Married by 9, Divorced by 5
Chapter 7: The Ex Has Entered the Chat
(aka I Came Here to Fake-Marriage and Drink Matcha, But Now There’s an Ex in My Living Room)You know when the air changes?
Like how dogs sense earthquakes or how I sense overpriced oat milk?
Yeah.
That’s what it felt like when she walked in.
I was mid-bite into my taco (soft shell, extra guac, zero drama) when the elevator dinged. A breeze of expensive perfume and soul-crushing tension floated in, and then—
Hazel.
Tall. Blonde. Designer heels clicking like they were filing a lawsuit against my dignity.
“Hi, Benny,” she said sweetly, as if she hadn’t just materialized in our home uninvited like the villain in a YA enemies-to-lovers subplot.
Benny?
I choked on guac.
Tuesday, 7:05 p.m. | The Most Uncomfortable 2 Minutes of My Life
Hazel gave me the once-over. The kind you’d give someone who accidentally sat in your assigned seat on a private jet.
“Oh,” she said lightly. “This must be her.”
I resisted the urge to throw my taco like a ninja star.
“Yes,” Bentley said, stepping protectively closer to me. “Hazel, this is Lila. My fiancée.”
She blinked.
Laughed.
“Oh, Ben. Still a fantastic liar.”
Bentley’s jaw tightened. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”
Hazel tilted her head and looked at me like I was a scratch on her Birkin bag.
“Then I guess congratulations are in order… for winning.”
I stood up. Slowly. Taco forgotten. Dignity armed.
“Hazel,” I said, “I don’t need to win someone who already chose me. But if you came here to fight, I’ll need to change shoes.”
She smirked.
Bentley’s eyes were on me like I’d just drop-kicked the moon in heels.
Hazel finally left. But not before she handed Bentley a monogrammed envelope.
When I raised an eyebrow, he said, “Invitation to her engagement party.”
I blinked.
“You’re invited… to her engagement party?”
He snorted. “Not anymore.”
I crossed my arms. “Are you seriously over her?”
He looked at me, full stop. No hesitation.
“I wasn’t in love with her. I was in love with the idea of not being alone.”
Silence.
That’s when I realized: Hazel wasn’t the ghost. Loneliness was.
And somehow… I was the only person he’d let haunt him.
Tuesday, 11:47 p.m. | Real Talk, Real Close
We ended up on the balcony. Rooftop view. City lights. My cardigan wrapped around me like armor. Him, barefoot and quiet beside me.
“I know I joke a lot,” I said. “But this thing… it’s messing with me.”
Bentley turned to face me. “You mean the fake marriage?”
I nodded. “It’s starting to feel real. And I don’t know if I’m ready to be the girl who falls for her boss in a five-million-dollar penthouse while pretending not to feel anything.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then—
“Can I kiss you?”
No drama.
No smugness.
Just soft, vulnerable sincerity.
I didn’t answer.
I just leaned in.
And kissed him like it wasn’t fake.
Like I wasn’t scared.
Like he wasn’t the billionaire I was supposed to outwit and outlast.
It wasn’t a fireworks kiss.
It was a slow, universe-pausing, oh-no-I-might-love-you kiss.
His hands in my hair. Mine on his collar.
The kind of kiss that says “I see you,” not just “I want you.”
When we pulled apart, his forehead rested on mine.
“I meant it,” he whispered. “I’m falling for you, Lila.”
I swallowed.
“I think I’m already there.”
And just like that...
The fake became something terrifyingly real.
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