The Lie We Loved

After the meeting, they returned to the private lounge, and Brielle finally exhaled.

Grayson poured her another coffee. "You handled that well."

"She tried to gut me with a smile."

"She does that."

Brielle leaned against the window, letting the morning sun warm her face. "You ever get tired of performing for everyone?"

"All the time," he said. "But the performance is the only reason the doors stay open."

She looked at him, scanning the sharp lines of his face. Strong jaw, intense eyes, expression carefully unreadable. He was maddeningly handsome. Dangerous in the way storms were—beautiful from a distance, terrifying up close.

"What about when you're not performing?" she asked.

He glanced over. "I don't know what that feels like anymore."

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. A message from Jade.

"Emergency caffeine. And you owe me a strategy meeting. 10 minutes. Café Sage."

Brielle smiled, sliding her phone into her pocket.

"Don't suppose you're free for a detour?" she asked Grayson.

He raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

"A café. Mine, kind of. Well—my second home."

Grayson studied her like she'd said something unexpectedly revealing. "You have a second home?"

"Only when I'm not being devoured by headlines," she said with a tired grin.

Ten minutes later, the SUV pulled up in front of a narrow brick-front café nestled between two bookstores on a quiet side street. A hanging sign above the door read: Café Sage in elegant hand-painted lettering, surrounded by vines. It smelled of roasted beans and warm pastries even from the sidewalk.

"This is it?" Grayson asked as she led the way to the door.

"This is my happy place," Brielle said. "No press. No headlines. Just caffeine and comfort."

He followed her in, the bell above the door chiming softly. The space was warm and lived-in—exposed brick walls, dark wood shelves lined with plants and poetry books. Music played low from hidden speakers. The baristas barely glanced up. A regular.

A woman with a power bun and an apron emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a towel.

"There you are," Jade said, looking past Brielle—then pausing when her eyes locked on the man behind her.

"Oh," she said, voice immediately suspicious. "You brought him."

Brielle smiled. "Play nice."

Grayson extended a hand. "Grayson Westbrook."

Jade didn't take it right away. She looked him up and down, then slowly accepted the handshake like she was testing his temperature.

"You drink coffee," she said flatly.

"I own a media empire. What do you think I run on?"

She didn't laugh. "This is my café. Welcome. But don't get comfortable."

"Understood."

Brielle hid a smile. "Grayson, meet the woman who's been defending my name like a gladiator. Jade, meet the man whose last name I now pretend to carry."

Jade raised an eyebrow. "Pretend for now."

"Exactly."

Grayson gave a rare, amused glance to Brielle. "You didn't tell me your best friend was this... aggressive."

"She's fiercely loyal," Brielle said, sitting at their usual booth in the back. "And she makes the best coffee in L.A."

Jade brought them two mugs a minute later—no menus, no questions. "Flat white for you. Dark roast, no sugar for him."

Grayson tilted his head. "How did you—?"

"I read people," Jade replied. "And I Googled you."

For the next half hour, they talked through damage control, press pacing, and upcoming appearances. Grayson mostly listened while Jade sketched out a content strategy on a napkin and Brielle chimed in with edits and suggestions.

But every so often, Grayson's gaze would wander to Brielle—not critically, not professionally.

Curious.

Like he was watching something he hadn't expected to like.

When Jade excused herself to check on an order, Grayson leaned back, swirling what was left of his coffee.

"She's impressive," he said.

"She's the best," Brielle replied without hesitation. "Smart. Tough. Saved me more times than I can count."

He nodded slowly. "You're different here."

"Different how?"

"Lighter."

She looked out the café window. "That's the version of me I used to be—before the headlines. Before Nathan. Before all of this."

"And now?"

She smiled faintly. "Now I'm trying to remember how to be her again."

Grayson didn't say anything, but she felt the weight of his attention. Not heavy. Not judging. Just... steady.

