Fake Date, Real Fate Chapter 49: Between the Lines

ADRIEN’S POV

After making sure I had dropped Isabella off at what I knew wasn’t her house, I managed to reach my own house within minutes, getting out of the limo and walking gingerly as Thomas opened the front door.

I stepped inside the mansion already feeling the weight of the night settle in as the heavy front door thudded shut behind , the silence of the mansion heavy enough to choke on. Caron was already waiting in the sitting room, arms crossed and narrowing his eyes like a hawk tracking prey. I knew he’d be there.

"You’re early," I said, dropping my keys on the console.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, then finally said, "I thought you hated the dia circus—the flashing caras, the public drama. Yet here you are, practically announcing to the world you have a girlfriend." he whined, his voice dragging out the words like a kid complaining.

"Get out," I shot back, not even trying to hide my annoyance.

"No way," he replied, getting up and following into the kitchen.

"I’ve been glued to the news—social dia’s exploding. You and her? Top search, everywhere. People are going crazy."

I clenched my jaw. "Good."

I picked up a bottle of water, took a slow sip and put it down, but Caron wasn’t finished.

"Seriously, why didn’t you invite to the auction? Am I just being thrown aside now?" He huffed while tapping his foot.

I kept walking toward the stairs without answering.

Caron was right behind and yelled. "Are you ignoring ? I’m practically your shadow at this point!"

I finally made it to my bedroom and I started to unbutton my shirt. I turned and looked over my shoulder. "So... are you going to watch strip, or what?"

Caron rolled his eyes at like a teenager. "That’s not the point!"

I smirked and let the shirt fall on the floor. "Then say what you want, Caron. I’m tired, and your whining is giving a headache." I tossed the crumpled shirt towards the laundry hamper, not even bothering to aim.

Caron’s shoulders slumped a little, the anger draining from his face and now replaced with sothing else, sothing closer to understanding. "Okay, sorry man. I understand mom’s been on your back about having a girl for a long ti. but co on.," he pressed, "why not let in on the plan? I could have been your wingman at the auction."

I didn’t reply, just walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind , leaving him outside to grumble like a kid who missed out on sothing fun.

The hot water beat down on my skin, washing away the remnants of the evening – the lingering scent of Isabella’s perfu, the forced smiles, the weight of the public display. It didn’t wash away Caron though──I could practically hear his frustrated sighs through the door. He was like an annoying mosquito—buzzing around until it was gone.

After the shower, I opened the door and towel dried my body while the hot water and steam cloaked the mirror.

I turned to the mirror and looked at my reflection, seeing the bags under my eyes and the lines around my mouth. The image of a man always tired, weighed down by expectations and responsibilities. I threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Caron was still there, unsurprisingly, when I opened the bathroom door, still on my bed while scrolling through his phone. He looked up──a glimr of excitent in his eyes.

"Okay, new plan," he announced, sitting up. "Damage control. We need to spin this Isabella thing. Make it look... organic. More believable. Less..."

I raised an eyebrow. "fake?"

He winced. "Yeah, less fake. Maybe leak so staged paparazzi shots of you two looking cozy. A romantic dinner, a stroll in the park... the whole nine yards."

I walked over to the mini bar. "Absolutely not. The whole point of this is to appease my mother, not to create a fake love story for the tabloids to feast on." I poured myself a glass of whiskey. "The less Isbella and I are seen together, the better."

Caron threw his hands up in frustration. "But people are going to be suspicious! They’re not going to buy it if you two are never seen together outside of galas!"

"Then they won’t buy it," I said as I took another sip of the whiskey, letting the burn soothe my nerves. "I don’t care. I just need my mother to buy it. The world can think whatever it wants."

Caron stared at ; a strange kind of frustration with a bit of pity ca through his eyes. "You know, for soone who claims to hate the spotlight, you seem to have a funny way of drawing it to you."

I sighed. "It’s a necessary evil Now, if you will excuse , I’m going to try and get so sleep." I pointed toward the door.

He hesitated for a second longer, then stood up. "Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. This could blow up in your face."

"Goodnight, Caron." I turned my back to him and ended the conversation.

He huffed again; he muttered under his breath about sothing to do with being stubborn. Finally, he left the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

I finished my whiskey, the silence of the room closing in around once more. Isabella. A necessary evil, just like the dia circus I despised. I wondered if she was regretting her decision already.

I crawled under the bed-blanket and pulled the covers over . Sleep did not co easily. My mind was swirling with thoughts and half-ford plans. Isabella’s face kept flashing behind my eyelids, her eyes wide and intelligent. Damn it.

I took my phone from the nightstand. I unlocked it and scrolled. No ssages. Good.

I opened her chat—Miss Miller.

My fingers tapped out the first ssage with deliberate calm.

I trust you got ho safe.

No room for niceties. Just facts.

A beat passed before I sent the next.

You handled yourself well tonight. I appreciate that.

I wasn’t the type to hand out complints lightly, but she’d held her own. She deserved the recognition.

I waited, the silence stretching between the taps of my fingers on the bedsheet. No reply yet. Typical—she wasn’t the type to waste words.

My phone buzzed lightly and caught the screen light.

You’re welco. I survived. Barely.

I smirked, fingers already moving.

Survival suits you.

A small challenge wrapped in a complint. Let her wonder if I ant the fight or sothing else.

I leaned back on the headboard, waiting for a reply but my mind was already moving ahead.

Then I glanced back at the calendar app on my phone.The Delacroix call was a waste of ti, and I had no patience for distractions.

Send my schedule for tomorrow. And remove the 10 a.m. call with Delacroix. It’s a waste of ti.

I hit send and tossed the phone on the bed, pulling the blanket up over my legs