I stood in front of the full-length mirror, holding up a sleek black gown with a plunging neckline. It screamed sophistication, but I could already feel Liam's judgment from across the room.
"That's what you're wearing?" he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. His tone was neutral, but his raised eyebrow gave him away.
"What's wrong with it?" I shot back, holding the dress against me. "It's elegant."
"It's also screaming, 'Look at me, I'm up to something,'" he said, crossing his arms. "We're supposed to blend in, Evelyn, not draw attention."
I rolled my eyes and tossed the dress onto the bed. "Fine, Mr. Fashion Critic. What do you suggest?"
Liam pointed to a navy-blue gown I'd shoved to the side earlier. "That one. It's classy but understated. Perfect for a charity gala."
I picked it up, examining it with a frown. "It's boring."
"It's perfect," he countered. "Trust me."
I stared at him for a moment, debating whether to argue. He looked annoyingly confident, as if he knew he'd already won. With a huff, I grabbed the dress and marched into the bathroom.
When I emerged, Liam was already dressed in a sharp black tuxedo. I hated to admit it, but he cleaned up well. Too well for someone who claimed to be a broke artist.
He gave me an approving nod as I stepped into the room. "See? Told you it would work."
"Don't get used to being right," I muttered, slipping on my heels.
He smirked. "You look stunning."
For a moment, his words caught me off guard. But I quickly pushed the thought aside. This wasn't a date—it was a job.
The drive to the gala was tense. Liam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to the soft music playing on the radio. I stared out the window, running through the plan in my head.
"Relax," he said, glancing at me. "You're overthinking."
"I'm not overthinking," I snapped. "I'm being thorough. There's a difference."
"Whatever you say," he replied, his tone light. "Just remember, we're a team tonight. No going rogue."
"I don't need a lecture," I said, folding my arms. "I know what I'm doing."
Liam chuckled softly, and I fought the urge to glare at him.
The gala was everything I expected—lavish decorations, waiters gliding through the room with trays of champagne, and a crowd dripping in wealth. As soon as we stepped inside, I felt the familiar buzz of adrenaline.
"Stick to the plan," I whispered to Liam as we walked in.
"Of course," he said, offering me his arm.
We mingled effortlessly, introducing ourselves to the right people and blending into the crowd. Liam, to my surprise, was a natural. He charmed everyone he spoke to, his laugh easy and his words smooth.
"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked him quietly after he'd won over a group of art collectors.
"Do what?" he asked innocently.
"Talk like you belong here," I said, narrowing my eyes.
He shrugged. "It's a gift."
I didn't buy it, but I didn't have time to press him. We had bigger fish to fry.
When we finally spotted Hunter Quinn near the bar, my pulse quickened. He was everything I'd heard—tall, confident, and radiating wealth.
"There he is," I murmured to Liam.
"Got it," Liam said, straightening his jacket.
"Wait," I said, grabbing his arm. "Let me handle the introduction."
But Liam was already moving.
I watched, stunned, as he strolled up to Hunter with a glass of whiskey in hand. "Hunter Quinn, right?" he said, his voice smooth as silk.
Hunter turned, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes. And you are?"
"Liam Sterling," he said, extending a hand. "This is my wife, Evelyn."
I quickly stepped forward, flashing my best smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Quinn."
Hunter studied us for a moment before nodding. "Likewise. What brings you to the gala?"
Liam answered before I could. "We're here to network. I'm an artist, and Evelyn's been helping me navigate the art world."
I bit back a sigh of frustration. He was improvising, and I hated not being in control.
As the night went on, I found myself watching Liam more closely. He moved through the room like he belonged there, his charm effortless. It didn't make sense. How could a "broke artist" be this comfortable around billionaires?
"You're full of surprises," I said quietly when we found a moment alone.
"Good surprises, I hope," he replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I studied him, searching for cracks in his facade. "You're not who you say you are, are you?"
His smile didn't waver. "And what about you, Evelyn? Are you?"
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I had no answer.
By the time we left the gala, I was more confused than ever. Liam had played his part perfectly, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something.
"You did well tonight," I admitted as we walked to the car.
"Thanks," he said, his tone casual. "But you were the real star."
