Mr. Caldera's Fake Girlfriend

SERA VOSS

The rooftop bar buzzes with energy, the music thrumming in sync with the city's pulse. Manhattan's skyline stretches in every direction, glittering against the night like an indifferent audience to my unraveling. I sip my too-sweet cocktail, the tang of lime not enough to mask the burn of tequila-or the sting of reality.

Violet leans into my space, her blonde hair a soft halo in the low light, her hazel eyes sharp with mischief. "You look like you're plotting something devious."

"Not devious," I say, swirling my straw. "Just desperate."

Her laugh is quick, easy, drawing the attention of nearby strangers like moths to a flame. "Come on, Sera, loosen up. One night of fun won't kill you."

"I am fun," I protest weakly, but the words feel hollow. My inbox, full of rejections, feels heavier than ever. The realization of not being enough-or not being noticed-clings to me like a second skin.

"Sure you are," Violet teases, arching a brow. "Let's test that theory."

"Test?"

She sips her champagne, her lips curling in a wicked smile. "Let's make a bet."

I narrow my eyes. "What kind of bet?"

"The kind where you stop wallowing and actually live a little." She smirks, leaning closer. "The next guy who approaches you? You have to make out with him."

I nearly choke on my drink. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Come on, Sera. What's the worst that could happen? He's probably a finance bro. You'll survive."

I shake my head, laughing despite myself. "Violet, no. Absolutely not."

"Yes," she counters, her grin widening. "I dare you. Unless you're scared?"

My pride flares at the challenge, and I set my glass down with deliberate precision. "Fine," I snap. "But if he's a troll, I'm holding you responsible."

"Deal." She raises her flute in triumph, her eyes scanning the room like a predator hunting prey.

And that's when the universe decides to play its cruelest trick.

He walks in, commanding attention like the air itself bends to him. Lucian Caldera. The name doesn't register at first; it's his presence that hits like a freight train. Tall, devastatingly polished, and exuding a quiet authority that makes the room feel smaller. His dark suit fits like a second skin, and his chiseled features look more like a sculpture than a face.

Violet's gasp is sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh my God," she hisses, grabbing my arm. "It's him."

"Who?" I ask, already regretting agreeing to this.

"Lucian Caldera," she whispers urgently. "Billionaire. Tech genius. Tabloid gold. Also, notoriously unavailable. And he's... coming this way."

"What?" I freeze, my pulse kicking into overdrive. "No, he's not."

But he is.

Each step he takes is calculated, deliberate, and before I can figure out an escape plan, he's standing in front of me. His gaze is dark, assessing, and far too intense. I expect him to look through me, but instead, he looks at me like he's already figured me out.

"You're in my spot," he says, the words low and smooth, the kind that could make anything sound like a command.

My heart slams against my ribs, but I don't let it show. "Didn't realize the bar had assigned seating."

His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite. "I'll let it slide this time."

"How generous," I reply, lifting my glass as if to toast him. "So, what brings Manhattan's most eligible bachelor to a rooftop bar? Slumming it for the evening?"

"Depends," he says, his tone dipping into something more dangerous. "What brings you here?"

Violet clears her throat loudly beside me, but I ignore her, refusing to break eye contact. "A bet," I say boldly, feeling reckless. "Apparently, I'm supposed to kiss the next man who talks to me. Congratulations, you're the lucky winner."

His brow arches slightly, the only sign of surprise he allows. "A bet?"

"Don't worry," I say quickly, smirking. "You're free to decline."

But instead of brushing me off, he leans closer, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. "And if I accept?"

"Then I guess I'm buying my friend another round," I quip, my voice steadier than I feel.

The tension between us is a live wire, crackling in the charged air. Violet is practically vibrating with excitement, her whispered encouragement drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears.

Lucian's smirk tilts into something sharper, almost dangerous. "How about we make it more interesting?"

"More interesting?" I echo, my curiosity piqued despite myself.

"A game," he says, straightening. "Truth or dare."

I blink, caught off guard. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," he replies, his tone impossibly smooth. "Unless you're the one who's scared."

The challenge in his voice is unmistakable, and my pride surges again, reckless and stupid. "Fine," I say, leaning back against the bar. "You're on."

The game starts small, the dares innocuous, the truths just shy of vulnerability. But with every round, the tension ratchets higher.

"Truth," he says, swirling his whiskey.

"Have you ever wanted something you knew you shouldn't?" I ask, the question laced with double meaning.

His gaze flicks to mine, sharp and deliberate. "Yes," he says simply, and the weight of the admission sits heavy in the air.

"Dare," I say quickly, desperate to shift the balance.

"Ask me to kiss you," he counters, his voice a low rumble.

My breath catches, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. The space between us shrinks, the world fading until it's just him and me.

I swallow hard, my heart racing. "Do you want to kiss me?"

Lucian Caldera, impossibly close, leans against the bar like he owns not just the room but the world. His presence is magnetic, suffocating, and when he glances at me, the weight of his gaze-no, his attention-burns hotter than anything I've felt in years.

"You didn't answer the question," I challenge, "Do you want to kiss me?"

The corner of his mouth tilts up, an almost-smile that's more weapon than expression. His eyes linger on mine, unhurried. It's as if he's testing me, waiting to see if I'll blink first.

"I think you've had enough of an audience tonight," he says smoothly, meant only for me to hear. "People are watching."

The words hit like a splash of cold water, jerking me out of my reckless haze. For the first time, I notice the subtle shift in the room's energy, the stolen glances, the whispers circulating like invisible threads binding us in place. Violet's expression seals the deal-her wide eyes and slack jaw are the picture of absolute shock.

"Watching?" I echo, half incredulous. "You're kidding, right?"

His brows lift slightly, a flicker of amusement breaking his otherwise stoic mask. "You're not exactly inconspicuous. And neither am I."

Violet, still frozen, finally manages to find her voice-or at least a strangled whisper. "Oh my God, Sera. He's taking you seriously."

"Wasn't that the point?" I say, a little too loud, as if trying to convince both of us.

Lucian tilts his head, his focus unwavering, unshakable. "If you're going to follow through on that dare," he says, his voice dropping into something almost sinful, "it won't be here. Not with an audience."

Heat rises to my face, and for a second, I forget how to form coherent words. "What are you suggesting, then?"

"I have a penthouse," he replies, so casual it's infuriating. "It's a short ride from here. No audience. No interruptions."

I blink, his words tumbling into the space between us with enough weight to drown out everything else.

"Your... penthouse," I repeat, disbelief coloring every syllable.

He nods, as if discussing nothing more significant than the weather. "Unless you'd rather keep playing games in public."

Violet grabs my arm, her nails digging in like talons. "Sera," she hisses, her voice just shy of panic. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Not even a little," I whisper back.

Lucian watches the exchange with mild interest, waiting. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, and somehow that makes him even more dangerous.

"Well?" he asks, his eyes holding mine like a dare.

Violet looks at me like I've lost my mind, which, let's face it, I probably have. This isn't the plan. This isn't anything close to a plan.

And yet, I find myself nodding.

"Lead the way."