Chapter 7 Seven
Antonia Adams stood at the gates of Kennedy Walton’s house and wondered—for the hundredth time—what madness had possessed her to agree to this.
The property stretched before her like something out of a glossy magazine: tall iron gates, manicured hedges, and a sleek modern structure rising behind it all—glass, stone, and quiet power. It didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a fortress.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and smoothed her dress again, though it didn’t need it. She had chosen it carefully—soft blue, elegant without trying too hard. The kind of dress that whispered respectable, not desperate. Still, her palms were damp with nerves.
Before she could talk herself out of it, the gates opened.
Kennedy Walton’s car rolled in moments later, stopping just beside her. He stepped out—and then froze.
Antonia felt it instantly.
His stare.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t polite. It was raw, unguarded, and intense enough that she shifted on her feet uncomfortably.
Kennedy blinked once, then twice, as though forcing himself back into reality. He lifted a hand and lightly smacked his forehead.
“Get it together,” he muttered under his breath.
She raised a brow. “Rough day?”
“You look…” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “Different.”
Beautiful, his mind supplied.
Too beautiful.
Dangerously so, that he was beginning to doubt if this was a good idea.
He opened the door for her and cleared his throat. “Come in. I’m running late. I have to pick up my mother from the airport.”
Her heart jumped. This is really happening.
Inside, the house was just as intimidating as the outside—minimalist furniture, muted colors, expensive silence. It smelled faintly of wood polish and something masculine she couldn’t place.
Kennedy walked to the console table and picked something up.
“This,” he said, holding out a small red velvet box, “is important.”
Antonia’s breath caught as she opened it.
A ring.
Simple, elegant, unmistakably expensive. A diamond caught the light and scattered it across the room.
Her fingers trembled as she slid it on.
It fit perfectly.
Something twisted painfully in her chest.
“Listen,” Kennedy said briskly, as though afraid to linger too long on the sight of it on her hand. “There’s been a change to the plan.”
She looked up. “Change?”
“Yes.” He straightened his jacket. “I need you to make yourself… dislikeable.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“My mother must disapprove of you,” he continued calmly. “If she believes you’re wrong for me, she’ll back off on this whole marriage thing. At least for a while.”
Antonia stared at him, stunned.
“You want me to sabotage this?”
“Exactly.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. “Mr Walton....I mean Kennedy, I don’t have a rude or mean bone in my body.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said dryly.
She gaped. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
She let out a short laugh. “You could have mentioned this earlier.”
“I thought it would be easier if you didn’t overthink it.”
“Oh, I’m definitely overthinking it now.”
He checked his watch. “I’ll be back in two hours. Make yourself comfortable. Try not to break anything.”
Then he paused, his gaze dropping briefly—to the ring.
Something unreadable crossed his face. "And don't lose the ring."
And then he was gone.
The door closed behind him with a quiet finality.
Antonia stood alone in the massive house, the silence pressing in on her.
Dislikeable.
How was she supposed to do that?
She wandered toward the living room and sank onto the couch, her eyes drifting to her hand.
The ring.
A very beautiful one.
Her throat tightened.
For six years, she had waited for one just like it. Hoped. Believed. Loved foolishly. She remembered the way her ex used to deflect every conversation about commitment, about the future, until one day he didn’t deflect anymore—he just left.
Left her for someone else.
No warning. No closure.
Just heartbreak.
Now, here she was. Wearing a ring. In another man’s house. Pretending to be loved.
Pretending to be a fiancee.
Her vision blurred.
“How stupid,” she whispered to herself.
She twisted the ring gently, watching the diamond catch the light again.
How I wish this was real.
Not the house. Not the money. Not the lie.
Just… someone choosing her.
Someone wanting to spend the rest of their life with her.
Such grand commitment.
She wanted it. She fantasized about it.
Always had, ever since she was a kid.
She wandered around the house, and finally found the kitchen.
It was polished to perfection. It was less a room and more a culinary sanctuary. Smooth marble countertops that stretched like runways. The cabinets, custom-crafted in soft matte oak, whispered elegance.
At the heart stood a grand island — wide enough to host a feast, crowned with a vase of fresh white lilies and a hidden wine cooler humming beneath. The double ovens gleamed beneath a seamless backsplash of handcrafted tiles. A chandelier hung above, unexpected in its grace, casting dappled shadows like lacework on the polished floors.
It was the kind of kitchen where aromas lingered like memories.
But unfortunately there was no aroma seeping from this kitchen.
As beautiful as the kitchen appeared, not a single meal had been prepared for his mother's arrival.
How atrocious!
Quickly, without thinking it through.
Antonia decided to prepare something. At least that would keep her busy till they arrive.
Hours later, a sound at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
Antonia straightened, wiping her hands quickly.
Game face.
If she was going to survive this weekend, she’d have to become someone she’d never been before.
She would have to become the perfect pretender.
And somehow, she had the sinking feeling that pretending to be unloveable might be the hardest role she’d ever play.
She stared at the ring on her finger for a second. "I can do this," she whispered to herself.