Chapter 16 Couple shoot
Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, casting golden stripes across the pristine floors of the penthouse suite. Elena stirred under the luxurious sheets, blinking as the soft hum of the city crept in. Today was the photoshoot. A wave of nerves rolled through her, not because of the flashing cameras—but because everything about this felt so real... and yet so artificial.
She sat up, stretching with a light groan just as Brielle flung the adjoining door open, already dressed in a silky robe with her hair half curled.
“Elena Montclair,” Brielle sang dramatically, waltzing in with a pair of almond croissants in one hand and coffee in the other. “Today is the day you pretend to be madly in love with Jaxon Wentworth in high fashion couture. Eat carbs while you can.”
Elena smirked, accepting the coffee. “I don’t know whether to thank you or fire you as my unofficial manager.”
Brielle plopped beside her. “You can’t fire me. I’m too fabulous.”
They both giggled.
Elena took a sip. “It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve done interviews, walked carpets, even danced at a gala… but something about this shoot makes it all feel more permanent.”
Brielle nodded, her tone softening. “Because it’s photos. Photos last. They’ll be in magazines, blogs, fan edits… even in frames on your future in-laws' walls. It’s not just an event—it’s a statement.”
Elena exhaled slowly. “A very well-lit, heavily-posed lie.”
Brielle grinned, “Then let’s make it a glamorous lie, darling.”
An hour later, the glam team had taken over the suite. Stylists, makeup artists, hairdressers—all bustling with purpose. Elena sat still, eyes closed as mascara was swept across her lashes.
“Jaxon’s already on set,” said one of the stylists, pinning up the final strand of her hair into an elegant twisted bun. “He’s wearing a charcoal Tom Ford tux. You’re going to match perfectly.”
“I’m wearing the ivory Atelier Versace one, right?” Elena asked.
“Yes,” the stylist beamed. “With the crystal-lined bodice and open back. Pure elegance.”
Elena looked at herself in the mirror. With the radiant makeup, the cascading earrings, and the gown that hugged her like a whisper—she looked like someone else. Someone beautiful and confident. Someone in love.
Someone that wasn’t lying.
\---
Meanwhile, at the shoot location...
Jaxon stood near the ivy-covered archway set that mimicked a garden wedding scene. Cameras clicked as assistants fussed with lighting and angles. He adjusted his cufflinks, expression unreadable.
“You look good,” said Damon, stepping in. “Even if this is all smoke and mirrors.”
Jaxon offered a dry smirk. “Good. Mirrors are our brand now.”
Just then, a black SUV pulled up. Elena stepped out, followed by Brielle. Every conversation on set paused. Every head turned. Even the assistant holding a boom light froze.
Elena was breathtaking.
As she approached, the cameras weren’t even rolling yet, but she was already in character. Poised. Calm. Untouchable.
But when their eyes met, there was something behind the performance. A flicker of truth—or perhaps confusion—passing between them.
“Ready to lie to the world?” Elena asked softly, standing before him.
Jaxon tilted his head, smiling with something close to admiration. “With you? Always.”
“Ugh, that’s actually good,” Brielle whispered from behind them. “I need to start writing these down for Instagram captions.”
The director clapped his hands. “Let’s get the couple in! We’ll start with romantic garden shots, then transition to the rooftop for the LA skyline series!”
\---
As they moved into position under the floral arch, Elena stole a glance at Jaxon.
“This dress weighs like twenty pounds,” she whispered.
“You’re carrying it better than most CEOs carry companies,” Jaxon murmured back.
She rolled her eyes, lips twitching. “Compliments won’t save you when I trip and bring us both down.”
He chuckled. “I’d fall with you anytime.”
Their banter was soft, timed between camera flashes and repositioning. But beneath the teasing was something fragile—a tether slowly tightening between them, threading closer with each forced embrace.
As the shoot progressed, Jaxon’s hand found the small of her back more naturally. Her smile toward him grew more relaxed, less choreographed. When she leaned her head slightly into his shoulder for one of the shots, the warmth that spread down his spine wasn’t just from the California sun.
After an hour of poses and perfection, the shoot shifted toward the interview segment—set up beside a floral backdrop with a mic and a small studio crew.
“We’ll do Elena and Jaxon separately first,” the producer announced. “Then we’ll do a couple shot afterward.”
Elena stepped into the frame, facing the camera with practiced grace. The mic was clipped on, and the questions began…
\---
The lights flared softly against the backdrop of blush-toned roses and gold-lettered signage that read The Engagement Series: Jaxon & Elena. Elena sat tall on the cream velvet chair, every inch the poised heiress and fashion icon. Her gown sparkled under the lights, her skin glowing with a mix of nerves and highlighter.
The interviewer, a warm-voiced woman named Marsha, smiled from behind the camera. “Alright, Elena. Let’s start easy. You look absolutely stunning today. How are you feeling?”
Elena gave a demure smile. “Thank you, Marsha. I feel… excited. Maybe a little overwhelmed. But it’s a beautiful day, and we’re celebrating something special.”
