Chapter 2: Faking It Till I Make It

Rex's POV

Those stormy gray-green eyes were shooting daggers at me, and damn if they weren't the sexiest thing I'd laid eyes on all week. I'd figured my nephew's fiancée would show up begging, maybe spinning some tearjerker story to weasel her way in. But no—here she was, mad as hell and looking downright adorable in her fury. The poor girl had no clue who her real fiancé even was.

I couldn't help smirking.

"Hey! I said I want to break off this engagement!" She slammed her palm on my desk again, snapping me out of my daze.

But those eyes... they stirred something deep. Three days back, Drake—that entitled little punk—had barged into my office with his usual bullshit attitude.

"Uncle Rex, Dad's forcing this stupid arranged marriage on me. Some hick from the sticks. You know I can't tie the knot with trash like that. Do me a favor—handle it. Toss some cash her way and make her vanish."

The cocky bastard actually thought I'd mop up his mess. And now, here I was, staring down his so-called "trash."

What a goddamn joke.

"I'm Drake Sterling," I said smoothly, extending my hand with my best charming smile. "I sincerely apologize for how you've been treated."

Her eyes went wide, then narrowed to slits of pure rage. "I don't give a damn what kind of Sterling you are! I want nothing to do with your screwed-up family!"

Jesus, she had fire.

But then I spotted it—purple bruises blooming on her cheekbone, and a fresh cut near her temple. Someone had roughed her up, and not long ago. My blood boiled.

"Jesus," I muttered, stepping closer before I could think twice. "Who the hell did this to you?"

She jerked back like I'd scorched her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Hold still." My voice came out gruffer than I meant. I hated seeing her like this. "Let me check it out."

"Don't you dare—"

"We'll talk engagement later," I cut in, already grabbing the first aid kit from my office cabinet. "Right now, I'm worried about these injuries."

She stared at me like I'd sprouted horns. Fair enough—she probably expected some heartless suit, not a guy who actually gave a damn.

What the hell's wrong with me? I thought, wetting a clean cloth. She's just another headache to fix.

But watching her flinch as I gently wiped the cut, the way she bit her lip to stifle a whimper... it woke something fierce and protective in my chest.

"This might sting," I warned, dabbing on the antiseptic.

She sucked in a sharp breath but held steady. "Your psycho staff at the family estate did this. Bunch of thugs, especially that bitch Lily. She's got major anger issues."

I bit back a chuckle. Even beat up and fuming, she wasn't backing down. Most folks quaked at the Sterling name, but not her.

"Lily's always been territorial," I said, smoothing on a bandage. "Doesn't play nice with outsiders."

"Well, she can kiss my ass. I'm not some punching bag for your deranged crew."

Now I laughed—a real, gut-deep one, not the fake corporate bullshit I usually pulled. "Point taken. But breaking off the engagement isn't that simple. We need to hash out terms."

Her jaw dropped. "Terms? Are you shitting me right now?"

"Dead serious, sweetheart." The pet name slipped out unbidden. "But first, you need a real meal and some shut-eye. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

Before she could argue, I snagged my keys and jacket. "C'mon. I know a spot."

---

Twenty minutes later, we rolled through the gates of Pemberley Estate—my private escape from the Sterling family circus.

"This is your place?" she asked, eyeing the Georgian architecture with genuine awe.

"My personal sanctuary. Way more civilized than the family madhouse." I helped her out of the car, noticing how she took my hand without hesitation. "Quieter, too."

I'd called ahead, so dinner was waiting in the cozy dining room—nothing over-the-top, just solid food and warm lighting. She settled into her chair like she owned the place, and damn if that didn't hit me right in the gut.

"You're not what I expected," I admitted, pouring us both some wine.

"Yeah? What'd you figure?" She dove into the salmon, totally at ease in the fancy setup.

"Someone more... intimidated, I guess."

She snorted. "By what? Your cash? Your swanky house?" She waved her fork around. "Look, I drove all the way here to meet my so-called fiancé, got the crap beaten out of me by your goons, and now I'm supposed to swoon over thread counts and wine pairings?"

"Most people do."

"Most people are morons." She took another bite, then met my gaze head-on. "This is killer, by the way. Your chef's got skills."

I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. She was so damn real, so unfiltered. When was the last time anyone talked to me like I was just a regular guy?

"You're loving this," she said, arching an eyebrow.

"Maybe a little."

"Good. 'Cause I haven't eaten right in two days, and after the crap I've been through, I'm gonna eat you out of house and home."

God, I hope so, my brain fired back, and I mentally kicked myself for where my thoughts were headed.

After dinner, I walked her to the best guest suite—the one with garden views and a bathroom bigger than most apartments.

"I had some clothes sent up in your size," I said, nodding at the packages on the bed. "Basics, but clean. Bathroom's through there, and..." I trailed off, feeling like an awkward idiot.

She studied me with those piercing eyes. "Why are you being so nice?"

Because you're amazing, and I'm already half-gone for you, my mind whispered. What I said was, "Because you deserve better than the raw deal you've gotten so far."

Her expression softened—surprise, maybe a flicker of vulnerability. "I... thanks."

"If you need anything tonight, I'm right next door," I said, backing toward the exit before I did something dumb like pull her close. "Just knock."

As I shut the door, Drake's voice echoed in my head: Just throw some cash at her and make her disappear.

Like hell.

This woman—strong, gorgeous, and unafraid to call it like she sees it—deserved way more than my spineless nephew. She deserved someone who'd protect her, treasure her, fight tooth and nail for her.

Someone like me.

She thought I was her fiancé? Fine. I'd be the best damn one she'd ever dreamed of.

Drake could rot.