Title: Married by 9, Divorced by 5
Chapter 6: Ex Marks the Plot Twist
(a.k.a. This Wedding Has More Red Flags Than a Formula 1 Race)Let me be clear:
I was not going to snoop.
I am not a snooper.
I am a grown woman with principles and a curated list of feminist podcasts.
But when you get an anonymous email at midnight with a photo of your fake fiancé looking like he’s auditioning for The Notebook 2: This Time It’s Someone Else, you stop being a functioning adult and start spiraling faster than a tumbleweed in a telenovela.
Especially when the photo is timestamped from three weeks ago.
Before the fake engagement.
When Bentley was allegedly too busy running a billion-dollar empire to date.
Wanna know what’s harder than ignoring feelings?
Pretending they never existed in the first place.
Espresso & Emotional Damage
I was in the kitchen slamming coffee like it owed me money when Bentley walked in.
Sleep-rumpled. Barefoot. Wearing a hoodie that said “CEO of Your Heart.”
(Which he definitely bought ironically, but I wasn’t laughing.)
“Morning,” he said, smiling like he hadn’t just emotionally blindsided me in JPEG format.
“Mm,” I replied, sipping my espresso like it was vengeance-flavored.
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” I chirped. “Just thinking about all the exciting new developments in our fake relationship.”
His eyebrows did the slow, confused scrunch.
I almost felt bad.
Almost.
Confrontation, But Make It Civilized
I tossed my tablet onto the marble counter like a mic drop.
“Recognize her?”
Bentley looked. Blinked. Looked again.
“…Is this from that anonymous email you forwarded me?”
“Oh good,” I said. “So you have seen it. Saves me from having to print it on a banner.”
He ran a hand through his sleep-messy hair. “Lila, that’s Hazel.”
“Hazel.” I repeated the name like it was a curse or a cocktail I was allergic to.
“She’s my—was my ex. That photo’s old. I haven’t seen her in months.”
I raised a brow. “The timestamp says three weeks ago.”
He sighed, stepped back. “Then it’s edited. Or staged. Or—hell, maybe she sent it herself.”
“Why would your ex send me a photo of you two playing finger-kissy in broad daylight like it’s Valentine’s Day for emotionally stunted billionaires?”
He looked me in the eye.
And for the first time since this whole fake marriage circus began, his voice cracked just a little.
“Because Hazel never liked losing.”
Trust Issues, But Make It Aesthetic
I paced the living room, barefoot, wrapped in a throw blanket like a dramatic Victorian ghost.
Bentley stood at the window, looking like every sad indie song I’d ever cried to in college.
“I’m not mad that you had a past,” I said finally. “I’m mad that the past is still showing up like an uninvited LinkedIn notification.”
He turned. “You think I’m lying to you?”
I didn’t answer.
Because here’s the thing: I didn’t know.
My heart wanted to believe him.
My brain wanted a subpoena.
“I’m not Hazel’s,” he said quietly. “Not anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“Then prove it,” I said. “Show me who you are now. Not just your curated PR husband act. The real you.”
Silence.
Then, Bentley took a deep breath.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s make a deal.”
The Real Deal
“If we’re doing this wedding, I want it to be real,” Bentley said. “Not legally—just… emotionally.”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means we stop pretending for each other,” he said. “In private, we’re not ‘faking’ anything. We act like we’re really engaged. For a week. No lies. No walls. Full honesty.”
I stared at him.
“You want to emotionally method act a marriage?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I think I’m falling for you, Lila.”
My soul short-circuited.
The air evaporated.
My heartbeat wrote a slam poem and set it on fire.
“…Okay,” I whispered.
Tuesday, Day 1 of ‘Emotionally Real Week’
Status: Mild chaos. Major feelings.
Notable moments:
– He made me breakfast and called me “my girl.”
– I didn’t punch him for it.
– I also didn’t not blush.
– I caught him looking at me like he was trying to memorize me.
This week may destroy me. Or fix everything. TBD.
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