Chapter 2 THE VELVET NOOSE
POV SYLVIE
My dorm room smells like failure and cheap laundry detergent.
I was currently staring at a coffee stain on my only "professional" dress, wondering if I could cover it with a brooch or if I should just set the whole building on fire and walk away. It was 7:45 PM. Nathaniel was supposed to pick me up at 8:00 for the "Grandfather Inquisition," and I was currently having an existential crisis over a piece of polyester.
Thump.
That was the sound of my roommate, Chloe, dropping a stack of textbooks on her desk. She’d been staring at me for twenty minutes like I was a rare species of zoo animal that had just grown a second head.
"So," Chloe started, popping a piece of gum. "The rumors. Are we talking about them, or are we just pretending you aren't suddenly the main character of a Wattpad story?"
"It’s not a story, Chloe. It’s a business transaction," I muttered, scrubbing at the stain with a damp cloth. "A very gross, very public business transaction."
"Girl, you’re engaged to Nathaniel Cavill. His family owns the library. They own the gym. They probably own the air we’re breathing right now. If that’s a business transaction, I’d like to file for bankruptcy and join you."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. How do you explain to your best friend that you’ve sold your soul to a man who once told you that your thesis on economic disparity was 'cute'? You don't. You just put on the dress, ignore the fact that your heart is trying to vibrate out of your chest, and pray you don't vomit on his expensive shoes.
At exactly 8:00 PM, my phone buzzed.
Nathaniel: I'm outside. Don’t be late. My grandfather hates tardiness almost as much as he hates poor people.
I rolled my eyes so hard I actually got a headache. "He’s here," I told Chloe.
"Go get 'em, tiger. Or fiancé. Or whatever he is."
I walked down the stairs of the dorm, my heels clicking against the linoleum like a death march. When I pushed open the glass doors, I saw the car. It wasn't just a car; it was a black, sleek monster that looked like it belonged in a Batman movie. And leaning against it, looking entirely too comfortable in a tuxedo, was Nathaniel.
The streetlights hit the planes of his face, making him look like a marble statue. An arrogant, annoying marble statue.
"You’re two minutes late," he said, checking his watch. Then his eyes traveled down my body, lingering on the dress. "And you have a smudge on your hip."
"It’s a coffee stain, Nathaniel. It represents my personality: caffeinated and tired of your bullshit."
He didn't laugh. He just opened the door for me. "Get in the car, Sylvie. We have a script to stick to."
The interior of the car smelled like leather and power. I sat as far away from him as possible, pressing my shoulder against the window. We drove through the city in silence, the neon lights of Astoria blurring past us. I kept checking my reflection in the window, making sure my hair wasn't doing its usual "mad scientist" routine.
"Listen to me," Nathaniel said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "My grandfather, Arthur, is going to grill you. He’ll ask about your family, your goals, and why on earth a girl like you would want to marry a 'disappointment' like me. Tell him the truth about your grades, but lie about the rest. Tell him you saw the 'real me' behind the headlines."
"The 'real you'?" I snorted. "Does that person even exist, or is it just more expensive wool all the way down?"
Nathaniel turned to look at me, and for a second, the mask slipped. He looked tired. Not sleepy tired, but soul tired. "Just play the part, Sylvie. If he believes us, your scholarship is reinstated by midnight. If he doesn't... well, I hope you like the tire shop."
The Cavill estate was a fortress of limestone and ivy. As we walked toward the massive front doors, Nathaniel reached out and grabbed my hand.
I flinched. His skin was warm, his grip firm. "What are you doing?"
"We’re supposed to be in love, remember?" he whispered, pulling me closer until our shoulders touched. "Try to look less like you’re being led to the guillotine and more like you’ve actually seen a man naked before."
"I have seen a man naked," I hissed. "Just not one that costs a billion dollars."
"Good. Keep that energy. It makes your cheeks look flush."
The dining room was large enough to house a family of four. Arthur Cavill sat at the head of the table, looking like a king from a Shakespeare play. He was old, with white hair and eyes that were even colder than Nathaniel’s.
"So," Arthur said, not even waiting for us to sit down. "This is the girl who’s supposed to fix my grandson."
"I'm Sylvie Belrose, sir," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "And I don't fix people. I’m a student, not a mechanic."
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. Nathaniel squeezed my hand—a warning or a compliment, I couldn't tell.
The dinner was a nightmare of silver forks and complicated sauces. Every time I took a bite, Arthur asked a question. Where did my father work? (He’s gone). What was my plan after law school? (To not be poor). Why Nathaniel?
I looked at Nathaniel. He was watching me, his grey eyes intense, waiting for me to trip up.
"Why Nathaniel?" I repeated, looking back at Arthur. "Because he’s the most frustrating, arrogant, and difficult person I’ve ever met. Most people look at him and see the money or the name. I look at him and see a challenge. And I’ve never failed a challenge in my life."
It was half-truth, half-garbage. Perfect for a Cavill.
Arthur stared at me for a long beat, then let out a dry, rattling laugh. "She’s got a spine, Nathaniel. I’ll give her that. Most of the girls you bring home have the personality of a wet paper towel."
"She’s unique," Nathaniel said, and the way he said it—low, almost a growl—made the hair on my arms stand up. He looked at me then, and for a split second, I forgot we were lying.
After dinner, we were ushered out to the garden for "fresh air." The moment the doors closed behind us, I dropped his hand like it was a hot coal.
"I need a drink," I gasped, leaning against a stone fountain. "That was the most stressful two hours of my life. Your grandfather is terrifying."
"He liked you," Nathaniel said, leaning back against the fountain next to me. "Which is a miracle. He usually smells fear on people."
"I was too busy being annoyed to be afraid."
Nathaniel looked at me, his gaze moving from my eyes to my lips. The garden was quiet, the only sound the trickling of the water behind us. The air was cool, but the space between us felt like it was burning.
"You were good in there, Sylvie. Really good."
"Don't sound so surprised. I told you I was a good actress."
"Was it all acting?" he asked, stepping a fraction closer.
My heart did a clumsy somersault. "Every word."
He didn't move away. Instead, he reached up, his thumb brushing a stray hair away from my face. His touch was light, but it felt like an electric shock. "We have to do a tour of the campus tomorrow. Together. Hand in hand. Everyone will be watching."
"I know."
"And the hotel next week for the conference... one bed, Sylvie. My grandfather is sending a 'chaperone' to make sure we aren't faking it."
I froze. "One bed? You didn't mention a chaperone."
"I didn't think he’d be that paranoid," Nathaniel muttered, his hand dropping from my face. "But here we are. You and me. Six months in a cage."
"At least it’s a golden cage," I said, trying to regain my sarcasm. "I just hope you don't snore."
Nathaniel smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You’ll find out soon enough, fiancée."
As he led me back to the car, I realized that the twelve dollars in my bank account wasn't my biggest problem anymore. My biggest problem was the man walking beside me, and the fact that for a second in that garden, I didn't want to pull my hand away.