Chapter 85 – Love Is No Longer Fake
By noon, the world knew her name.
Not Amber Wright, assistant.
Not Amber, quiet girl in the background of corporate meetings.
Not Amber, the woman who kept her head down and survived by staying invisible.
No.
Now—
She was trending.
Every platform.
Every blog.
Every financial news site.
Every gossip page.
#WilsonFiancée
#ContractRomance
#GoldDiggerOrGenuine
Her photo sat beside Alex's like they were some celebrity couple instead of two people who just wanted one quiet night without the world intruding.
Amber stared at the screen too long until the words blurred.
"Stop reading," Alex said gently.
She didn't realize he had come back into the room.
"I'm not," she lied.
"You're doom-scrolling."
"I'm researching public perception."
He gave her a look.
She sighed and dropped the phone on the table.
"Fine. I'm spiraling."
"That's more honest."
She folded her arms.
"This is insane, Alex. I used to worry about catching the bus late. Now strangers are debating whether I seduced you for money."
"They're bored," he said calmly. "People invent stories when they don't have facts."
"Well, the 'facts' include us kissing like idiots outside the building."
He didn't even blink.
"No regrets."
She stared at him.
"None?"
"None."
God.
How did he say things so easily?
Like the world wasn't on fire.
Like love wasn't something fragile.
—
By 2 p.m., Wilson Group's PR team had turned the living room into a war room.
Laptops.
Headsets.
Coffee cups.
Muted television screens running financial news.
Amber stood near the window, feeling like an outsider in her own home.
They weren't talking to her.
They were talking around her.
"…stock dipped three percent at open—"
"…shareholders demanding clarification—"
"…narrative control is critical—"
"…we recommend a soft denial—"
Alex's voice cut through the room like a blade.
"No denial."
Silence.
The head of PR tried carefully. "Sir, if we position this as speculation, we can protect both of you from—"
"No," Alex repeated.
"But sir, reputationally—"
"I'm not protecting myself by throwing her under the bus."
Amber's chest tightened.
They all glanced at her now.
Like she was the risk.
The liability.
The variable that needed management.
She hated that feeling.
Hated it.
She started to step back—
Alex's hand found hers without looking.
Firm.
Anchoring.
Casual.
But deliberate.
A statement.
He didn't hide it.
Didn't drop her hand.
Didn't pretend.
The entire room noticed.
Good.
Let them.
"If there's a statement," he continued, voice cool, "it's the truth."
"And that is?" the PR lead asked carefully.
He didn't hesitate.
"I'm in a relationship with Amber. It's real. It's private. And it doesn't affect my ability to run this company."
Simple.
Clean.
Terrifyingly direct.
No contract.
No arrangement.
No technical wording.
Just—
Real.
Amber's pulse stumbled.
That was the first time he'd said it out loud like that.
Not "agreement."
Not "arrangement."
Not "strategy."
A relationship.
Real.
Her.
—
After the team stepped away to draft the statement, the apartment finally quieted.
Amber exhaled shakily.
"You just detonated the internet," she said.
"Probably."
"You didn't even soften it."
"Why would I?"
"Because rich CEOs usually lie."
"I'm not 'rich CEOs.' I'm me."
She laughed softly.
"Arrogant."
"Accurate."
She nudged him.
Then grew quiet.
"Alex…"
He hummed.
"You know this changes everything, right?"
"Yes."
"There's no going back to fake dating. No more 'just for optics.' No hiding behind the contract."
"Yes."
"No escape clause."
He finally looked at her fully.
"Are you looking for one?"
The question hit harder than she expected.
Was she?
A small, scared part of her whispered yes.
Running was safe.
Feelings weren't.
But the bigger part—
The part that stayed last night.
The part that didn't pull away when he held her.
The part that felt steady when he said I'm not hiding you anymore.
That part was tired of running.
"I don't want to escape," she admitted.
Her voice was quiet.
Honest.
"I'm just scared."
He stepped closer.
"So am I."
She blinked.
"You?"
"I've never done this before."
"Done what?"
He brushed her hair behind her ear.
"Loved someone without a contingency plan."
Her heart stopped.
Then raced.
He said it so simply.
Like it wasn't a bomb.
Loved.
Not like.
Not care about.
Loved.
She swallowed.
"You're really bad at easing people into things, you know."
"I prefer impact."
"Idiot."
"Your idiot."
Her chest felt too small for her heart.
God.
This man.
She should be smarter.
Stronger.
More cautious.
Instead she reached for his shirt and held on like he might disappear.
"I hate that you make this hard," she whispered.
"I thought I made it easy."
"You make me want things."
His voice softened.
"Good."
"That's dangerous."
"Living is dangerous."
She laughed shakily against his chest.
Then—
Quiet.
Just their breathing.
His heartbeat.
Warm.
Real.
Not staged.
Not contractual.
Not pretend.
For the first time since this whole mess started—
It didn't feel like acting.
No cameras.
No board.
No strategy.
Just them.
Choosing.
—
Her phone buzzed again.
She groaned.
"Please don't tell me I'm canceled already."
She glanced down.
Camila.
Camila:
So… are we celebrating or fighting the internet today?
Amber smiled.
She typed back:
Both.
Then she looked up at Alex.
"So what happens now?"
He intertwined their fingers.
"Now?"
"Yeah."
"The world thinks we're fake."
She nodded.
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles slowly.
"Let's disappoint them."
Her stomach flipped.
"And how exactly do we do that?"
His gaze darkened slightly.
"By being real."
Heat crawled up her neck.
Dangerous answer.
Very dangerous.
But for the first time—
She didn't want safety.
She didn't want distance.
She didn't want separate rooms and technical boundaries.
She wanted him.
Fully.
No clauses.
No exits.
No pretending.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Okay what?"
She stepped closer.
Until there was no space left.
"No more fake."
His breath hitched slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
This time when she kissed him—
It wasn't hesitant.
Wasn't accidental.
Wasn't stolen.
It was deliberate.
Chosen.
Her hands in his hair.
His arms around her waist.
Slow.
Deep.
Certain.
Like signing something permanent.
Like burning the contract to ash.
Like stepping into fire and deciding not to run.
Outside—
Cameras flashed again.
The world kept talking.
The company kept spinning.
The headlines kept multiplying.
But inside that apartment—
None of it mattered.
Because the truth was simple now.
Not complicated.
Not strategic.
Not negotiable.
Love wasn't fake anymore.
And that—
Was far more terrifying than any scandal.