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city. It felt less like a workplace than the command center of a man accustomed to controlling everything beneath him.
“Sit.”
I lowered myself into the chair and folded my hands in my lap.
Adrian moved around the desk, but instead of sitting behind it, he leaned against the front edge directly across from me. Up close, I could see exhaustion in his eyes and tension across shoulders that never seemed strained during daylight.
“I have a problem,” he said.
“Of course.”
The answer escaped automatically.
“What do you need?”
His gaze lingered on me.
“My mother turns seventy next Saturday.”
I blinked. “I know. I confirmed the guest list this afternoon.”
“She believes I’m bringing someone.”
That made me hesitate.
“A date?”
“A woman I’m serious about.”
I stared at him. “You’re serious about someone?”
“No.”
Of course he wasn’t.
Adrian Moretti barely tolerated dinner meetings. The idea of him maintaining an actual relationship bordered on science fiction.
“So what exactly is the problem?”
“My mother has been asking me to settle down for years. She’s convinced this birthday might be the last time the entire family is together.”
Something in his voice softened when he mentioned her.
Then his expression hardened again.
“I told her I was seeing someone.”
My stomach dropped.
“Oh no.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You lied to your mother?”
“Yes.”
“And now you need me to find you a girlfriend before next Saturday?”
“No.”
Adrian reached into the desk drawer and placed a check in front of me.
My eyes landed on the number.
$50,000.
My mouth went dry.
“I need you,” he said, “to be my girlfriend for one week.”
I looked from the check to his face.
“You want to pay me fifty thousand dollars to pretend I’m in love with you?”
His green eyes held mine without blinking.
“Yes.”
Then he added the part that made my pulse stumble.
“And by Saturday night, my entire family has to believe you’re the woman I intend to marry.”
I stared at him for several seconds.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because surely I had misheard him.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
“This is the strangest emergency you’ve ever called me about.”
“I’m aware.”
“You could hire an actress.”
“I don't want an actress.”
“A model.”
“No.”
“A friend.”
“No.”
“Someone you’re actually dating.”
“No.”
I leaned back.
“Then why me?”
Adrian was silent.
The rain tapped against the windows.
He finally said, “Because you know me.”
“That doesn't make me qualified to fake a relationship.”
“You know what I hate.”
“Most things.”
His lips almost moved.
“You know my coffee order.”
“Because you send it back if the foam is half an inch too high.”
“You know when I’m lying.”
I froze.
“And you know my mother.”
That was the answer.
His mother, Elena Moretti, was the only member of the family who had ever treated me like more than an employee.
She remembered my birthday.
She sent me flowers when my father died.
She once spent thirty minutes on the phone telling me I deserved better than the man I had been dating.
She had also spent the last year trying to persuade Adrian that his life needed “one warm person in it.”
I looked at the check again.
Fifty thousand dollars was more money than I had ever had in my checking account.
It could cover my student loans.
My mother’s medical bills.
The security deposit I needed to move out of my tiny apartment.
It could change my life.
But I was not stupid.
“What are the rules?”
Adrian's eyes sharpened.
“You're considering it.”
“I’m considering the money.”
“I can work with that.”
I sighed.
“Tell me.”
“One week.”
“Seven days.”
“Yes.”
“Public appearances?”
“Some.”
“Family dinners?”
“All of them.”
“Physical affection?”
He paused.
“Only when necessary.”
I gave him a flat look.
“Define necessary.”
His mouth tightened.
“Hand-holding. Hugging. A kiss when my mother expects one.”
My stomach flipped.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Sleeping arrangements?”
Separate rooms.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
“Jealous exes?”
“No.”
“Psychotic relatives?”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“I was joking.”
“So was I.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“No.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“This is insane.”
“I know.”
“Why Saturday?”
“My mother’s birthday.”
“Why lie at all?”
His gaze drifted toward the window.
“My family isn't simple.”
Neither was mine.
But his was different.
There were stories about the Morettis.
Stories no newspaper printed.
Stories men whispered about in restaurants and stopped talking about when strangers entered.
Officially, Moretti Security and Logistics handled private security, shipping, and international logistics.
Unofficially, Adrian's name traveled through parts of the city where people did not make requests twice.
I had never asked questions.
That was part of the reason I had lasted two years.
“Is your mother expecting a proposal?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what does she expect?”
“She wants me happy.”
Something about the way he said it made me look up.
“And you're not?”
He was quiet.
“I don't have time to be.”
That answer should have ended the conversation.
Instead, I heard myself say, “What happens if I say yes?”
“You move into the guest suite downstairs for the week.”
My eyes widened.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s secure.”
“It’s weird.”
“It’s temporary.”
“It’s still weird.”
“You'll also get a wardrobe.”
“I have clothes.”
He looked at my hoodie.
“So I’ve noticed.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You're insulting my wardrobe while offering me fifty thousand dollars?”
“No.”
He studied me.
“I’m observing.”
“Same thing.”
For the first time that night, a real smile appeared.
It was devastating.
I immediately looked away.
That was the problem with Adrian.
He rarely smiled.
So when he did, it felt personal.
He stood and walked around the desk.
“Twenty-five thousand now. Twenty-five after Saturday.”
“Half now?”
“Yes.”
“No disappearing clause?”
“No.”
“No changing the amount because I accidentally embarrass you?”
“No.”
“No firing me if I say something stupid?”
“I wouldn't fire you.”
“Why?”
He stopped.
“Because you're very good at your job.”
Something tightened in my chest.
I hated how much I wanted that sentence to mean more than it did.
“And after the week?”
“You go back to being my assistant.”
“Nothing changes?”
He looked at me.
“Nothing.”
It should have reassured me.
It didn't.
I took the check.
“Fine.”
Adrian's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
“Fine?”
“Fine.”
He extended his hand.
I looked at it.
Then shook it.
His palm was warm.
His fingers closed around mine.
For one strange second, neither of us moved.
He released me first.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “Nine.”
“Why?”
“We start training.”
“Training?”
“You need to know my family.”
I groaned.
“I already know your mother.”
“You know the woman she shows everyone.”
“And the rest?”
“The rest will be trying to figure out why I'm suddenly in love with my assistant.”
My eyebrows rose.
“You forgot one detail.”
“What?”
“I work for you.”
His eyes held mine.
“That,” he said quietly, “is exactly why they’ll never believe this.”
The next morning, a black SUV collected me from my apartment.
By nine-thirty, I was standing in Adrian’s penthouse wearing borrowed clothes and holding a folder labeled MORETTI FAMILY.
I opened it.
The first photograph was Elena Moretti.
Seventy.
Elegant.
Warm.
The next was Adrian's younger sister, Sofia.
Then his cousin Luca.
Then several men I recognized from business articles.
And finally, a man whose picture made Adrian's expression harden.
His father.
Dante Moretti.
Dead for eight years.
I looked up.
“Why is he in here?”
Adrian closed the folder.
“Because in my family, the dead never really leave.”
I should have walked away.
May you like
Instead, I stayed.
And that was the beginning of the week that would change everything.