“Your engagement to Jaxon Wentworth,” Marsha said with a gleam in her eye. “It’s the headline across every fashion and business page. How does it feel to be at the center of such a high-profile union?”
There it was—the first curveball question. Elena’s smile didn’t falter. She had rehearsed for this.
“I think Jaxon and I have always been in the spotlight separately,” she said smoothly. “But being together… it’s brought a different kind of attention. It’s a lot, but we’re handling it with grace—and a bit of humor.”
Marsha chuckled. “And love?”
Elena’s smile faltered for the briefest second. “Yes,” she said. “And love. We’re figuring out what that means, day by day.”
Marsha leaned in slightly. “You and Jaxon knew each other before the engagement was announced, yes? Can you tell us how you met?”
Elena hesitated, her fingers brushing the silky fabric of her dress. “We met through a mutual business event. Fashion circles are smaller than they seem, and we kept crossing paths. One thing led to another, and… here we are.”
“That sounds like fate,” Marsha offered.
“Or maybe stubbornness,” Elena said with a laugh, “depending on who you ask.”
They both laughed lightly before Marsha gently shifted gears.
“There’s been speculation, of course. People wonder about the timing of the engagement, about your differences. How do you handle the rumors?”
“I try not to take them personally,” Elena said. “People will always have opinions. What matters is what we know about each other—and what we’re building together.”
Marsha nodded thoughtfully, then leaned into the heart of it.
“Do you love him, Elena?”
A pause.
The silence stretched for a moment—long enough to feel heavy but not awkward. Elena met the camera’s gaze with something raw in her expression.
“I’m learning to,” she said softly. “Jaxon isn’t an easy man. And I’m not the easiest woman. But there’s something honest between us. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
Marsha looked impressed but respectful. “That’s a powerful answer.”
Elena nodded. “Love isn’t always fireworks. Sometimes it’s quiet choices. Showing up. Staying when it would be easier to walk away.”
“And what are you most excited for as you step into this new chapter?”
Elena inhaled slowly.
“Peace,” she said finally. “And maybe a little chaos. But the kind you choose.”
\---
Behind the camera, Jaxon watched quietly from the shadows, arms crossed. For a moment, something shifted in his gaze—not pride, not possession, but something closer to admiration. And perhaps… guilt.
He wasn’t sure what he expected Elena to say.
But he hadn’t expected honesty.
The interviewer smiled. “Last question. One the fans have been dying to know. If there was one thing about Jaxon you could change—what would it be?”
Elena laughed, finally relaxing. “Just one? I think I’d give him a little more patience… and maybe a better sense of humor.”
Then she winked at the camera. “But don’t tell him I said that.”
________________________
The set had shifted slightly—deeper tones now, with cooler lighting. The backdrop bore WENTWORTH INDUSTRIES in sleek metallic font behind soft-focus roses and gold trim. Jaxon sat forward in a sharp black suit, no tie, his shirt collar open just enough to seem effortlessly confident. His watch glinted beneath the cuff, and his expression was a perfect balance of calm authority and subtle arrogance.
Marsha, now visibly more formal, greeted him with a practiced smile. “Mr. Wentworth. Thank you for joining us.”
“Call me Jaxon,” he replied with a half-smile. “If we’re going to be talking about love, first names seem appropriate.”
Marsha chuckled. “Fair enough. Let’s start there. The engagement heard around the world—how are you feeling about it?”
Jaxon leaned back slightly, his voice smooth but measured. “Engagements are supposed to be personal, but this one? It’s business, fashion, legacy. It’s everything all at once. So how do I feel?” He paused, then added, “Focused. Protective. Maybe even… a little surprised.”
“Surprised?” Marsha echoed curiously.
Jaxon tilted his head. “Elena Montclair isn’t what I expected. And I rarely get surprised.”
Marsha smiled at that. “Let’s talk about her. How did it happen—between you and Elena?”
Jaxon let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping his knee. “We crossed paths a few times. High-profile events. Complicated circles. I think we both saw through each other quicker than most. No pretenses. No flattery. Just… two strong people in a room.”
Marsha’s eyebrows lifted. “That sounds intense.”
“It was,” he admitted. “Still is.”
She leaned forward, carefully steering the conversation. “You’ve built one of the most formidable fashion-tech empires in the country. What does this engagement mean for your brand?”
Jaxon’s tone shifted, now fully CEO. “It means visibility. Power consolidation. But beyond that—it’s alignment. Elena is a force. She understands image, value, scale. She’s not just a pretty face in a campaign. She’s strategy, walking in heels.”
Marsha looked impressed. “So this isn’t just about love?”
He smirked slightly. “Is anything ever just about love in this industry?”
“Fair enough,” she said again, then—lowering her voice—added, “Let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”
Jaxon’s brow arched slightly, but he didn’t flinch.
“Caleb Donovan,” Marsha said smoothly. “Your long-standing rival. Rumor has it he was also at the Fashion Expo. Tension, competition, sharp elbows. How do you really feel about the man?”
Jaxon’s eyes sharpened. “I don’t feel anything about Caleb Donovan. I think that’s the difference between us. He moves from impulse. I move from precision.”
