Chapter 11
Since that unexpected dinner, Scott and I had started talking more often. It was supposed to be for the sake of appearances, of course–press releases, company talks, photos for the family archives–but we ended up becoming… friends.
Surprisingly good friends.
4
He was easy to talk to, easy to laugh with. And unlike most men I knew, he didn’t try to fix me. He didn’t flinch when I mentioned my past or avoid the cracks in my smile. Instead, he filled the quiet moments with humor, talked about everything from politics to desserts, and asked questions like he actually cared.
One rainy afternoon, while we sat under the covered patio of a coffee shop, he said something that made me almost spit out my drink.
“You know,” Scott said, stirring his espresso, “this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Paris,” he said simply, looking at me with that twinkle in his eye.
I stared at him. “Paris? Wait… when?”
He grinned, leaning back in his seat. “About four years ago. You were in that little university library near the Seine. You always sat at the far table, the one next to the window. With stacks of fashion books and your sketchpad.”
I narrowed my eyes, searching his face, trying to find a hint of recognition in my memory. “No. I… I don’t remember.”
He laughed softly. “You wouldn’t. I was the nerdy guy in the hoodie, always buried behind architecture books. I never had the courage to talk to you–except once, when you dropped your pencil and I handed it back.”
A flicker of something sparked in the back of my mind. That day… that quiet guy with the soft smile who didn’t even look up when he passed me the pencil.
I gasped. “Wait. You’re that guy?”
“Guilty,” he said with a mock bow.
I laughed, a sound I hadn’t heard from myself in such a pure, unguarded form in a long time. “That is so weird. I remember thinking, ‘He’s cute but probably already married to his thesis.”
Scott smirked. “I was. And now I’m married to you, technically.”
I shook my head, amused. “Well, this is definitely a plot twist.”
He chuckled. “Life has a twisted sense of humor.”
Then his tone grew softer. “Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“What happened? With… Johansen?”
I hesitated. The name still felt like a bruise. But I didn’t shy away. Not anymore.
“He lied to me,” I said simply. “For years. Made me believe I was the only one. Made me feel like love was supposed to hurt. I thought I was healing with him… but he was just poisoning me
My Husband Faked Our Marriage
1/3
43 15
3:58 pm M
slower.”
Scott didn’t respond with pity. Just quiet understanding. And sometimes, that’s all you really need.
“And you?” I asked, needing to steer away from the past. “Why are you single, Mr. I’ve–seen–you–in–Paris?”
He shrugged. “Relationships were never really my thing. I was always too focused on building my company, then this family arrangement came in… and I figured, why not?”
“And you’re fine with it?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
Scott tilted his head thoughtfully. “At first, yes. It made sense. No strings, no drama. But now…” He glanced at me, his smile more gentle this time. “Now I think maybe the strings aren’t so bad.”
I looked away, suddenly aware of the way my heart skipped a beat.
No.
I couldn’t let that happen.
We had a deal. No falling in love. That wasn’t just a condition–it was my protection.
So for the next few days, I threw myself back into work. The boutique opening was close, the designs were final, and preparations for the fashion show launch were in full swing. I met with investors, styled models, and adjusted hemlines and necklines with a kind of feverish precision.
If I kept busy enough, maybe I’d forget the way Scott’s smile made my chest flutter. Maybe I’d forget the butterflies when our fingers brushed accidentally or the warmth I felt when he said my name like it meant something.
You’re not allowed to feel this way, I reminded myself every time.
One afternoon, I was sketching by the window of my new studio–sunlight pouring in, fabric samples spread across my table–when my assistant rushed in, phone in hand.
“Ma’am,” she said, her voice excited. “You should see this.”
She handed me her phone. The news app was open, and the headline flashed across the screen in bold red: Johansen Enterprises Faces Major Financial Crisis–Key Investors Back Out Amid
Controversy.
I read it twice. Slowly.
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
So… the investors had started pulling out. The story about the fake marriage had started circling. My mother’s reach was long, and her influence–especially in boardrooms–was legendary.
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled.
It was working.
Slowly, but surely… he was crumbling.
Just as he had done to me.
And for the first time in a long, long while, I felt something dangerously close to satisfaction.
No more begging. No more second chances.
213
44 4
3:58 pm M MM
This time, I held the cards.
And Johansen… he was finally losing everything he thought he owned.
Just as I had lost everything that once belonged to me.
I turned back to my sketches, the sunlight warmer now than it had ever been.
Because this time, my future belonged only to me.
