Chapter 2 Convenient

Zoya's stomach dropped. He's playing along. Why is he playing along.

Her father studied him for a beat too long. Assessing, recalculating, the exact expression he wore when a deal shifted in an unexpected direction and he was deciding whether the shift favored him. "You're the actor."

"Guilty," Thayer said, easy as anything.

"Zoya's never mentioned you."

"She doesn't like giving me the satisfaction." Thayer glanced at her, something unreadable behind the charm, and Zoya realized with a fresh wave of panic that she was expected to say something back.

"They want me to marry someone else," she said, too quickly, too honest for the room. "I had to say something. Before it was too late." It wasn't a lie, exactly. It just wasn't the answer to the question anyone had actually asked.

"My apologies for the scene," Thayer said smoothly, to her father, to the small cluster of onlookers still pretending not to watch. "And for the photographs. I imagine that wasn't the introduction either of us had in mind tonight."

"It's fine," her father said, in a tone that made it very clear it was not fine. It was simply filed away for later use.

Ilya's eyes moved between his father, his sister, and the stranger who had apparently been dating her without ever coming up in conversation, and landed, flatly, on Zoya. "What is going on?"

Nobody answered. Thayer waited a beat, then turned back to Zoya's father. "Please excuse us." Her father gave a small nod.

Thayer turned back to her, gently taking her hand in his. "Come on."

Before she could ask what he thought he was doing, he started walking, leading her away from the terrace and past Marisol and the reporters.

The reporters continued watching them, their cameras snapping as Thayer held her hand and walked her away from the crowd.

Zoya followed, too stunned to argue. They passed through a narrow hallway behind a bank of curtains, where the noise of the ballroom dropped to almost nothing.

The moment they were alone, he let go of her hand. She was in front of him now, the door still open behind her. He didn't say a word. He simply used his leg to kick it shut. The heavy sound echoed through the room, final and sharp. Neither of them spoke. Her head was down. For a few seconds, the only sound was the muffled hum of the ballroom somewhere beyond the walls. Two people who, a few minutes ago, had not known the other existed, standing in a private room that suddenly felt much smaller than it was. He was the one who broke the silence. "Miss, what was that?" His voice was flat, controlled, giving nothing away except the tightness at his jaw. "I'm sorry, I panicked." Zoya's voice came out steadier than she felt, but her fingers found the edge of her clutch and pressed into it, hard. "My father was seconds from announcing an engagement I never agreed to. I didn't have a plan. You were just-there." "So you used me." "Hmm." She didn't try to soften it. "I did. I know that." Something in his expression shifted at the admission. Not satisfied, exactly, but like he'd expected her to argue and was thrown that she hadn't. "Let me guess." He took a step closer. He was much taller than her, the difference impossible to miss. "Family trouble. Money trouble. Did they decide marrying you off was the easiest solution?" "My family did not go bankrupt." The words came out sharper than the rest, the one place she couldn't quite keep her voice level. "We will never be bankrupt. Not this year. Not in the next hundred years. If you're going to be angry with me, at least be angry about the right thing." His gaze stayed on her. "Or was I simply convenient?"His mouth curved, not quite a smile, more like he was testing how far the words would land. He slipped a hand into his pocket and walked backward, never taking his eyes off her. That was when something shifted in her face. Her chin lifted a fraction. Her eyes narrowed, not with hurt but with something colder, more precise. "I thought you'd have some sense." She said it lightly at first, almost amused, though her arms came up to cross over her chest, mirroring him. "Turns out you're just another arrogant celebrity who thinks the world revolves around him." His eyebrow rose, clearly not expecting that. She stepped closer, meeting his gaze without giving him an inch. "So you can stop making assumptions about people you know nothing about," she said, holding his gaze without blinking. "I made an assumption because you walked up to a complete stranger and announced he was your boyfriend." His voice had lost some of its earlier ice, replaced by something more genuinely frustrated. "I already told you why." "You panicked and needed a boyfriend." His mouth twitched. "What was I supposed to think? A desperate princess in need of a rescue?" Zoya's eyes narrowed. "Desperate princess in need of rescue?" Her voice was almost incredulous. "Seems like you lost something important on your way to becoming famous." His eyebrow lifted. "And what's that?" "Common sense." For a second, he just stared at her and nodded. "Common sense" Then his mouth twitched again, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Is that supposed to make this better?" "It was supposed to make you understand." Her jaw tightened, eyes steady on his. He stared at her for a long moment, something working behind his expression before he let it settle into something flatter. "I understand perfectly." "Good." Her phone buzzed inside her clutch. She almost ignored it. Then it buzzed again, twice in quick succession, and something about the rhythm of it made her stomach drop before she'd even looked. She pulled it out. The screen lit up with a name from an entertainment account she followed out of habit, a photo she recognized instantly because she was standing three feet from the man in it. Her hand on his arm. His face turned toward her. The moment captured. A number underneath was climbing in real time. She turned the screen toward him without a word. His jaw tightened as he read it. "I'm sorry," she said, quiet now. "I didn't think it would move this fast." "You had a sharp mouth on you two minutes ago." He said it flatly, no heat behind it, watching her closely. "And now, suddenly, you're sorry?" She didn't answer. She just held the phone up higher so he could see the screen clearly. He looked at it again. The photo. The headline forming. The share count climbing. "Hmm." "I'm sorry" She watched his face, waiting for something. Anger. A plan. Anything. Instead he just stood there, jaw tight, eyes on the screen. "Stop." His voice dropped low, rough at the edges. "You're making me feel guilty." She blinked. "What?" "You heard me." He finally looked at her, and there was something hard in his expression now, something she hadn't seen before. "You dragged me into this. You used me. And now you're standing here apologizing like I'm supposed to comfort you for it." Zoya opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She had no answer. Because he was right. A few minutes ago she'd been arguing with him like she had all the answers. Now she stood in front of him with an apology and a phone, and neither of them had a plan. She turned away from him, pacing two steps to the left, then back to the right, one hand pressed to her mouth. What have you done She'd grabbed the nearest famous face in the room without letting herself think past the next thirty seconds. She hadn't even let herself register, in the moment, exactly whose arm she was holding. Thayer wasn't just an actor. He was one of the most recognized names in the country, a face that stopped conversations, and she had reached for him the way she might have reached for a stranger's umbrella in the rain. She stopped pacing and made herself look at him. "What do we do?" He was quiet for a moment, jaw working. "We announce a breakup. A week from now. Something clean." "That's-" She shook her head. "That's not clean. That's worse. If we break up that fast, right after this much attention, it becomes its own story. And you have a new drama that's out already. This kind of headline could do real damage to it." He looked at her then, something unreadable crossing his face. "Are you worried about me?" "Of course I am." She said it plainly, no performance in it. "I'm the one who pulled you into this. Whatever happens to you because of tonight is on me." He held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away. "You're worried about my career."