Chapter 14 Bye! Red carpets
The golden light of morning filtered softly through the sheer curtains of the hotel suite, casting warm glows across the cream-colored walls. Elena stood by the window, already dressed in soft beige travel slacks, a white sleeveless blouse, and oversized sunglasses pushed into her hair. Her suitcase sat zipped and upright by the door.
She sighed quietly, arms folded as she looked out over the sprawling cityscape below — the echoes of the Fashion Expo still swirling in her mind like a passing storm. Red carpets, flashing lights, champagne toasts, whispered conversations, tense glances, lingering touches — it had been a whirlwind. And now it was over.
A soft knock at her door broke her from thought.
She turned just as Jaxon pushed the door open, a light smirk on his face, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He wore a plain black shirt that hugged his frame, charcoal joggers, and that usual unbothered confidence like it was stitched into his skin.
"Packed already?" he asked casually.
Elena raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking. "Unlike some people, I don’t enjoy last-minute panic."
Jaxon chuckled and stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him. “Guilty,” he muttered. “I’ve been trying to cram two days’ worth of stuff into one bag. I’m failing, by the way.”
Elena shook her head with an amused sigh and leaned against the edge of the bed. “Hard to believe it’s over,” she said after a beat. “The Expo, the parties, the chaos... I expected more drama, honestly.”
Jaxon shrugged as he set his bag down beside her suitcase. “Well, considering we had an accidental runway showdown and an auction face-off, I’d say we handled it all like pros.”
She smiled faintly. “Still... it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. For a moment, I forgot we were pretending.”
He glanced over at her, the teasing edge of his smile fading just slightly.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Same here.”
There was a pause. A beat of silence where neither of them moved. Then Elena exhaled, brushing a hand through her hair as if to scatter away whatever tension hung in the air.
“But now we’re heading back,” she said. “Back to our lives. Back to press statements and scripted hand-holds. Back to pretending.”
Jaxon looked like he might say something else, but at that moment, a soft knock came from the hallway before the door opened again. Damon, Jaxon’s efficient and ever-stoic personal assistant, stepped in. He gave a polite nod to Elena before lifting Jaxon’s bag effortlessly.
“Car’s downstairs, sir. We’re ready whenever you are.”
“Thanks,” Jaxon replied, then turned back to Elena. “Actually, I was going to offer you and Brielle a ride. It’s a long flight — we might as well pretend to like each other one more time.”
Elena tilted her head. “Thanks, but I think we’re fine. I already booked a car—”
“Come on,” Jaxon interrupted gently, “we’ve just spent a week dancing around the media. If we leave separately, the buzz starts all over again. ‘Elena and Jaxon: Trouble in Paradise?’”
She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes playfully. “You’ve been spending too much time with your PR team.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m right. This thing only works if people believe it, remember?”
She let out a reluctant sigh and looked away for a moment. “Fine. But only because I don't want another headline making it seem like I walked out on you.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said with a grin.
“I’ll go get Brielle,” she added, already reaching for her phone. “But you owe me coffee on that flight.”
“You got it.”
And just like that, the illusion slid back into place — polished, composed, unbreakable from the outside. But underneath, neither of them could ignore the quiet echo of something real, something unspoken, that lingered between the lines of their pretend story.
Elena knocked on Brielle’s suite door and waited, the soft click of heels echoing in the hallway. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Brielle in a cropped gray hoodie and matching sweats, her dark curls piled into a high bun and a sheet mask still clinging to her face.
“You’re kidding me,” she said, raising a brow, arms crossed. “Elena Montclair, if you tell me we have to take pictures before boarding—”
Elena burst into a laugh. “No, no, relax. You’re safe from glam squads — for now.”
Brielle grinned, stepping aside to let her in. “Then why do you look like you’ve just been proposed to and regret saying yes?”
Elena flopped onto the couch with a groan. “Because Jaxon offered us a ride to the airport.”
Brielle peeled off the mask and raised both eyebrows. “And you said yes?”
“Well... yeah,” Elena muttered, sinking deeper into the cushions. “He made a valid point. If we leave separately, the gossip starts again. It’s better to leave together — less suspicion, fewer headlines.”
Brielle stared at her for a moment, then dropped onto the couch beside her with a soft thud. “Girl, when this fake relationship finally ends, I’m throwing you the biggest breakup party of the decade.”
Elena let out a laugh, covering her face. “It’s not like I had a choice. The man has a point.”
“Mhm,” Brielle said, leaning back. “But let’s be honest — was the Expo that bad?”
“No,” Elena said after a pause. “Honestly... it was a lot more fun than I expected. The dresses, the events, the interviews, the—well, maybe not all the interviews. But it felt real sometimes, and that scared me.”
Brielle’s voice softened. “Real like... the feelings?”
Elena blinked at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just know that pretending shouldn't feel this natural.”
There was a small silence, filled only by the gentle hum of the air conditioner.
