Fake Dating the Secret Billionaire Hockey Star

FIONA POV:

I arrived at the law firm ten minutes early. Beckett and his father were already in the conference room. Beckett sat at the head of the table, exuding a cold, regal air, his expression unreadable. His lawyer, a man in a perfectly tailored suit, slid a thick document across the polished table toward me.

I took a deep breath, trying to appear calm. I had barely slept, my mind racing through the pros and cons of this decision. But there was no turning back now.

"Miss Wagner, this is the contract," the lawyer said, his tone all business. "Please read it carefully, especially the sections regarding the non-disclosure agreement, mutual obligations, and breach of contract penalties."

I opened the folder. The clauses were terrifyingly specific. A minimum of three public "dates" per week, at locations of Beckett's choosing—usually inexpensive restaurants or parks. At least two "couple photos" posted on social media per month. A requirement to act like a couple in love whenever in the presence of our respective families.

Then one clause made me freeze.

To ensure the authenticity of the relationship, Party B (Fiona Wagner) must, within one week of the contract's execution, move into the residence designated by Party A (Beckett Hayes) and cohabitate with Party A.

My stomach dropped. I looked up at Beckett. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He was waiting for my reaction. This was his doing.

Thomas spoke up, his voice gentle. "Fiona, don't worry. It's just to make everything look more authentic. If you're not living together, your family or the media could easily find holes in the story. This is for your protection, too."

He was right, logically, but it still felt wrong. It felt like I was selling a piece of myself.

I bit my lower lip, forcing myself to think clearly. This was my choice. I flipped to the last page and saw the compensation clause. During the contract period, a private trust would cover all my tuition and basic living expenses, ensuring no direct financial transactions between me and Beckett. And upon termination of the contract, I would receive a substantial "severance payment"—enough to open my own studio.

That money was my ticket to freedom. My independence. I needed it.

I stopped hesitating. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the final page: Fiona Wagner. The scratch of the nib on paper was unnervingly loud in the silent room.

I pushed the contract over to Beckett. He picked up a different pen and signed his name with a flourish. In that moment, our "relationship" became legally binding.

The lawyer collected the documents, a professional smile on his face. "A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Hayes, Miss Wagner."

I felt like a piece of merchandise that had just been sold. Beckett hadn't said a single word to me. After signing, he stood up, ready to leave.

"Wait," I said, my voice surprising me with its steadiness.

He paused, turning back to look at me, an unspoken question in his eyes.

"About the move," I said, keeping my voice even. "What's the address? I'll need time to pack."

He reached into his pocket and tossed a set of keys onto the table. They landed with a sharp clink. "The address is on the keychain. You have three days. After that, I don't want to see a single box from your old 'home' in that apartment."

His tone was dismissive, an order, not a request. I clenched my fists under the table, biting back a retort.

Thomas patted my shoulder. "Fiona, he's just got a sharp tongue. Don't take it to heart. The apartment is all set up. It's very safe."

Beckett ignored his father's attempt at an explanation and walked out of the room.

I picked up the keys. The cold metal sent a shiver through my fingertips. The keychain was engraved with an address: 1515 N. Damen Avenue, Wicker Park. A neighborhood I'd never been to.

As Thomas was leaving, he turned to me. "Fiona, I know this isn't easy. But please believe me, Beckett... he's not a bad person. Just give him some time."

I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I will, Mr. Hayes."

The conference room was empty now, just me and the view of the city. It felt like all of Chicago had become a giant stage, and I was about to make my debut in a play where I didn't even know the ending.

I clutched the keys and stood up. First step: go home, announce my "new relationship," and pack up my old life.

As I stepped out of the elevator, the bright lobby lights felt harsh. I looked down at the keys in my hand. They felt like a heavy promise, a one-way ticket to the unknown.

My phone rang. It was Kristina, my best friend.

"Fiona! Where were you last night? You weren't answering your phone! Jessica has been blowing up my line!"

I leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, closing my eyes in exhaustion. "Kris, I'm okay. I just... I made a big decision. I'll tell you everything tonight."