Charming Deception: A Billionaire Fake Fiancé Romance

Prologue

Jameson

Istroll into the luxurious living room of the owner’s suite at the Vance Bayshore resort to find my siblings seated around the coffee table, awaiting me.

Firelight from the hearth flickers across the walls and rain pummels the floor-to-ceiling windows, the waters of Coal Harbour churning beyond, black in the night. “Who died?” I make my way behind the bar. “It’s literally gothic in here.”

“You’re about to,” Harlan growls as I start fixing myself a drink, “if you don’t come sit your ass down.”

“What? I had a thing that ran late.”

Harlan grunts. He reclines in a wingback chair with his feet up on the coffee table, dress shoes and all. In theory, I have three brothers and a sister, but in actuality I have two brothers, a sister, and what appears to be a male human sibling but is probably some sort of demon. “Lemme guess,” Harlan drawls. “The blow job took longer than you expected.”

“It did, actually.”

“I’m right here,” our sister, Savannah, says irritably as I sit down between her and Damian on the curved sofa. The vibe in the room is tense as hell. All my brothers and I wear dark suits, and Savannah wears a black dress.

I’m not even sure what we’re doing here tonight. I just got a call from our grandfather’s attorney, who told me attendance was “mandatory” and that it was “will-related business.” But the last couple of times the five of us met like this had left us all on edge.

One week ago, we’d gathered to celebrate our grandfather’s life and legacy at his funeral, and yesterday, we’d gathered for the reading of his will. Not only had we lost our beloved grandfather and patriarch sooner than we’d hoped, but he’d left us with a surprise in his will: a beneficiary we didn’t even realize was so important to him.

If there was one thing Stoddard Vance taught his grandchildren, it was that you never lay all your cards on the table at once.

Which means… maybe he still has a hand to play.

“Why do I feel like old Stodd’s still playing with us?” Damian muses, voicing my thoughts as Graysen gets to his feet.

“Let’s just get started,” Graysen announces. Even he doesn’t seem thrilled to be here, and he lives here.

“How?” I inquire.

He draws an envelope from inside his jacket. “We have a letter from Granddad.”

“Valerie dropped it off just before you got here,” Savannah fills me in.

Valerie was our grandfather’s longtime secretary and, as we discovered when he was on his deathbed, his lover. Turned out they’d been having a passionate affair for decades. Even before Grandma died.

Granddad’s life was one giant plot twist, even when he was dying. And apparently, Valerie’s still doing his bidding, even from beyond the grave. Just like the rest of us are.

“Valerie said we should read it together, so.” Graysen tears open the envelope, unfolds the letter and reads: “You’re here to play a game.”

Damian smirks and shakes his head. Savannah laughs under her breath. Harlan growls.

But we can’t really be surprised.

Our grandfather was a game master. Lover of sports, competition, fine liquor (and women who organized his calendar for him, evidently). He’d made his first millions off a chain of upscale sports bars, spawning a property development empire that evolved into what Vance Industries is today.

Which is a multi-industry, multibillion-dollar family of companies.

“If you’re reading this letter, I’m dead,” Graysen reads on, kind of sighing at Granddad’s bluntness. “Earlier this year, aware that my remaining time was running short, I met with each of you privately. And I asked you a very important question.” Graysen glances up, his gray eyes sweeping over the rest of us.

Well, shit. I remember that conversation.

“I asked you,”he reads on,“if you could handpick a challenge for one of your siblings, something that would really test what they’re made of, push them to grow, to better themselves, what would it be? Out of those conversations, as you may now be gleaning, such a challenge was devised for each of you by someone else in this room.”

My gaze snags with Harlan’s, and he lazily flips me the finger.

“I asked you to keep that conversation a secret, just between us,”Graysen continues.“I trust that you all did that. And I entrusted my dear Valerie to write down the challenges for me and keep them safe. The five challenges you devised are now contained in five envelopes, one for each of you, located inside the box in front of you.”

I now notice the wooden box on the coffee table between us: one of Granddad’s antique cigar boxes.

“One by one, each of you will attempt to complete your challenge. To get things started, my lovely granddaughter, Savannah, will draw an envelope from the box.” I glance at Savi, and she shrugs. “The name on the selected envelope will be the first of you to attempt his or her challenge. When the first person completes their challenge, you will meet again for the next name to be drawn, and so on.”

“So, Savannah gets first pick because she’s the only woman?” Harlan interjects.

“Picking first doesn’t mean anything,” she says.

“To be clear,” Graysen reads on, “this is not a business challenge. You have all earned your current positions within Vance Industries. However…”

Graysen glances at us as he flips to the second and final page of the letter.

“… in order to receive your full inheritance, including your portion of ownership in the family business, you must successfully complete your challenge.”

“And there it is,” Harlan mutters.

I watch Graysen closely. As the oldest, he’s always been our collective leader, personally and professionally. Second in command only to Granddad. I wonder what he’s thinking right now.

“You have one year from the reading of this letter, collectively, to complete the game,” he continues. “Should you fail to complete your challenge for any reason, you lose the game. This means you lose your full inheritance. All moneys and assets left to you, including your ownership portion of the family business, will be redistributed among the winning players: your siblings.”