“Are you saying you weren’t fazed by him winning the Fashion Gala?”
“I’m saying I play long games,” Jaxon replied, his voice steely. “One win doesn’t shake an empire.”
Marsha nodded, clearly satisfied with that answer. Then came the pivot.
“And now, the world sees you not just as a CEO, but as a future husband. Are you ready for that image shift?”
Jaxon paused—longer this time. His eyes drifted off-camera for a heartbeat before settling back on Marsha.
“I’ve always been more comfortable behind the empire than in front of it. But Elena… she pulls me into the light whether I like it or not.”
Marsha leaned in. “So you love her?”
Jaxon’s jaw worked. A flash of something—pain? conflict?—moved through his eyes.
“I respect her,” he said finally. “I admire her. And… I’m learning what love looks like when it isn’t simple.”
A silence settled between them. Then he added quietly:
“I don’t do things halfway. Not in business. Not in relationships. If we’re in this… I’m in it all the way.”
Marsha’s expression softened. “That’s a powerful statement.”
Jaxon gave a small, ironic smile. “It would be more powerful if I hadn’t just dodged your question.”
They both laughed—though Jaxon’s held a shade of gravity beneath.
“Last one,” she said. “What are you most afraid of, moving forward?”
Jaxon’s voice dropped just slightly. “Losing control of the narrative.”
Then, he added under his breath, “And hurting her. Even when I’m trying not to.”
Marsha blinked, visibly moved. But Jaxon was already standing up, the armor sliding back into place with every motion.
The grand ballroom of the Wentworth private estate had been transformed into a fantasy of light, florals, and opulence. Giant floor-to-ceiling windows let in the natural golden glow of afternoon sun, illuminating cascading roses, elegant crystal chandeliers, and a pearlescent white backdrop that screamed luxury. Cameras clicked. Assistants whispered. Stylists darted about with pins and brushes. It was a picture-perfect scene. Almost too perfect.
Elena Montclair stood in the center of it all, wearing a custom-made ivory silk gown that shimmered like moonlight. The dress hugged her body like second skin, with a high slit slicing daringly up one leg and an open back that dipped just low enough to stir the imagination. Her hair was swept into soft waves, her makeup romantic and glowy, her expression poised.
But beneath the surface—she was anything but calm.
Across from her, Jaxon adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit, looking every inch the heir of a dynasty. His navy vest contrasted sharply against the crisp white of his shirt, and the subtle sheen of his suit made his eyes seem colder. Controlled. Measured. He glanced at Elena briefly—and then away again.
“Alright, Mr. Wentworth. Miss Montclair,” the photographer said, her voice light but firm. “Let’s ease into this. We’ll start soft—hand in hand, eyes on each other. Let’s try to get some warmth in the pose.”
Elena stepped forward.
Jaxon’s hand reached out automatically, brushing against hers. For a second, just a heartbeat, the world stilled. They looked at each other—and both smiled.
But it was the kind of smile that looked beautiful in photos and felt like a truce on fire.
Click. Click. Click.
“Beautiful. Now,” the photographer continued, “Jaxon, place your hand around her waist. Elena, rest your hand against his chest. A little closer. Yes, like that.”
Jaxon’s palm touched her waist, and Elena nearly flinched. The gesture was too intimate for comfort, too public to pull away. Her fingers found his chest, just above his heart.
“Now turn your faces just slightly toward each other… yes. Eyes closed—like you’re about to kiss.”
They both hesitated.
The photographer lowered her camera for a moment. “You two are engaged, remember?” she teased. “Let it show. We want romance. Chemistry. That cover-worthy spark.”
Elena let out a small breath, then tilted her chin up, eyes meeting Jaxon’s. “Let’s just… get through this,” she whispered under her breath.
His jaw clenched. “Let’s.”
Click. Click.
“Alright, we’re going for the big one now,” the photographer said. “Final shot of the day. Let’s make it unforgettable. We want the kiss.”
Silence.
Elena’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, we didn’t—”
“We agreed on no kisses,” Jaxon said flatly, his voice calm but cold.
The assistants paused. The camera crew looked up.
The photographer stepped closer, sensing hesitation. “Just one shot. That’s all. It doesn’t have to be full-on. Just… enough to sell the dream.”
The room went quiet.
Jaxon looked at Elena. “It’s your call.”
And somehow, in that moment—with lights glaring, the room waiting, the expectations suffocating—Elena made a decision.
She took a step closer.
One hand cupped the side of his face.
His eyes burned into hers.
And just as she leaned in—her thumb subtly slid between their mouths, angled upward, hidden from the camera’s view. Their lips were a breath apart. Her thumb made contact, pressing lightly against his bottom lip while her own lips brushed the top of her own hand.
To the room, to the camera—it looked perfect.
Passionate.
Sealed.
Click. Click. Click.
But in truth… their lips never touched.
Only the pressure of her thumb.
Only the lie they had mastered.
As the camera crew cheered and declared it a wrap, Elena slowly pulled back—her expression unreadable. Jaxon’s hand was still at her waist. His eyes flickered with something unspoken.
She turned away.
He let go.
And neither of them said a word.