Brielle reached out and squeezed her hand. “Then maybe it’s not all pretend.”
Elena turned her head to look at her best friend, but before she could reply, her phone buzzed.
A text from Jaxon.
\[Jaxon\]: The car’s ready downstairs. Damon says we leave in 10. You and B ready?
Elena sighed. “Time to go.”
Brielle stood and stretched. “Guess I’ll get my fashionable behind out of these sweatpants then.”
“Yeah, please,” Elena teased. “You can’t show up in the same outfit you cry over breakups in.”
“Oh, says the woman who wore a trench coat to avoid paparazzi at Starbucks.”
They laughed, and the tension lifted just a bit.
Whatever waited for them in Los Angeles, they weren’t returning the same. Too much had happened. Too much had changed — even if none of it could be spoken aloud just yet.
The airport gleamed with quiet luxury, reserved for the ultra-elite. Sleek glass walls and polished marble floors reflected the early afternoon sun. Elena walked beside Brielle, wheeling her Louis Vuitton suitcase, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes. Behind them, Jaxon and Damon trailed silently, deep in quiet conversation.
As they approached the private terminal's boarding checkpoint, a sharp voice cut through the calm.
“Well, well. Thought I’d just miss you all.”
Elena turned instinctively.
There she was — Maya Linford. All heels, designer trench, and venom beneath glossed lips. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that practically screamed “I’m still in control,” and her eyes were locked on Jaxon.
Jaxon’s jaw visibly tightened. “Maya.”
Maya sauntered forward, ignoring Elena and Brielle as though they were personal assistants or extras in her movie. “You weren’t going to say goodbye? Or at least pretend you didn’t spend the night thinking about me?”
Brielle made a small scoffing sound under her breath.
“Maya, this isn’t the time,” Jaxon said flatly, already annoyed. “We’re boarding.”
“Then it is the perfect time,” she snapped, her eyes flashing as she stepped closer to him — too close. “You think you can just waltz off with her”—she flicked her head toward Elena—“and keep pretending this engagement is some Cinderella fairy tale? Come on, Jaxon. I know you better than that.”
Elena's hand clenched around her bag handle. “Excuse me?”
Maya finally turned to her, feigning innocence. “Oh, I forgot. You’re the fiancée, right? The one with the press deals and a smile plastered on every magazine cover.”
Brielle stepped forward, her expression cold. “Back off. You’ve said enough.”
Maya scoffed. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not here to fight over table scraps.”
Jaxon raised his voice slightly. “Maya, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Maya’s laugh was bitter, small. “You think I care? I built your image with you. I was your future. And now you’re throwing it all away for a showmance?”
Elena stared at her, face hardening. “Look, I don’t know what history you and Jaxon had, and honestly, I don’t care. But don’t stand here trying to stake a claim on something that’s over.”
Maya blinked. “You think you’ve won something? You don’t even love him.”
Elena smirked slightly. “Exactly. Which makes it worse that you’re still this desperate.”
Jaxon stepped between them, voice low but firm. “Maya, go. Now.”
Maya glanced at him, something hurt flickering in her gaze—but she covered it quickly. “Fine. But when the press sees us both land in L.A., you better have a damn good story, Jaxon. Or your fairy tale might turn into a scandal.”
She turned and strutted away, heels echoing off the marble, every step a statement.
There was a pause.
Brielle broke the silence with a deadpan mutter. “I’ve met Bond villains with better exits.”
Jaxon ran a hand down his face. “I’ll talk to PR.”
Elena shook her head, her voice cool. “You should talk to yourself. Because the next time Maya pulls that stunt, don’t expect me to stand there and play your silent bride.”
He looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. “Noted.”
They walked toward the boarding gate, silence settling between them like fog.
But in Elena’s head, one thing rang clear: this fake relationship was starting to feel a lot more real — and not in any of the right ways.
The jet’s interior was sleek and luxuriously understated—white leather seats, polished gold accents, and the faint scent of expensive cologne hanging in the air. The cabin crew gave a courteous nod as the passengers boarded, guiding them toward their personalized seating.
Elena moved ahead with quiet grace, scanning for an empty seat. She reached for the one closest to the window on the left, but a familiar voice called from behind her.
“You might want to sit here instead,” Jaxon said.
He was already settled in, his jacket off, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. He patted the leather seat beside him, eyes briefly meeting hers—an unspoken offer. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t warm either. Just... neutral. Professional. Like he was doing it for the sake of appearances.
Elena gave a small nod and stepped toward him.
But just as she was about to sit—
“Oh no, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll keep Jaxon company,” Maya's voice rang out.
Before Elena could process it, Maya practically dived into the seat beside Jaxon with a catlike grin, smoothing her dress over her thighs like she belonged there.
Brielle, a few steps behind Elena, stopped and blinked. “Wow. Olympic-level speed.”
Elena froze, the tension wrapping around her like invisible steel. “That seat was offered to me,” she said coolly.
