Updated Nov 26, 2025 • ~9 min read
Three days after the Cooper incident, Lizzie’s apartment felt suffocating.
Maddie had left that morning with apologies and promises to get therapy. Cooper was in jail awaiting trial. Lizzie’s wrist was healing. Everything should have returned to normal.
Instead, Oliver wouldn’t leave her alone.
Not in a bad way. In a protective, hovering, constantly-checking-in way that made Lizzie’s carefully maintained boundaries feel paper-thin.
How’s your wrist?
Did you eat lunch?
I’m sending dinner over. Don’t argue.
True to his word, meals appeared at her door. Her favorite coffee showed up at her office. When she protested, he texted back: Contract says I have to take care of appearances. This is me appearing to care.
But it felt real.
That was the problem.
On the third night, Lizzie texted: Come over. We need to talk.
Oliver arrived twenty minutes later, concern written across his face. “What’s wrong?”
“You. This.” Lizzie gestured between them. “You’re doing too much.”
“I’m just—”
“You’re blurring the lines. The food, the texts, the constant checking in. It’s more than the contract requires.”
Oliver studied her. “Do you want me to stop?”
Yes. No. Lizzie didn’t know anymore.
“I want you to remember this is fake,” she said.
“Right. Fake.” But the way he looked at her didn’t feel fake at all.
They stood in her living room, tension thick between them. Outside, rain began to fall, pattering against the windows.
“There’s an event tomorrow night,” Lizzie said, changing the subject. “Some tech startup launch party. We should go.”
“Okay.”
“And afterwards, I think we should establish better boundaries. Clear rules about—”
“Lizzie.” Oliver stepped closer. “Can I ask you something honest?”
“That depends.”
“Do you feel it too?”
Her heart stuttered. “Feel what?”
“This.” He gestured between them, echoing her earlier movement. “The way the air changes when we’re alone. The way your breath catches sometimes when I touch you. The way I can’t stop thinking about you even though I know I shouldn’t.”
“Stop.”
“I need to know if I’m imagining it. If this is just me, wanting something that’s not there. Or if you feel it too.”
Lizzie should have lied. Should have shut this down immediately. Instead, she heard herself whisper, “You’re not imagining it.”
The admission hung between them like a live wire.
Oliver moved closer. “Then why are we pretending?”
“Because you destroyed me.” Her voice cracked. “Because I spent eleven months putting myself back together and I can’t let you break me again.”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Then I’ll promise this: I will never lie to you again. I will never choose anyone over you. I will never make you doubt that you’re the most important person in my life.” He was close enough now that she could feel his warmth. “And if you tell me to walk away right now, I will. But Lizzie, please. Give me a chance.”
“A chance to what?”
“To prove I’m not the man who left you at that altar. To show you who I really am without my father’s ghost, without the pressure, without the fear.” His hand came up to her face, gentle, asking permission. “To love you the way I should’ve loved you from the beginning.”
Lizzie should have pulled away. Should have remembered the cameras flashing on the cathedral steps, the viral video, the eleven months of agony.
Instead, she leaned into his touch.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.
“The worst.”
“We’ll regret this.”
“Probably.”
But neither of them moved away. They stood there, breathing the same air, toeing a line they’d both agreed not to cross.
“If I let you kiss me,” Lizzie said quietly, “it doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean this is real.”
“I know that too.”
“It just means I’m weak and confused and I miss what we had.”
“Lizzie.” Oliver’s thumb brushed her cheek. “You’re the strongest person I know. And what we had—we can have it again. Better this time. Real this time.”
She should have said no. Should have stepped back, reasserted her boundaries, protected her heart.
Instead, she tilted her face up toward his.
Oliver leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. Their lips were a breath apart when Lizzie’s phone rang.
They froze.
The phone kept ringing. Ruby’s name flashed on the screen.
The spell broke. Lizzie stumbled backward, her hand pressed to her mouth like she’d been burned.
“I have to—” She grabbed her phone. “Ruby?”
“Turn on the news,” Ruby said, her voice tight. “Channel four. Now.”
Lizzie fumbled for the TV remote. Oliver stood frozen across the room, looking as shaken as she felt.
The news clicked on mid-segment. A perfectly coiffed anchor smiled at the camera.
“—scandal brewing for billionaire CEO Oliver Richardson and designer Lizzie Miller. Sources close to the couple claim their recent reconciliation is actually a contractual arrangement designed to rehabilitate Richardson’s image following last year’s wedding disaster. We have exclusive photos of what appears to be a signed contract—”
The screen filled with a photo. Blurry, taken from an angle, but unmistakable.
Their contract. The one they’d signed at Mitchell’s office.
