The first thing Felix felt was pain.
A throbbing ache pulsed through the back of his skull as if soone had tried to crack his head open with a mallet. He groaned into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut against the shards of daylight slipping through the hotel curtains. The room was too quiet, too still, but inside his mind, chaos brewed.
Lara. Her perfu still lingered on his jacket.
He sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, fingers pressing hard into his temples. Every mory of the previous night slamd into him like a freight train. Lara’s voice purring at his side, the way she clung to his arm like a barnacle, draped in red silk and ambition. The way people looked at them, as if they were a couple. As if she belonged there, beside him. That goddamn smirk.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
"What the hell is she trying to pull?"
The hotel room suddenly felt more like a cage. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to face another day of fake smiles and corporate handshakes. What he wanted was to disappear, preferably back ho, where Katherine and the twins were. Safe, warm, and real.
But instead, he reached for the phone on the nightstand and checked the ti.
etings. Conference. Evening gala.
Every cell in his body resisted. But this trip wasn’t optional. Too much was riding on his presence. So with a muttered curse, Felix pushed himself up and began the motions of getting ready. A cold shower did little to improve his mood, but a cup of coffee helped dull the throbbing in his head.
By the ti evening rolled around, Felix looked like perfection in a tuxedo. His hair sleeked back, his jaw clean-shaven, his cufflinks glinting under the ballroom chandeliers. But the man beneath the polish was restless. Angry. Suspicious.
The ballroom was everything one would expect from an exclusive international awards ceremony. Golden lights bathed the marbled floors. Classical music floated through the air, just soft enough to complent the sound of clinking glasses and rehearsed laughter. Everyone was dressed to impress, and photographers buzzed around like hornets, snapping every posed smile.
Felix walked in with his assistant, kept small talk minimal, and did what was necessary. But all the while, he felt eyes on him.
More than once, he caught whispers as he passed:
"Isn’t thar Mr. Crawford?"
"He was with soone, that woman in the red dress."
"They looked so good together."
He didn’t respond. Just clenched his jaw and moved through the crowd like a shark cutting water.
When his na was finally called, applause filled the space.
"And the winner for Best International Entrepreneur goes to... Felix Crawford!"
He stepped up onto the stage with quiet precision, shaking the host’s hand, accepting the sleek glass trophy with a nod of thanks. He gave a short speech, professional and practiced, sothing about hard work, global innovation, and shared vision. It was over in less than three minutes.
But just as he turned to leave the stage, the emcee raised the microphone again, his grin wide and far too knowing.
"By the way," the man said with a chuckle, "before you go, there’s been so buzz around here tonight..."
Felix slowed.
"Word on the street is our charming Mr. Crawford is newly engaged!"
The audience tittered with surprise and excitent. A few claps. A few gasps.
Felix turned his head slowly, brows knitting. "That’s not true," he said, lips twitching into a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The host laughed again, clearly enjoying himself. "Oh, co on! Don’t be shy. We all saw you with that beautiful lady last night. Stunning couple! Don’t keep secrets from us now."
Another ripple of laughter and scattered whistles.
Felix’s jaw tightened. The lights above made it impossible to see every face, but the way caras started flashing again made his gut churn.
"I assure you, there is no engagent," he said, firr this ti. "Last night was... a misunderstanding."
The emcee chuckled, nudging the mic down slightly. "Misunderstanding, huh? Well, misunderstanding or not, we wish you both happiness! Let’s give it up for him, everyone!"
Thunderous applause. Cheers. Soone even shouted, "Congratulations anyway!"
Felix stood frozen for a half-second longer before descending the stage with precise steps, his grip on the award so tight his knuckles whitened.
Each clap felt like a slap.
He returned to his table, barely hearing the person who leaned over to whisper, "So when’s the wedding, man?" He didn’t answer. He just poured himself a glass of wine, drained it in one go, and set the glass down with a quiet, dangerous clink.
He could feel it.
The shift in glances. The side-eyes. The way people leaned in to whisper behind glasses, mouths barely moving but eyes darting toward him.
It wasn’t the award they were talking about.
It was them.
His assistant leaned over, whispering carefully. "Should I start damage control? This is getting... confusing."
Felix stared ahead, his face stoic.
"It’s not confusion," he said darkly. "It’s manipulation."
Lara. She’d orchestrated this. Sohow, she had known who would be there. She had known what to wear, what to say, how to pose, and now she had people convinced they were engaged?
He clenched his fist under the table. This wasn’t so tabloid rumor. This was a narrative, one being crafted in real ti.
He leaned back, slow and controlled, but his heart was a drumbeat of rage.
From across the ballroom, soone took a photo.
And smiled.
Felix turned his head slightly and spotted her.
Lara.
Sitting pretty in a silver gown at a far table, laughing with soone he didn’t recognize. Her eyes t his across the crowd.
And she raised her glass.
A silent toast.
Felix didn’t move. He didn’t blink.
But inside, he felt it.
He was being cornered.
And it wasn’t by accident.
The lights, the press, the whispers, it was all building to sothing.
He didn’t know what Lara’s endga was yet, but one thing was becoming terrifyingly clear:
She was playing the long ga.
And he had just stepped onto her board.
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