Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 50: Cracks in the Armor

The loud blare of the alarm sliced through the quiet morning. 4:45 am. On the dot. I reached out to the side, slapping the snooze button without opening my eyes. Just five more minutes of oblivion before the day began. Not that I ever truly slept. More like... lay for a short period of time in short unconsciousness with lingering thoughts of deals, deadlines and now... Isabella.

Once again, the room fell silent, but this time it felt heavy, making the buzzing in my head even worse. Five minutes passed in a blur, the digital clock on the nightstand glowing a relentless red.

The alarm went off again and I was half way into sitting up. Skipping any extra snoozes. That was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Cold air hit my skin as I kicked off the blanket. The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city outside the tall windows. I could still feel the tiredness in me, like a physical weight against my skin. But years of discipline kicked in. There was no time for feeling tired.

I headed to the bathroom, the cool tiles waking me further as I stepped inside. The shower was quick—hot water beating down like a promise to wash off the remnants of yesterday’s chaos. Clean and sharp, I finished and I grabbed one of my sharp office suits, the fabric familiar and comforting. Getting dressed felt like putting on armor.

Downstairs, the house was waking up quietly. As I approached the dining room, the door swung open before I could reach it.

"Good morning, Mr. Walton," Thomas greeted, bowing his head slightly as he held the door wide.

I stepped inside and froze for a moment. Cameron was already there, casually eating a chicken leg like he owned the place.

I walked further into the room, the smell of roasted chicken oddly grounding amidst my usual morning routine. Thomas quietly moved aside, ready to serve.

Cameron grinned, wiping a bit of grease from his chin with a napkin that looked a bit crumpled. "Morning, early bird. Smells good, Thomas. You outdid yourself."

"Thank you, Mr. Cameron." Thomas replied.

I ignored Cameron’s forced cheerfulness and went to my usual seat at the head of the long mahogany table. A single place setting was set out perfectly—silver shining, porcelain spotless. Thomas poured my coffee—black, no sugar, just how I liked it.

My jaw tightened. My carefully constructed morning routine, my fortress of discipline was being casually invaded by this man, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed, not survived a night like mine.

"Cameron," I said, my voice flat. "I thought you went back home last night," I said raising one eyebrow.

"Nope," he replied between chews. "It was late."

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "So, you’re following me to work now?"

"Wouldn’t miss it," Cameron said, stretching his arms with a grin.

I took a slow sip of my coffee and studied him. "Why are you up this early anyway?"

Cameron shot me a pointed look. "Did you forget? You strictly put a rule that no employee should be late to work. I’m just making sure the boss is setting the example."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Right. The rule."

He smirked. "Exactly. Someone’s gotta hold you accountable."

I drained my coffee and stood, buttoning my jacket. "Listen, I’m stopping somewhere before the office."

"Where?" Cameron asked, leaning forward with interest.

"That’s none of your business."

He laughed. "Come on, can I at least take one of your cars? The slick sport one, maybe?"

I shot him a look that could freeze hell over. "hell no. And you’re taking a taxi to the office. I have a meeting."

"A meeting that starts before the workday even begins?" He raised his eyebrows, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "Sounds important. Or... personal?"

I ignored his comment. "Thomas, call a taxi for Cameron. I’ll be in the car."

I turned and headed towards the garage, the sound of my shoes clicking against the marble floor. I could feel Cameron’s eyes on my back, the weight of his curiosity like a physical pressure.

****

The city was just waking up as we glided through the streets. I pulled out my phone and quickly typed:

Find me everything on Sebastian—his company, his family, any skeletons in his closet. I want a full file on my desk by noon.

Sent.

At 9 a.m., we arrived at the office.

I strode through the glass doors and took my place behind my desk, booting up my computer and diving straight into work.

Just before 11, Isabella walked in, professional as ever, holding the file I requested.

"The file on Sebastian, sir," she said, placing it on my desk.

I nodded briefly and glanced up from the laptop just as she placed the folder on my desk. Without a word, I reached for it and started flipping through the pages with focus. Something caught my eye — a detail, a line — enough to make me look at her.

"Good work," I said, but I didn’t look away immediately.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t fidget. Good. I didn’t need someone who crumbled under pressure.

"Would you like me to—"

"Close the door." I cut in.

Her brow rose. "Excuse me?"

I didn’t answer. I was already back to scanning the report because its either she close the door or she wanted someone to overhear what we were about to discuss.

She moved, shutting the door behind her. Then faced me.

"Okay. Door’s closed. What now?"

I looked up. "You’re efficient. You keep your head under pressure. And you don’t ask questions unless you have to."

She snorted, disbelief clear in her voice. "Is this your idea of a compliment?"

I smirked slightly. "It’s my way of recognizing value."

She raised an eyebrow. "Should I get that printed on a mug for you?"

I looked at her then, and for a moment—damn—it hit me. She looked so damn beautiful when she was mad. I didn’t even realize when I started walking toward her. But then something snapped me back to reality.

What the fuck are you doing, Adrien? Don’t forget who she is.

I stopped, forced myself to turn away and headed toward the bar cart instead and poured myself a glass of water.

Calm down, Adrien.

I set the glass down on the bar cart and leaned back against it, crossing my arms. I looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, I struggled to focus. Focus, Adrien. Remember who she is, I told myself silently, but my eyes betrayed me. There was something about the way she held herself, the way she didn’t flinch under my stare that threw me off balance.

"Clear your schedule for tomorrow evening," I managed to say, keeping my voice steady.

She frowned, hesitation flickering across her face. "Okay... Should I know why?"

I paused, letting the silence linger a moment too long.

Then I answered, carefully. "My mother wants to meet you."

She blinked, clearly surprised. "Your what?"

"Mother. As in the woman who gave birth to me."

"She’s having lunch at Bellmare. I’ll take you there directly after our morning meeting," I added, studying her reaction closely.

She frowned. "What am I supposed to wear?"

I sighed, already knowing how this was going to go. "You’ll be leaving with me. No need to change." I repeated, a bit firmer this time "I already said I’m taking you there right after our morning meeting."

She rolled her eyes, and I almost smiled—almost.

Suddenly, I noticed a tiny speck of dust clinging stubbornly to a stray strand of her hair. annoying, maybe. But I couldn’t focus on anything else until it was gone. I found myself stepping forward─closing the gap between us before I even realized it.

Part of me screamed at myself to stop. Focus, Adrien. Don’t get distracted. But something about her made me want to cross that line anyway.

"A speck of dust," I said quietly.

"Can’t have my girlfriend walking around like that," I muttered mostly to myself.

It struck me then─how ridiculous it sounded coming from me. But deep down, I meant it. Not just about the dust, but that I wanted to claim her as mine. Not in some possessive way but in a way that told the world she belonged with me. What the heck is wrong with me?

Her eyes locked onto mine, fierce and daring.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" she chsallenged.

I didn’t hesitate. How could I? "Absolutely." The words were out before I could catch them, and I hated how true they felt.

She rolled her eyes and shot back, "Next time, use a tissue." Then, without missing a beat, she walked out of my office.

I caught myself watching her walk away while being caught somewhere between wanting to pull her closer and knowing better, a smirk threatening to escape from my control. The door clicked softly behind her. Shit. This was really getting out of hand.

I forced myself to turn back to the bar cart and poured another glass of water, trying to shake off the sudden heat rising in my chest.

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