Fake Dating The Billionaire Boss

Sadie’s POV The hospital always smelled the same — antiseptic sharp with faint traces of lemons, like someone had tried to make it smell hopeful and failed. I hated it. Not because of the smell, but because every time I walked through those glass doors, I was reminded that I couldn’t afford to be here. That my life was measured in bills I couldn’t pay and decisions I didn’t want to make. Maya’s room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. She looked small, smaller than she should, tucked under thin white sheets, hair a messy halo around her pale face. Only sixteen, and already a lifetime of hospital visits behind her. Too young for words like chronic or specialist or experimental treatment. I pulled up a chair beside her bed and took her hand. Her skin felt cool against mine. “Hey, trouble,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “You’re supposed to be getting better, remember?” Her eyelids fluttered, and a tired grin tugged at her lips. “I’m trying. Maybe if you didn’t work so much, you could bring me something decent to eat.” I laughed softly, but my chest tightened. “Not everyone gets five-star meals like the hospital cafeteria.” She rolled her eyes, as only a teenage sister could. But the laugh died too quickly, and I saw it again — that flicker of pain she tried so hard to hide. I brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “I’ll be back tonight. Promise.” Her hand squeezed mine, small but strong. “I know you will.” When I left the hospital an hour later, the late autumn air bit through my coat, making me shiver. I hugged it tighter and checked my phone — three missed calls from work. Of course. Liam Blackwell didn’t tolerate lateness. Or excuses. Or human emotions, really. By the time I reached the glass tower of Blackwell Industries, my heels were soaked, my hair a frizzed halo, and my pulse still racing from worry and cold. “Morning, Sadie,” Evelyn, the receptionist, murmured. Her sympathy was faint but there, mixed with a hint of good luck surviving today. I nodded and rushed toward the executive floor, balancing a stack of files and the latte I’d picked up as a peace offering. When I stepped into Liam Blackwell’s office, he didn’t look up. Not even when I cleared my throat. “Eight forty-seven,” he said, his voice smooth and clipped. “You were due at eight thirty.” I froze for a fraction of a second. Then: “I— I know. I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwell. My sister—” “I don’t pay you to make excuses,” he interrupted, finally lifting his dark eyes to meet mine. Sharp, penetrating, like he could see right through me. “I pay you to manage my schedule. Which, as of this morning, is already off by ten minutes.” I swallowed hard. His presence was imposing, every inch the CEO everyone whispered about — tall, impeccably dressed, commanding. Even now, leaning back in his leather chair, he radiated control. I felt exposed, small, and yet… strangely electric. “It won’t happen again,” I managed. He raised a brow, faint amusement tugging at his lips, though his eyes didn’t soften. “It won’t.” I set the coffee on his desk, my fingers trembling slightly. “Your calendar’s updated. The meeting with Whitestone Capital is at ten. Your flight to Chicago’s been confirmed for tomorrow.” He regarded me for a long moment, leaning back, as if weighing something. Then, a flicker of curiosity passed over his expression. “Good. Close the door on your way out.” I nodded, forcing myself to breathe once the door clicked shut behind me. I needed this job. Desperately. The salary barely covered rent and hospital bills, but the benefits were the only reason Maya still had access to treatment. If I lost it… I didn’t want to think about what would happen. I walked down the hall, trying to shake off the tension that seemed to cling to me. But the truth was, Liam Blackwell lingered in my mind like an uninvited thought that refused to leave. Cold, impossible, maddeningly perfect. A man who didn’t know what it meant to need anyone — yet somehow, my pulse betrayed me every time our eyes met. The rest of the morning was a blur of meetings, phone calls, and scheduling chaos. I barely had time to breathe before Greg, one of Liam’s senior advisors, pulled me aside. “Sadie,” he said in a low voice, glancing around. “Can you make sure Mr. Blackwell’s notes are ready for the Whitestone call? And double-check the slides for the board meeting tomorrow?” I nodded, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “Of course.” Even as I worked, I couldn’t ignore it: Liam’s office door was always slightly open, just enough to catch snippets of him talking, giving orders, the occasional low chuckle that only he seemed capable of producing. There was power in him, raw and magnetic, and even though I hated it, it was… distracting. By lunchtime, my stomach ached from stress and worry. I grabbed a sandwich from the café downstairs, trying not to think about Maya. But even as I took bites, my mind was back in that hospital room, imagining her small, fragile body beneath the thin blankets. I glanced at my phone, considering a call to check on her, but I froze when I saw a message from Liam’s assistant: Mr. Blackwell would like to see you in his office. Now. The text was simple. Cold. Demanding. I straightened, my hands slightly shaking, and headed back up. Each step felt heavier than the last, the tension in my chest twisting tighter. When I entered his office, he was standing near the window, hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the city skyline. His expression was unreadable, but I could feel it — the intensity in the air. “Sit,” he said without turning. I obeyed, the leather chair cold beneath me. “Sadie,” he began, finally facing me, “I need you to understand something. I don’t tolerate mistakes. I don’t tolerate excuses. And I certainly don’t tolerate weakness.” My stomach knotted. “I understand.” “Good,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze lingered on me, scanning, assessing. “But I notice things. I notice when people are struggling. I notice when they push themselves too far. And I notice when someone has a life that matters outside this building.” I swallowed, heart hammering. He was too close. Too sharp. Too… aware. “You’re good at this job,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly. “And I don’t miss that you care about someone. That your sister… depends on you.” My pulse spiked. “I—thank you, Mr. Blackwell. I try.” He gave a brief, sharp nod. “Good. Keep trying. Don’t let anyone else notice the cracks, though. Especially me.” Something in that tone made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t expect — a mix of warning and… something else I couldn’t name yet. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, but the effect lingered. Every glance from him felt charged, every word measured. Even the way he moved around his office, precise and unyielding, made the tension between us pulse like electricity. By the time I left, the sun was dipping below the horizon. My heels clicked against the lobby floor, echoing in the empty spaces. Outside, the city lights began to shimmer, reflections dancing in puddles left from the earlier rain. I thought of Maya, alone in her hospital room, probably asleep. I thought of the bills, the endless worry, the weight of responsibility pressing on me like a physical thing. And I thought of Liam Blackwell, and the impossible, undeniable spark I could not ignore. Because I had a feeling — a dangerous, thrilling feeling — that he had noticed it too.