Page 29 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

I waited, measuring every word against his growing desperation. He misread my silence as indecision.

"Did she tell you about our little offer? Guessing you’re not too happy about her playing the field." He was getting cocky again, testing the waters with lies to see if I'd break.

I didn't. Instead, I asked again, "Is this worth the trouble?"

I saw the change then. He wanted to play it cool, but his bravado cracked. "You can’t scare me off. She'll come back once she gets tired of playing house with an ice sculpture like you." He said it like he was sure of it, but the bravado rang hollow.

Ice sculpture. The man couldn’t even must up enough brain cells to come up with a clever insult.

I took another step forward, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Is this worth losing your position and any other comparable positions in this city?"

I knew he didn’t have the spine for a real fight. He wasn’t like me. I was born into war—fought for every inch of my place in the world. This little bastard laughed again, but there was very real fear in his eyes.

My last look at him was cool and final. I walked out without a backward glance. I didn’t need to look to know I’d already won.

When I got back to my office, I let the noise of the city fade away. A clean, sharp focus replaced it. I knew what had to be done. There was only one way to take care of this—no loose ends.

I thought about Claire and how this had all started. Her email, polite but desperate, asking for her old job back working for me. I almost didn’t believe it was really from her. It was onehell of an opportunity. A way to finally have the upper hand at those torturous family dinners and beyond. Claire didn’t know my real reason, or that I’d seen her crush on me when she worked here. She only knew I was her best option. Her last option.

When I proposed the fake marriage, I expected resistance. Shock. Maybe even outrage. Instead, she’d simply listened, her eyes wide and earnest, the kind of sincerity that was almost unnerving. I barely got through the terms before she said yes.

She never questioned why it had to be a wedding, why I needed the pretense of something so serious. But I saw it in her eyes when she signed the contract. She was in trouble. So, I dug deep to find out what motivated her and learned all about her former boss. The medical bills. The debt. I could give her the money she needed. And I did.

As if to convince myself, I remembered Allison, the way she clung to my brother’s arm at dinner. She couldn’t hide the way she looked at Claire. Threatened. Claire was a better pawn than I could’ve hoped. It almost seemed too easy. Her sweetness disarmed everyone. Even me.

The call I’d been expecting finally came through. My assistant's voice was crisp, efficient. She’d never let me down before, and I wasn’t surprised at the report. The ex-boss was breaking under pressure, looking for a way out.

There wouldn’t be one.

I stood by the window, looking out over the skyline, comfortable with the power I'd built. It should have felt like any other strategic victory. I told myself it was about control. Containing loose ends. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was about her.

Claire was getting under my skin in a way I hadn’t anticipated. The way she looked at me, trusting, unknowing, expecting so little and giving so much. There was something intoxicating about it. About her.

I needed to put this behind me. I picked up the phone and made the final call. It didn’t take long. I didn’t even need to use my full arsenal. When I hung up, Claire's ex-boss was finished. Ruined.

This was the kind of victory I should’ve relished. Claire was protected. She’d never have to deal with that man again. No woman working for him ever would again.

But as the decision settled over me, I knew I was lying to myself. This wasn’t just strategy. It wasn’t just control. It was her.

That night, dinner was a study in tension, every fork clink and glass clatter magnified against the silence.

My father’s eyes were on me as he brought up my brother’s wedding, too eager for my reaction. "I think your brother's made a great choice," he said, his gaze probing. I didn't flinch. "I hear it's not official yet," he added. Sweet, oblivious Claire had no idea what was going on. Her presence beside me was a comfort I hadn't expected. I didn’t look at her, but I felt her. I felt everything.

I could also see how my mother shifted, as if she was kicking my father under the table. She had mellowed with age, perhaps worn out from the constant battle of wills.

It took everything I had to keep my expression cold. I refused to give them what they wanted—a crack in mycomposure, an acknowledgment of how deeply the betrayal still cut. I’d put Claire on my arm to show them all how little I cared.

They didn’t know how good she was at playing her part. I didn't even have to ask. She just slid into the role with a genuine sincerity that seemed so natural to her. A perfect fake.

Allison was sitting across the table, leaning into my brother's side with a gleam in her eye, as if loving every second of the tension, just like my father. These people thrived on chaos, while I wanted anything but. I focused on my plate, every bite tasteless, the heat behind my ribs building slow and dangerous. This weekly family ritual was torture. Claire had become the only reason I could stand it.

As if to prove my point, Claire spoke up. "Dinner is lovely. Thank you so much for having us." Her voice was warm, unaffected by the tension.

My mother smiled at her. "We're just glad you could join us."

"You must give me the recipe," Claire said, genuine interest in her tone. She seemed oblivious to the minefield she was sitting in.

My parents liked her. Everyone liked her. And it was driving my brother insane.

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