Chapter 3 The Public Eye

By Tuesday morning, Agnes Hart had become a name, a headline, a story.

"CEO James Reed's Mysterious Girlfriend Revealed: Assistant Turned Lover?"

"Office Romance or PR Stunt? Reed's New Flame Raises Eyebrows"

Agnes stared at her phone in disbelief as her fingers scrolled through the news alerts. Her face-captured mid-laugh in a photo from last night's charity gala-was now plastered across multiple gossip blogs and business sites. Another featured James looking at her like she was made of sunlight.

It looked real.

Too real.

The buzz in the office was deafening. Conversations halted when she passed. Some people whispered. Others stared. A few offered fake smiles laced with curiosity and judgment.

Agnes didn't flinch. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

But when she entered the elevator, she caught her reflection in the mirrored doors-flushed cheeks, tense jaw, tired eyes. The face of a woman in control... or at least pretending to be.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was from James.

James: Don't panic. The PR team is handling it.

Agnes: You said two events. You didn't say I'd become an internet conspiracy.

James: We underestimated how photogenic we are together.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the tiniest smile.

Back in the Lion's Den

When Agnes arrived at her desk, a large bouquet of white lilies and pale pink roses was waiting for her-elegant, excessive, expensive.

There was no card.

But everyone knew exactly who they were from.

She stared at the flowers for a long moment. She should have thrown them out. Or at the very least moved them off her desk. But instead, she sat down beside them and booted up her computer.

Let them talk.

Moments later, her desk phone rang.

"Mr. Reed wants to see you," Marla said and hung up without waiting for a reply.

Agnes sighed, stood, and walked to the office with all the energy of someone heading into a negotiation she wasn't sure she could win.

When she stepped inside, James looked up from a document, his expression unreadable.

"You saw the press?" he asked.

"No, I live under a rock," she said dryly. "Of course I saw it. My inbox is filled with questions from old high school friends, cousins I haven't spoken to in years, and my dentist."

James leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "They'll forget in a few days."

"You don't get it, James. You're used to this. I'm not. I didn't sign up to become a meme."

"You did sign a contract."

"Yeah, one that didn't say anything about becoming America's sweetheart assistant turned billionaire's secret fling."

James stood and walked around his desk. He was close now, too close, his voice low.

"If this is too much, we stop."

She blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. We pull the plug. I can handle the fallout. You don't owe me anything."

Agnes stared at him, stunned by the sudden softness in his tone.

And for a moment, she believed him.

But then she remembered the wedding.

Saturday.

Matthew and Olivia.

Perfect, perfect Olivia with her porcelain skin and her passive-aggressive social media posts about "finding real love after heartbreak."

"No," Agnes said firmly. "We see this through."

James watched her carefully. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

He nodded. "Then there's one more thing we have to do."

"What now?" she muttered.

"An interview."

Agnes froze. "With whom?"

"The Insider. They reached out. If we control the narrative, it'll make the wedding easier."

Agnes crossed her arms. "What narrative are we controlling exactly?"

James smiled that slow, dangerous smile. "That we fell in love in secret, couldn't keep it hidden, and now we're finally out."

She let out a short laugh. "That's romantic fiction."

"People want stories. Let's give them one."

Thursday – The Interview

The set was minimalist: soft lighting, plush cream chairs, and a backdrop of tall city windows. James looked annoyingly relaxed in a dark gray suit, while Agnes wore a sleek navy dress that hugged her figure and made her feel more powerful than nervous.

The interviewer was a sharp-eyed woman named Lydia, known for uncovering the truth beneath layers of celebrity polish.

"Agnes," Lydia said with a friendly smile, "this must be a big shift for you-going from assistant to public partner."

Agnes smiled tightly. "It's definitely... unexpected."

"And James," Lydia turned, "why her?"

James didn't hesitate. "She's brilliant. Confident. Grounded. She challenges me in ways no one else does."

Agnes turned to look at him. That wasn't a line. He meant that.

Lydia smiled, eating it up. "So when did things... change?"

Agnes replied automatically, "About three months ago."

James glanced sideways but didn't correct her. Good.

"It started as admiration," Agnes continued smoothly. "Then it became something deeper. Something I didn't see coming."

Lydia's expression softened. "It's rare, you know. A relationship like this in the corporate world-one that seems both real and functional."

James took Agnes's hand.

The touch sent a strange warmth through her chest.

"I've had relationships with models, actresses, even business partners," he said. "But none of them ever saw me. Agnes does."

And for a second, Agnes forgot it was all fake.

Because in that moment, it felt real.

Too real.

After the Cameras

Back in the car, silence stretched between them.

Agnes stared out the window. "You're good at that."

"At what?"

"Selling the lie."

James didn't answer.

The car slowed outside her apartment.

"I meant what I said," he murmured.

Agnes turned. "Which part?"

"That you see me."

She didn't know what to say to that.

So she nodded, opened the door, and stepped out before the moment could become too honest.

But that night, when she lay in bed replaying his words, she didn't feel like a liar.

She felt like a woman standing at the edge of something very, very real.

Friday – Tension Rising

The day before the wedding felt like walking a tightrope over glass.

Agnes was nervous. James was restless. Everything was set for the performance: the dress, the entrance, the hotel suite reserved under both their names.

But something in the air had shifted.

When she stopped by his office to confirm final details, he was staring out the window, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

"You good?" she asked.

He turned, surprised. "Yeah."

"You don't look it."

He gave a half-smile. "Neither do you."

She walked closer, sensing something under the surface.

"You still want to do this?" she asked quietly.

James didn't answer immediately. Then, slowly: "I'm starting to think this was a terrible idea."

Agnes blinked. "You're bailing now?"

"No," he said. "I just didn't expect it to feel this... real."

Her heart stumbled.

"We had rules," she whispered.

"I know."

They stood inches apart.

One more step, one more second, and everything would tip.

But instead, James stepped back.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Let's get this over with."