Page 13 of The Fake Affair

I glance through the glass partition at Bella, looking suspiciously innocent as she types. Three crucial meetings, all scheduled for the same time: the AI startup that could elevate Monarch Ventures, the venture capital group backing our latest acquisition, and the board review that can’t be moved.

Something’s different about her today—her usual defiance replaced by… guilt?

By late afternoon, I’ve salvaged two meetings, but the AI startup’s CEO is hard to pin down. When we finally meet, he starts with, “I don’t appreciate having my time wasted, Mr. Fraser.”

An hour later, he walks out. No deal. Just the echo of “We’ll go with your competitors” ringing in my ears.

The office is nearly empty when I emerge from the conference room. But Bella’s still at her desk, shoulders tense as she pretends to work.

“You. Office. Now.”

The words land clean and cold, like a blade laid flat against skin. I don’t wait for her reaction. I turn and walk, the sharp slap of my shoes against polished floors the only sound between us. The kind that dares silence to speak first.

She doesn’t say a word, but I know she’s there. I can feel her behind me, feel the heat of her anger, the weight of everything unsaid clinging to the space between our bodies. It rolls off her in waves, hot and close, like the sting of steam when a door finally swings open.

At the office door, I pause just long enough for her to follow me in. The door shuts with a soft click, too soft, the kind of quiet that draws attention to itself. The sound folds around us like the walls are listening, like the room knows what's coming.

She opens her mouth to speak.

“Logan, I?—”

I shake my head furiously. “Don’t.” I stop her. I stay on my feet, pacing once before facing her again. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? That startup was worth billions. Billions that could have established Monarch Ventures as more than just another investment firm.”

“I know, and I’m?—”

The laugh that escapes my throat is dry and humorless. I lean against the edge of my desk, crossing my arms as I look at her like I’m seeing her for the first time.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t undo a week of you deliberately trying to ruin everything I’ve built. Tell me, was it worth it? Destroying my company because you couldn’t control your personal vendetta?”

She takes a step forward, her eyes narrowing, lips parting with a sharp inhale. Her hands clench at her sides.

“Personal vendetta?” she repeats, disbelief coloring her voice. “As if this is about the company. This is about your ego, Logan. About the fact that, for once, something wasn’t going according to your perfect, tightly controlled world. That someone had the nerve to challenge the great Logan Fraser.”

I don’t look away. Not when her voice rises, not when the fire in her builds until it’s threatening to match mine. I let the silence stretch a breath longer than comfortable.

“You don’t know, do you?”

Her brows knit together, her lips pulling into a frown.

“Know what?”

“That Monarch Ventures is the most important company I own because I built it in honor of our mother.”

She stares at me, lips parted like she’s still catching up to the words. There’s a flash in her eyes—shock first, then something sharper. Hurt, maybe. Or disbelief. It tightens the muscles in her jaw, pulls at the corners of her mouth like she’s fighting the urge to speak but doesn’t trust herself not to break.

The silence claws at me. Too loud. Too raw. I drag a hand down my face, slow and tight-fisted, as if that alone might keep the words in check. But it doesn’t work. The frustration is already curling hot beneath my skin, hollowing out the space where patience used to live.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I say as I push off the desk, my body a little too fast, a little too full of everything I’ve tried not to say. “Especially not to someone who runs from anything that scares her.”

The second it’s out, I see the way it lands. Her eyes flare, sharp and wounded, like I’ve cut deeper than either of us expected. She doesn’t move, but the change is there—in the stillness, in the way her breath draws shallow, in the wall that slams up behind her gaze before she even knows it’s there.

She closes the distance between us in two slow steps, not backing down, her voice trembling with the force of how hard she’s trying not to yell.

“I am genuinely sorry about my actions this week. I really am. But don’t you dare stand there and act like you don’t push people away before they have the chance to leave.”

I can feel her breath on my chest now. She’s close. Her eyes glint, angry and hurt and far too beautiful for my own good.

“And for the record? I didn’t run that morning. I believed what you made me believe. That I was disposable. Just another night.”

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