When Jade returned, they wrapped up the meeting with a few more jokes, some eye rolls, and two extra cookies for the road.

Next day by the time the morning headlines dropped, everything would change again.

Brielle never thought her face would end up on the cover of Style & Society, but there she was.

Front and center.

Dressed in that midnight-blue gown from the gala, one of Grayson's hands on her waist, her lips frozen mid-laugh, head tilted toward him like they were sharing a secret. The caption read:

"The Billionaire's Bride? Inside Grayson Westbrook's Surprising Engagement to Controversial PR Maven Brielle Carter."

She blinked at the glossy cover on Jade's counter.

"It's a good photo," Jade offered, sipping her latte.

"I look like I'm seconds away from making out with him."

"Which is the point. Sexy sells."

"I didn't even know they were taking this."

"They always are," Jade said. "Welcome to the world of curated affection."

Brielle rubbed at her temple. The café was quiet that morning, and despite being her usual place of calm, today it buzzed with tension. Or maybe that was just her nerves.

Her phone buzzed. Grayson.

Grayson:

Page 18. Read it. I'll pick you up at noon.

She flipped open the magazine and turned to the interview spread. It was styled like a fairy tale—photos of them laughing at the gala, smiling beside a floral arrangement, even one of them seated close at a table, candles flickering between them.

And the interview?

Scripted to the last word.

When asked how they met, Grayson had answered: "We met at a winter charity fundraiser last year. She asked a question no one else dared to, and I never forgot her."

When asked what drew him to her: "She challenges me. Reminds me not to take myself too seriously. And she's brilliant."

Brielle's lines were similar. Warm. Charming. Carefully planted. All approved in advance, of course—but seeing it in glossy print made it feel dangerously real.

Jade glanced at her. "Still breathing?"

"Barely."

"You're playing in his world now," Jade said. "That means sometimes you have to smile while being dissected."

"I'm used to being torn apart. It's the smiling part I need practice with."

Jade's gaze softened. "You're doing better than you think."

By noon, Brielle waited on the curb outside Café Sage when a sleek black Aston Martin pulled up.

Not the SUV.

She blinked. He'd brought the real toy today.

The passenger door opened and Grayson leaned across, sunglasses in place, jaw sharp and shadowed in stubble.

"Get in," he said.

"Do I even want to know where we're going?"

"You'll love it," he said.

"That sounds suspiciously like a trap."

He smirked. "Only if you resist."

Fifteen minutes later, they were flying down the Pacific Coast Highway, the city shrinking behind them as the ocean spread out in glittering blues and silvers. Wind tangled Brielle's ponytail as she stared at the water.

"You look like you needed air," Grayson said, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easily on the gearshift.

"I did. So… what is this? A kidnapping? Am I being lured to a private island?"

"No island. Just a very public estate."

She turned to him. "What?"

"The Westbrook Foundation is hosting a weekend retreat. Media partners, investors, board members, some influencers. Very clean. Very visible."

"Let me guess," she said. "And your lovely fiancée is expected to smile for photos, sip wine, and pretend this is normal."

He threw her a sideways glance. "You're catching on."

She exhaled. "Is Sutton going to be there?"

Grayson's jaw tensed almost imperceptibly.

"She RSVP'd this morning."

Of course she did.

"You okay with that?" he asked.

Brielle paused. "I don't know. Depends. Are we performing the happy couple or giving her something to actually worry about?"

His lips curved. "I like the second option better."

They arrived at a sprawling modern estate in the Malibu hills—stone terraces, glass walls, infinity pools that kissed the cliffside. Staff in black polos greeted them with practiced smiles.

The second Brielle stepped out of the car, phones were raised, photos snapped, and whispers rippled through the crowd.

Her heart thudded like a war drum, but Grayson stepped beside her, sliding a hand onto the small of her back.

"Breathe," he murmured. "You're the most interesting person in the room. Act like it."

So she did.

They mingled. They laughed. They posed.