Maya smiled without looking at her. “Was it? He didn’t exactly say your name. Maybe he meant me.”
“Maya—” Jaxon began, clearly irritated.
But Elena raised a hand. “You know what? It’s fine.”
“Elena—” Jaxon tried again, shifting slightly as if he was about to stand up and fix it.
“No, really.” She flashed a tight smile. “Wouldn’t want to break up whatever this is.”
She turned smoothly and walked back toward Brielle, who was already glaring daggers at Maya. Brielle slipped her arm through Elena’s and led her to the pair of seats in the rear of the cabin.
As they both sat down, Brielle muttered under her breath, “Next time, let me push her off the damn chair.”
Elena exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it.”
“But it is infuriating,” Brielle hissed, pulling a face. “She’s acting like this is some Netflix reality show. ‘The Ex-Fiancée Strikes Back.’”
Elena looked down at her hands, fingers tightening. She didn’t want to admit it, but it did bother her. Not because she cared who sat next to Jaxon... but because Maya had done it so boldly, so publicly. As if trying to send a message.
Elena glanced toward the front of the plane where Maya now sat beside Jaxon, laughing at something he didn’t even seem to respond to.
She turned back toward Brielle. “Let’s just get through this flight.”
Brielle offered her a smile. “And maybe land without any hair-pulling incidents.”
“Hopefully,” Elena muttered.
But in her chest, something prickled—annoyance? Jealousy? Disgust?
She wasn't quite sure.
The Los Angeles sun was just beginning to descend into a golden afternoon haze when the jet’s wheels screeched gently against the tarmac. The descent had been smooth, but the air in the cabin was anything but.
Elena leaned back in her seat beside Brielle, sunglasses already perched on her face. Her jaw was set. A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes, not from exhaustion—but from the thought of what lay just beyond the private terminal doors: flashing cameras, pointed microphones, and headlines just waiting to be crafted.
Jaxon hadn’t looked back once since they touched down.
He sat stiffly in the front row, next to Maya, who had been disturbingly radiant the entire flight—as if she was basking in the chaos she’d just brewed. Her laughter, her strategic touches, her sideways glances at Elena had all been perfectly calculated.
But Elena had said nothing.
Until now.
As the pilot gave the final announcement, Brielle leaned in. “Ready to fake a smile for the next twenty minutes?”
Elena sighed and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and a wave of California heat spilled inside. Outside, a line of sleek black cars waited just beyond the private terminal… and so did a crowd of paparazzi and media personnel, their cameras flashing to life like strobe lights in a club.
The group descended from the jet, one by one.
Jaxon stepped out first, perfectly poised, with Maya trailing behind him like an overdressed shadow. Elena and Brielle followed moments later—Brielle in sleek leather pants and dark shades, Elena in an elegant ivory blazer set that screamed “power” but whispered “don’t ask me stupid questions.”
And of course, the questions came.
“Jaxon! Why didn’t you and Elena sit together?”
“Maya, are you back together with Jaxon? Were you invited?”
“Elena, was that a tense moment between you and Maya before the flight?”
“Are you and Jaxon having problems already?”
Elena and Jaxon exchanged the briefest of glances before instinct took over. It was like flipping a switch.
Jaxon stepped beside Elena, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back—not intimate, just enough for the cameras. He spoke first, voice smooth like velvet and just loud enough to be heard.
“We had a beautiful time at the Fashion Expo. I offered Elena the seat next to me, but she chose to relax with her friend. Nothing more.”
Elena picked up the baton without missing a beat. “And Maya was on board because she’s been a part of Jaxon’s past. She came to wish us well and be present for the engagement party. There’s no drama.”
The word engagement echoed over the murmuring press crowd like a thrown stone into water. Elena saw several phones raise a little higher. This was the headline. This was the story.
Someone shouted, “So you’re still going ahead with the wedding?”
Jaxon smiled, cool and measured. “We never stopped.”
Maya, still behind them, smiled sweetly—just on the edge of bitter. “I’m happy for them,” she called out, as if it was some kind of parting gift.
Elena nearly rolled her eyes.
The flash of the cameras only grew more intense as Brielle stepped beside her and looped an arm through hers protectively. “Can someone please tell them we’re not shooting a reality show?”
A soft chuckle rippled through the crowd, disarming some of the tension.
Damon arrived on cue, stepping between them and the reporters. “That’s all for now. We’ll issue a formal statement through PR. Thank you.”
As they made their way toward the car, Elena held her breath until they slipped inside the black SUV. The doors shut with a satisfying thunk.
Silence filled the space between her and Jaxon.
Finally, she muttered, “Well… that was fun.”
He leaned his head back against the seat. “Welcome back to L.A.”
Outside the window, the paparazzi lights slowly faded as the car pulled away from the chaos.
Whatever happened in Paris stayed in Paris.
Now, it was time to return to the lie.