Harlan drops his head back against his chair.

“Of course, I love each and every one of you, and I would not wish to see you destitute and penniless. If you lose the game, those who win the game will have the option of retaining you in their employment, so that you will continue to have a place at Vance Industries.”

“In other words,” Harlan says, “lose the game, lose everything. But don’t worry, the others can hire you back as a janitor.”

“You have to admire the mastery,” Savannah marvels. “It forces us to rely on each other in our darkest hour. Should that hour come to pass.”

Yeah. This is definitely game-master shit of the highest level. Granddad’s probably howling in his grave right now.

“Just the way he wanted it,” Damian muses. “Life… the endless game.” He tips his glass to the portrait of Granddad and Grandma over the fire, their wedding photo.

“Let’s just agree,” Savannah says dryly, but with affection, “that this won’t be the game that turns us all against each other.”

“Which is a hint at how bad my challenge is,” Harlan says.

“Everything isn’t about you, Harlan,” Graysen mutters.

“Said the oldest sibling and the one with the least to lose.”

“Least to lose?” Graysen frowns. “If I fail my challenge, I lose my position as CEO.”

“You heard the rules,” Harlan counters. “We can still employ you. And none of us are about to step into your shoes and run the entire fucking empire.”

“He is right,” Damian says lightly.

“Let’s just agree that we all have equal risk here. We all stand to win or lose.” Savannah raises her glass. “To the game.”

“To the game,” we all chorus grudgingly and clink glasses.

“To Granddad,” Graysen adds.

“May the best man, or woman, win.” Damian smirks.

“We’re not playing against each other,” I point out.

“Sure we are.” Damian’s eyes spark at me, the sly fucker.

“There’s more.”

We all look up at Graysen, who’s still standing, holding the letter.

“To begin, none of you will know who devised your challenge. It is up to the person who devised your challenge to divulge this information if and when he or she so chooses. It is my hope that you will play this game the same as you live your lives: as a team, rather than as opponents. For in the end, it will be up to your siblings to decide if you successfully completed your challenge and won the game.”

“Fuuuck,” Harlan groans.

“Additionally, may I remind you that the Vance family’s privacy should remain paramount at all times. Aside from the people in this room—and this part is underlined—you cannot discuss the game with anyone or tell anyone about the challenges.”

Since I have no idea what my challenge is, it’s hard to know how that might play out.

However, I know what one challenge is. The one I devised.

Harlan’s eyes meet mine and I glance away, sipping my whiskey.

Graysen sets the letter down next to the cigar box. “Well, Savannah. I guess you’re up.”

Savannah gets to her feet, smoothing her fitted dress. “All right. Let’s get this done.”

Graysen picks up the cigar box and lifts the lid for her.

“What do you see?” I ask her.

“Envelopes,” she says dryly.

Graysen, who can also see into the box, says, “They’re upside down. She can’t see the names written on them.”

“Whatever you do,” Harlan says, “don’t pick mine first.”

“Maybe there’s an advantage to being picked first,” Savannah says. “You get it over with.”

“I’d rather be picked first.” Damian sits back, perusing his “competition.” “Imagine the pressure if you’re last, if everyone else already completed their challenge and time is running out.”

“Or maybe worse…” Savanna says. “What if we all fucked up?”

“Just pick a name already,” I growl.

Savannah takes a deep breath and reaches into the box. She pulls out a small gold envelope, sealed with a wax seal.

She turns it over and reads the name on the front.

“Jameson.”

Everyone looks at me.

Harlan laughs his demonic laugh.

I groan and drag a hand through my hair. The idea that one of my older brothers or my older sister has devised a personal challenge for me, to test what I’m made of? It’s the stuff of nightmares.

I’m definitely no saint.

“We seriously can’t contest this shit?” I complain as Damian pats me on the back. I know this challenge will be hard. That’s why it was chosen for me. And I do not want to lose my inheritance—hell, my birthright—over a fucking game.

“Just play the game, Jamie.” Savannah hands me the envelope; my name is handwritten on it, probably by Valerie. “It’s what Granddad wanted.” She goes to top up her drink, probably relieved to be off the hook.

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “Your name wasn’t drawn first.”

“Savannah will take her turn, just like the rest of us,” Graysen reminds me.

“Not like any of us have a choice,” Damian says.

“Just man the fuck up and open your envelope,” Harlan growls.

I can feel them all watching me.

There’s no way around it; whatever it says in this envelope, I have to complete the challenge. It’s what Granddad wanted.

No matter how difficult or fucking ridiculous it might be.

I have to win the game.

I break Granddad’s wax seal, stamped with an elaborate V for Vance, then tear open the envelope. There’s a card inside. I pull it out and read my challenge.

Just five words.

I read it again. And again.

I take a deep breath in the stretched-silent room, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. Then I stand up calmly and toss the envelope and the card onto the coffee table. They all lean in to read it.

“You can all go fuck yourselves,” I tell them and walk out, Harlan’s dark laughter grating at my spine.