I glanced at him, trying to read his expression. "You're a mystery, Liam Sterling."
"And you love mysteries," he replied with a smirk.
I looked away, my thoughts spinning. Liam wasn't just my fake husband or a partner in this con. He was something else entirely. And I needed to figure out what.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table just as I was kicking off my heels. After the night at the gala, I was drained, both physically and mentally. I sighed, picking up the phone. Margot's name flashed on the screen.
I hesitated for a moment. My older sister wasn't one for casual check-ins, so this call could only mean one of two things: she needed something, or she wanted to lecture me about my life choices. Still, I couldn't ignore her. Margot was family, and despite our differences, she always had a way of making me feel both safe and judged at the same time.
I swiped to answer. "Margot. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Her warm voice came through, a stark contrast to the tension I'd been carrying all evening. "Evelyn, I was just thinking about you. How have you been?"
I blinked, momentarily thrown off. "You were thinking about me?" I asked, settling onto the couch. "Should I be worried?"
She chuckled softly. "Come on, Evie. Can't a big sister check in without it being suspicious?"
"Not when it's you," I teased, though I couldn't help but smile. Margot always had a way of disarming me, even when I didn't want her to.
"Well, I was going through some old photos earlier," she continued, "and I remembered how much I miss us hanging out. You've been so busy lately. I thought maybe we could grab lunch sometime this week? My treat."
Lunch with Margot? It wasn't the worst idea. It had been a while since we'd spent time together, and honestly, I could use a break from scheming. "Alright," I said, leaning back against the cushions. "But only if you promise not to grill me about work or my love life."
"I'll do my best," she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice.
We settled on a time and place before ending the call. As I put the phone down, I felt a strange mix of emotions. Margot and I had always been close growing up, but life had pulled us in different directions. She'd taken the responsible path—law school, a steady career, a picture-perfect life. Meanwhile, I'd chosen… well, this.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that Margot had her own reasons for reaching out. She rarely did anything without a purpose.
The next day, I arrived at the upscale café she'd picked, feeling a little out of place. The place screamed "power lunch," with its sleek decor and well-dressed clientele. Margot was already there, seated at a corner table with her usual polished look—flawless makeup, a tailored blazer, and an air of effortless confidence.
"Evie!" she called out, standing to hug me as I approached. "You look amazing."
"So do you," I said, returning the hug. "Though I don't think I've ever seen you not looking like you stepped out of a magazine."
She laughed, motioning for me to sit. "You're too kind. But seriously, how are you? You seem… different lately."
I shrugged, reaching for the menu. "Just busy, you know? Work's been nonstop."
"Work." She repeated the word slowly, as if testing it. "You're still consulting, right?"
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. Margot didn't know about my other life, and I intended to keep it that way. "Yep. Same old, same old."
She studied me for a moment, her sharp lawyer instincts kicking in. "You sure everything's okay? You can tell me if you're in trouble, you know. I won't judge."
I forced a smile. "I'm fine, Margot. Really. Just tired."
She didn't look convinced, but she let it go, shifting the conversation to lighter topics—her latest case, her husband's new hobby, a funny story about her neighbor's dog. For a while, it felt like old times, just the two of us catching up without any hidden agendas.
But as the waiter cleared our plates, Margot leaned forward, her tone turning serious. "Evie, I've been thinking about something."
Here it comes, I thought, bracing myself.
"You're so smart and talented," she said. "I just… I worry about you sometimes. You've always been independent, but you don't have to do everything on your own. If you ever need help—financially or otherwise—you can come to me. I mean it."
Her words caught me off guard. For all her lectures and perfection, Margot rarely offered help outright. I stared at her, trying to gauge if there was some hidden motive. But all I saw was genuine concern.
"Thanks, Margot," I said softly. "That means a lot."
She smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Anytime, Evie. You're my little sister. I'll always have your back."
As we parted ways, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her offer than she was letting on. But for now, I decided to take it at face value. Margot cared, even if she didn't always show it in the way I wanted.
Walking back to my car, I felt a strange mix of warmth and unease. Family was complicated, and Margot was no exception. But in her own way, she reminded me that I wasn't completely alone in this tangled mess of a life.
And for now, that was enough