They stepped out of the café into the late-morning chill, Sophia clutching her half-finished chai as Nate held the door. A breeze tugged at her coat, and she pulled it tighter around her.
"You always plan your mornings around power muffins and fake relationship strategies?" she teased, trying to fill the quiet between them.
Nate gave her a look. "Only on Thursdays."
They walked side by side down the block, comfortable silence settling between them—until it wasn't.
"Sophia?"
Her name, so familiar on someone else's lips, cut through the air like a blade.
She froze. Her grip on the cup tightened instinctively, and she didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The voice dripped casual arrogance. It always had.
Nate stopped too, his jaw ticking the slightest bit as he turned in the direction of the voice.
Ryan Carter stood on the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his too-expensive coat, hair perfectly disheveled like he'd paid someone to make him look effortlessly charming. He wasn't alone—two coworkers she vaguely recognized from old firm events trailed behind him, lingering just out of earshot but clearly watching.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Ryan said, eyes flicking to Nate and then back to her. "Guess you're staying busy."
Sophia straightened her shoulders, mouth opening—then closing again. Her brain scrambled for the cool, detached version of herself she'd practiced in the mirror a hundred times.
Instead, Nate answered for her.
"Ryan," he said smoothly. "Still mistaking arrogance for charm, I see."
Ryan blinked, then gave a short laugh. "Nate Sterling. Didn't know you were in the habit of dating your employees' leftovers."
Sophia sucked in a breath.
Nate's expression didn't change. But the air around him shifted—subtly but unmistakably. It was like watching a storm gather behind glass.
"I think you're confusing me with someone who entertains mediocrity," Nate said, voice calm but lethal. "But then again, projecting's always been your specialty, hasn't it?"
Ryan's jaw clenched.
Sophia barely moved. She couldn't. Something in her had gone utterly still. No one had ever shut Ryan down like that—so efficiently, so cleanly. Not even her.
"She's not your concern anymore," Nate continued. "So unless you've got legal business or a desperate need for attention, I suggest you keep walking."
Ryan's eyes flicked to Sophia. "You sure about this?" he asked her, low. "Because I know you, Soph. You don't like games."
She smiled then—tight and bitter. "Yeah. And I know you. That's the problem."
Ryan's mouth twitched like he had more to say, but something about Nate's posture—so perfectly still, hands in pockets, unreadable—made him rethink it.
With a smug half-smile, Ryan backed away. "Enjoy the show," he muttered, then turned and disappeared down the sidewalk.
Only when he was gone did Sophia finally exhale.
She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.
Nate said nothing, just looked at her. Not demanding. Not pitying. Just there.
"That," she said slowly, "was… a lot."
"Was it?"
She looked at him, stunned. "You just vaporized him with words."
"Light work."
Sophia laughed before she could stop herself, then bit it back. Her hand still trembled slightly around her cup.
"I didn't expect you to do that," she said quietly.
"What? Call out a man who speaks to women like they're disposable?"
"Most people don't."
Nate's gaze softened—just slightly. "Well. I'm not most people."
Sophia stared at him. At the same man who, less than a week ago, she'd labeled as cold, arrogant, and emotionally allergic. The man now standing beside her like a quiet fortress.
"No," she murmured. "You're not."
There was a beat—just a beat—where neither of them moved.
And then the moment shifted again, tension curling at the edges, heat rising where there should've been cold. Nate took a step closer. Just one. But it was enough.
Her voice cracked the air between them, soft but sharp. "You always make a habit of defending fake girlfriends like that?"
He tilted his head. "Only the ones who deserve better."
The air felt thick again. Not with awkwardness—but something slower. Heavier. She didn't look away.
Neither did he.
And for a heartbeat, the line between what was fake and what was real blurred completely.
Sophia finally broke eye contact, looking out the windshield with a quiet exhale. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yeah," Nate said, his voice low. "But I wanted to."
That made her glance back. "Why?"
He shrugged like it was obvious. "He was being an ass."
Her lips tugged into the barest smile. "And you've never been one of those?"
"I'm selective about it." Nate gave her a side glance. "He was out of line."
Sophia's arms crossed loosely. "He's always out of line. That was just him being… casual."
"I don't care if that was him being casual or if he was pitching a new personality—he doesn't get to talk to you like that anymore."
His voice was too calm to be angry, too direct to be brushed off. The words sat between them like a declaration.
She studied him in silence for a beat longer, something unreadable flickering across her face. "So this is how you handle conflict. Ice-cold charm and strategic tension."
"It works," Nate said, deadpan.
"I noticed."
He smiled slightly but didn't push. And for once, she didn't feel like she had to armor up again. Not right now.
"Anyway," she added, forcing a breath, "we still need to talk about… logistics."
"Ah yes," Nate replied, returning to his lawyer voice. "The terms and conditions of our mutually beneficial façade."
She rolled her eyes. "You make it sound like a business pitch."
"It is. We're aligning public interests, managing reputations, mutually deflecting unnecessary attention. That is a pitch."
"And what do I get in return for merging empires?"
He glanced at her again, tone even. "Privacy. Control of your narrative. And someone on your side."
Sophia stilled. "That last one shouldn't feel like such a luxury."
"But it does."
Their eyes met again. This time, it was Sophia who looked away first.
He pulled into a quieter street and slowed the car, the soft purr of the engine matching the hush inside the vehicle.
She cleared her throat. "So, same ground rules right?"
Nate nodded. "We appear in public together. No random disappearing acts. We coordinate stories. No scandals. No real dating while this is happening."
Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem for you?"
"Not unless you start falling in love with me."
She choked on a laugh. "God, you're so annoying."
"You didn't say no."
She gave him a glare that only made him smile wider. "Rule four: keep your ego in check."
"I'll add it to the contract," he said smoothly. "Speaking of—my family thinks I'm seeing someone."
She blinked. "Already?"
"My mother's efficient. Your mother knows too."
Sophia dropped her head back against the headrest and groaned. "So this is happening?"
"Dinner's set," he confirmed. "Private. Just the families, before anything goes public."
She sighed, still staring at the ceiling. "Why does it feel like this is spiraling faster than I can catch up?"
"Because I plan ahead. And because people like us don't get the luxury of waiting around for timing to be convenient."
That quieted her.
He didn't say it cruelly—just truthfully. And deep down, she knew he was right. She was tired of being picked apart. Tired of pretending she didn't care what people thought. Tired of playing small to make others comfortable.
Maybe it was time to play a different game entirely.
Sophia's voice was soft. "And you'll keep this fake?"
Nate's expression didn't change, but his voice dipped lower. "Unless you change your mind."
She blinked. "You're impossible."
"And you're difficult," he said, pulling to a stop in front of her apartment. "But I like a challenge."
Before she could reply, he leaned over—not close enough to touch, but close enough to lower his voice again. "Seven p.m. sharp. Driver will wait five minutes max. Don't make me come upstairs."
Her brows lifted. "Promise?"
Nate laughed, and damn it, it wasn't fair that even that sound was smooth.
Sophia reached for the door handle, but paused. "For the record—thanks."
He tilted his head. "For what?"
"For making it seem like I matter."
"You do," he said simply. "Even if it's fake, you still matter."
She stepped out of the car without another word.
But as she walked to her building, she felt him watching her. And for the first time in a while, she didn't feel like she was walking away from someone.
She felt like she was walking toward something else entirely.