Chapter 2 — Three Prohibitions

The conference room air-conditioning was aggressively cold.

Evelyn and Leah sat on one side of the long table. Jesse Moreau sat across from them with a forty-seven-page binder titled The Operation: Love. Leah flipped through it, looked up at Jesse, and spoke with the tone of a woman watching a natural disaster in real time:

"You wrote a two-thousand-word operations manual for a fake relationship?"

"Forty-seven pages," Jesse corrected, with a strange pride. "Five modules: persona co-creation, scheduling, physical-intimacy choreography, social-media management, and crisis-response SOP. I recommend you read it cover to cover. We run weekend boot camps."

"Boot camps," Leah repeated, her voice climbing. "You train people."

"Our goal is that in three months, the world genuinely believes: Valerius Capital's CEO and the genius designer Evelyn Shaw are a match made in heaven." Jesse closed the binder, beaming. "Trust me, I've done harder. Last account: selling a cat food that cats hated—as a national bestseller."

Leah turned to Evelyn. "Sis. I think they're insulting us."

Evelyn didn't answer. She opened the binder to page one. Bold, underlined, at the top of the page:

PROHIBITION ONE: DO NOT FALL IN LOVE.

PROHIBITION TWO: DO NOT CROSS LINES IN PRIVATE.

PROHIBITION THREE: DO NOT DEVELOP REAL FEELINGS OF ANY KIND.

She closed the binder, slid it back, and looked up at Jesse. "What's the difference between the first and the third?"

Jesse blinked. "…One prohibits the behavior. The other prohibits the outcome. It covers the edge case where you keep the behavior in check but your heart's already gone."

"Thorough." Evelyn nodded, expressionless. Then, before anyone could react, she produced her own pen and wrote a line in the margin of the contract:

PROHIBITION FOUR: NO ACTING OFF-CAMERA.

"This is business, so we perform for the people who need to see it. Off-camera, I don't perform for anyone." She looked up. "That's my side of the deal. You can refuse it—in which case I walk and you hire a more obliging actress. I'm sure Valerius Capital can afford one."

Jesse's smile froze for half a second. He glanced at the far end of the table.

Kaelen Valerius had been sitting in the shadows since she walked in. He hadn't looked at the contract. He'd only looked at her.

"Accepted." His voice cut across the room, low and even. "Prohibition Four passes."

Evelyn hadn't expected that. "…Then Prohibitions One through Three apply to your side too."

"They're written in the contract." Kaelen said it flatly. "I've never broken a signature."

"Good." Evelyn signed her name at the bottom of the page, pen slicing across the paper like a knife. She looked up and held out the pen. "Then—pleasure doing business."

Their fingertips met across a centimeter of air. The light was good; she could see the fine veins on the back of his hand. Then he took the pen, his fingers brushing hers.

Cold.

The cold ran up her arm, and Evelyn's hand twitched before she locked it down. She lifted her eyes to his face, hunting for a crack in that mask—there was none. He signed his name beside hers, then looked up.

"Evelyn Shaw." He said her name like a vow being sworn. "Pleasure doing business."

For one stupid second, Evelyn thought he said her name like a man making a promise.

She looked away, all business. "First item on the schedule?"

Jesse flipped the binder open to page two. "Tomorrow, nine a.m., outside your studio. A coincidence. Official story: Mr. Valerius was out for a morning run, happened to pass your studio, happened to be thirsty, happened to walk into the café you frequent, happened to chat with you for three minutes."

"…You mapped my café habits?"

"We did a full consumer profile of the five-hundred-meter radius around your studio. Coffee, bakeries, dry cleaners, pet shops." Jesse closed the binder, smiling. "The devil is in the details."

Leah murmured from the corner: "You researched her this thoroughly, I'd think you've been in love with her for five years."

The room went quiet for two seconds.

Kaelen stood and walked to the door. He passed Leah without slowing. "Nine a.m. Don't be late."

The door closed behind him. Evelyn stared at it, feeling like the negotiation had gone too smoothly—like he'd had an answer prepared for every question she could ask.

In the elevator, Leah hugged the binder to her chest. "Sis. You didn't see his face when you said 'don't cross the line'?"

"I didn't look." Evelyn stared at the floor numbers. "He's an actor. I'm an actor. It's just acting."

"He's not an actor." Leah said. "He looks at you like you're a piece he's been chasing for five years."

Evelyn was quiet for two floors. Then she said: "Public affection is just a business deal."

The doors opened. She walked out with her spine straight as a blade.

Upstairs, Jesse carried a stack of files into the corner office and found Kaelen standing at the window with the signed contract in his hand, his thumb resting on her signature. He hadn't moved.

"Sir," Jesse said carefully. "Prohibition One: do not fall in love."

"I know."

"Prohibition Two: do not cross lines in private."

"I know."

"Prohibition Three: do not develop real feelings."

Kaelen finally looked at him. "Jesse. A contract can be terminated."

"…But an obsession can't." Jesse finished the sentence for him, resigned. "Sir, you said that five years ago."

Kaelen didn't answer. He opened a drawer and took out an old notebook. Inside: five years of clippings. Her first small award, the industry newsletter announcement of her studio, a finance column about her being robbed of an order last month. Every page annotated in pen.

He turned to the newest page. The morning's headline: Capital Emperor's Secret Romance.

He looked at it for a long moment, then closed the notebook. "The contract can be terminated, but my obsession never."

A knock at the door. Jesse opened it; his deputy stood outside with a fresh report.

"Mr. Moreau," the deputy said, low, "the photographer you asked me to watch. He's made contact with a PR firm tonight. They're offering three times what we paid for silence."

Jesse's eyebrow twitched. "Which firm?"

The deputy named it. Jesse's pupils narrowed.

The Rose family's house firm.

He turned. Kaelen was still standing at the window, back turned, unchanged.

"Sir," Jesse said. "Somebody doesn't want this show to run quietly."

Kaelen didn't turn around. "Then let her move first."

"…You know who it is?"

Kaelen didn't answer. He looked down at the ink in the margin of the contract—Prohibition Four: No acting off-camera. He had the sudden feeling that the game he'd spent five years designing was about to move in directions he hadn't planned.

Below the window, the night lights of New Atlanta came on, one by one.

Tomorrow, nine a.m., they would have the most watched "coincidence" in America.

(End of Chapter 2)