“Anonymous sources claim Richardson paid Miller one million dollars for a six-month fake relationship,” the anchor continued. “Both parties have declined to comment, but social media is already reacting to what some are calling ‘the most cynical PR stunt of the year.'”
Lizzie’s phone exploded with notifications. Texts, calls, emails, all flooding in at once.
She looked at Oliver. His face had gone white.
“How—” she started.
“I don’t know. That contract was confidential. Only us, our lawyers, and—” He stopped. “Gavin.”
“Gavin wouldn’t.”
“No. But my lawyers might have assistants. People who could’ve seen the document, taken a photo.” Oliver pulled out his phone, already dialing. “I’m calling Mitchell. We need damage control. Now.”
But it was too late. The damage was done.
Within an hour, #FakeRelationship was trending worldwide. The comments were brutal.
“I KNEW IT. Nobody forgives that kind of betrayal”
“So she sold out for a million dollars. Wow.”
“Oliver Richardson is trash using trash tactics”
“Imagine being so desperate you PAY someone to pretend to love you”
Mitchell called with legal options. Gavin called with frantic apologies—it hadn’t been him, he swore. Ruby called with curses and support.
Through it all, Oliver and Lizzie sat on opposite ends of her couch, the almost-kiss hanging between them like a ghost.
“We need to make a statement,” Mitchell said over speakerphone. “Either confirm it and own it, or deny it and threaten to sue.”
“What do we say?” Lizzie asked, her voice hollow.
“That depends. Do you want to continue the arrangement or end it?”
Lizzie looked at Oliver. He looked back, his expression raw and vulnerable.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Well, you have about twelve hours to figure it out,” Mitchell said. “Because by tomorrow morning, every news outlet in the country is going to want answers.”
After Mitchell hung up, the silence in Lizzie’s apartment was deafening.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver finally said. “This is my fault. My people leaked it, or someone I trusted betrayed us. Either way, it’s on me.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie agreed tiredly. “It is.”
“I can fix this. Release you from the contract with a full payout, take all the blame—”
“And what happens to your company? Your reputation?”
“I don’t care anymore. I care about you. About protecting you from more damage.”
Lizzie laughed bitterly. “A little late for that.”
Oliver flinched. “I know. But Lizzie, before that phone call, we were about to—”
“Don’t.”
“We need to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. It was a mistake. A moment of weakness.”
“Was it?” He moved closer. “Because it felt real to me.”
“Nothing about this is real, Oliver. That’s the problem. It’s all a game, a performance, a carefully scripted lie. And now everyone knows.”
“So let’s make it real.”
The words stopped her. “What?”
“Let’s make it real. Drop the contract, drop the arrangement. Just… us. Trying again. For real this time.”
Lizzie stared at him. “You’re insane.”
“Probably. But I’m also in love with you. And unless I’m completely delusional, you feel something for me too.”
“Feeling something doesn’t mean we should act on it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you married my sister!” The words exploded out of her. “Because you destroyed me and eleven months isn’t enough time to heal from that! Because I don’t trust you and I don’t know if I ever can!”
“Then let me earn it back.”
“How? By following a script? By playing a part? That’s all you know how to do, Oliver. Perform. Pretend. Hide who you really are behind whatever mask fits the moment.”
The accusation hit its mark. Oliver’s expression crumpled.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’ve spent my whole life performing. Being who my father wanted, who the board wanted, who the world expected. I was performing when I married Madison. Performing when I tried to do the ‘right thing.'” He looked at her with devastating honesty. “But with you, Lizzie, I was never performing. You were the only real thing in my life. And I destroyed it because I was too much of a coward to fight for it.”
Tears burned in Lizzie’s eyes. “That doesn’t change what happened.”
“No. But it’s the truth. And I’m done lying. Done pretending. If you tell me to leave right now, I will. I’ll take all the blame for the leak, release you from every obligation, and disappear from your life forever.” He took a breath. “But if there’s any part of you that wants to try—really try, not as a contract but as two people who love each other—then I’m here. I’m all in.”
Lizzie looked at him. At the man who’d broken her heart and was now offering her the pieces of his own.
“I need time,” she whispered.
“How much?”
“I don’t know. But not tonight. Tonight, I need you to leave.”
Oliver nodded slowly. He stood, moved toward the door, then paused.
“For what it’s worth,” he said without turning around, “I would’ve kissed you like it was the only thing that mattered. Because to me, it would’ve been.”
Then he was gone.
Lizzie sat alone in her apartment, listening to the rain and feeling the ghost of an almost-kiss burn on her lips.
Tomorrow, they’d face the scandal. Make decisions. Deal with consequences.
Tonight, she just let herself cry.
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