Page 4 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Fake Girlfriend

As I sat down at my desk and prepared to make a new sketch, I overheard my coworkers gossiping on the other side of the room.

"Did you see the photos of Denver in Monaco? What a disaster."

"I heard the board's furious. We might have a new CEO by the end of the year if he's not careful."

I tried to ignore them, focusing on my sketches, but their words nagged at me. Denver's scandal was all anyone could talk about, and the last thing I wanted was to get involved in his mess. But deep down, I couldn't deny that his proposal had intrigued me. The idea of using him to elevate my career was tempting, but it wasn't without risk. Could I give up my privacy and potentially ruin my reputation by aligning with him?

The day dragged on, and I was just starting to feel like I was getting back into my groove when a courier appeared at my desk, holding a small box. "Package for Sasha Bennett," he said. I signed the delivery confirmation form and he handed the package to me before walking away.

I wasn't expecting anything. Turning the lightweight box in my hands, I frowned. Curious, I opened the box and immediately regretted it. Inside was a single black rose, identical to the ones in my apartment. A folded note was tucked underneath. I opened it to find sharp jagged handwriting in black ink.

"You belong to me."

My heart pounded in my chest. With shaking hands, I shoved the note back into the box and quickly closed it before putting it under my desk. I felt sick to my stomach. There was no way he could have known about all these details unless he was watching me in my apartment. This wasn't just online harassment. I was being stalked.

Paralyzed with fear, I tried to remain calm even though I had no idea what to do. Should I go to security? It didn't take me more than a moment to cancel that idea. It would draw attention to myself and Margot would pounce at any sign of weakness. If word got out about this, the ensuing drama could end my career here at XMGH.

Despite the distraction of the stalker hanging over me like a dark cloud, I powered through the workday.

The words of the note echoed in my mind long after I'd shoved it back into the box. "You belong to me." It felt like a shackle, tightening around my throat every time I tried to breathe. I couldn't stop thinking about the stalker, how he seemed to know every detail of my life. The black rose, the purple hat, how had he seen it? Had he been in my apartment? The idea made my skin crawl.

I stayed late in the office, sketching furiously, trying to distract myself. But no matter how hard I focused, my hand trembled, and the lines on the page came out jagged and uneven. Margot's voice rang in my ears. Her constant criticism, and her dismissive tone looped in my head like an annoying song. "Too experimental," she'd said. "Not what we're looking for." The words had been a knife to my confidence, and now, they twisted deeper.

I thought of the half-finished dress on the mannequin in my apartment, the one covered in black roses. It had felt like a breakthrough when I'd started it, a bold statement that defied XMGH's usual sleek, minimalist aesthetic. But now, it just looked like a mess. Who was I kidding? I wasn't a real designer. I was just an assistant, scraping by on borrowed ideas and half-baked concepts. Maybe Margot was right. Maybe I didn't belong here.

I leaned against the back of my swivel chair and tilted the seat back until I was staring at the ceiling. My mind wandered back to the early days of my career when I'd been so sure of myself. Fresh out of design school, I'd landed an internship at a boutique firm in Paris. I'd been so eager to prove myself, so confident in my vision. But my designs had been rejected, one after another. "Too out there," my supervisor had said. "Not marketable." I'd been crushed, and I'd spent months questioning whether I had any real talent at all.

That same doubt crept in now, gnawing at the edges of my mind. What if I wasn't cut out for this? What if I was just pretending to be something I wasn't? The thought made me feel sick. I'd worked so hard to get here, but what if it was all for nothing?

And then there was Denver. His proposal was tempting. It was a chance to elevate my career, to prove Margot wrong. But it was also a huge risk. Everything about him was unpredictable, from his reputation to the way he seemed to see straight through me. Could I really trust him? Or was I just setting myself up for another failure?

I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

Empty of the usual bustle and chatter, the studio was deathly quiet. The only sounds were the hum of the overhead lights and the scratch of my pencil on paper. My peace was shattered when I heard quiet steps coming down the hallway.

"Sasha?"

I yanked on the handle of my chair and shot upright. It was Ethan Cross, the freelance photographer who often worked with XMGH, standing in the doorway. He was tall and lean, with messy brown hair, and a boyish face that dimpled when he smiled. As always, he had his camera hanging from his neck. His presence was always calming, and he had a way of making the models and everyone on set feel at ease during photoshoots.

"Hey, Ethan," I said, forcing a smile. "What are you still doing here?"

He stepped into the room, his camera beeping softly as he fiddled with the buttons and adjusted the settings. "I was reviewing some shots from today's shoot. Thought I'd stop by and see if you were still here. You're always the last one to leave."

I shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Just trying to get ahead on some designs."

He came over to my desk. His gaze lingered on the sketches scattered across my desk. "These are incredible, Sasha. You have such a unique vision. I don't know why Margot doesn't see it."

His words were kind, but they only made me feel more exposed. I shuffled the papers until my drawings were covered. "Thanks, Ethan. That means a lot."

He leaned against the edge of my desk. "You seem off today. Everything okay?"

I hesitated, unsure how much to share. Ethan had always been friendly, but we weren't exactly close. Still, there was something about his quiet demeanor that made me feel like I could trust him. "Just a rough day," I admitted.

He nodded, his expression sympathetic. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here. You're not alone, Sasha."

"Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it."

He smiled. "Anytime. Well, I'll let you get back to it. Don't stay too late, okay?"

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