Chapter 28
MYA
It’s Sunday morning, the day Worth and I are supposed to announce to the world that we’re a couple.
My gaze sweeps around the living room of my tiny apartment. I grab my phone and message him.
You shouldn’t have done this.
It only takes him a few seconds to reply.
Worth:
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
That little shit.
It’s laughable. My small couch is pushed against the wall, and in the middle of it all are two rolling racks crammed with couture gowns worth more than a year’s rent.
A stylist, sent by my boyfriend—God, I still can’t get used to calling him that—showed up at my door this morning with garment bags and boxes, a personal assistant in tow.
I fire a text back.
I shouldn’t have told you I needed a new dress.
Worth:
Just say thank you, you stubborn woman.
I can almost hear the smugness. I roll my eyes and type back.
Thank you, Mr. Miller.
Worth:
10.
10, what?
Worth:
10 spankings for every eye roll you’ve given me.
His reply makes me choke on air.
Heat slams into my cheeks, rushing straight down between my thighs. I refuse to dignify that with an answer. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under my skin.
He’s fully aware nothing sexual is going to happen again, so why the hell would he even tally the number of spankings he thinks he owes me?
Typical Worth Miller.
And yet, despite myself, a thrill shoots down my spine at the thought of his large hands on me, rough and commanding, teaching me a lesson I secretly wouldn’t mind learning.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I shake my head hard, as if I can physically rattle the image away. I cannot—will not—succumb to his antics. Not again.
“Um… why do you look like you just got caught doing something illegal?” Tiana narrows her eyes at me over the rim of her champagne glass.
I whip my head towards her. “What? Nothing. I’m fine.”
She smirks. “Mhm. You’re flushed, fidgety, and holding your phone like it just whispered dirty secrets in your ear. Spill, MJ.”
“I said it’s nothing.” I busy myself tugging at the zipper of a dress on the rack, pretending to examine it.
Tiana lets out a laugh. “Girl, if that man’s texts got you looking like this, you’re in deep.”
I shoot her a glare, which only makes her laugh harder. “Shut up and help me pick a dress.”
Tiana leans back on the couch, drink in hand. “Damn. A girl could really get used to this. Do you think he’ll notice if I sneak a dress?” She gestures to the rows of gowns shimmering under the light, sequins and silks in every shade.
“It’s way too much.” I pick up a Tom Ford black cocktail dress. “I could’ve just worn something from my closet. Or bought something affordable.” The lie tastes bitter. I don’t own a single thing that could pass for gala attire, and we both know it.
“Affordable is overrated when you’ve got a billionaire boyfriend.”
I pin her with a stare. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting. You’d better try on every damn one of those dresses, sis. If I’m your audience, I demand a show.” Tiana tops off our glasses, offering some to the stylist and assistant.
Rolling my shoulders, I take another sip of champagne, nerves tangling in my chest. Fine—if Worth wants me to look the part, then I’ll look the damn part.
I head to the bedroom to change. This is just another performance. A role I’ve agreed to play. So why does part of me already wonder which dress will make Worth lose his composure first?
After trying on what feels like a hundred gowns, I finally settle on a Marchesa Notte floor-length dress in deep blue with delicate beadwork embroidered across the bodice.
The neckline dips just enough to be daring without forfeiting elegance, and the silk chiffon skirt flows around my legs like liquid air.
Against my will, the stylist forces me to take five other dresses too, carefully folded into garment bags.
Apparently, Mr. Miller told him to make sure I had “enough options.” I try to argue, but apparently Worth has everyone on a damn leash.
A few hours later, Tiana is gone, and my hair and makeup are done. The stylist pinned my curls into a soft updo, leaving a few tendrils to frame my face, while the smoky bronze shadow makes my eyes almost smolder. A swipe of nude gloss completes the look.
At seven sharp, my phone buzzes with a message from Worth telling me he’s outside.
I grab my clutch, take a breath, and head downstairs.
A sleek black town car waits at the curb. When the driver opens the door, Worth steps out, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. He’s in a black suit, with a dark blue tie that matches my gown exactly. Even the subtle square in his pocket is the same shade.
This man.
Broad shoulders, commanding stance, and that salt-and-pepper beard perfectly trimmed. The sight of him alone sends my pulse skittering.
Worth’s eyes rake over me, head to toe—and for once, the unshakable CEO falters. His Adam’s apple bobs, his jaw ticks, and his hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch me.
“Jesus Christ, Mya,” he mutters. “You’re breathtaking.”
The compliment lands straight in my chest, setting my whole body alight.
I swallow the flutter in my chest. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Worth smirks at the understatement.
“How did you know what color I was wearing?”
“Deshawn told me what you picked,” he says, adjusting his cuff. “So I made sure to coordinate. And for the record—” his gaze drags down the length of me again, slow and searing—“blue has never looked so damn good on anyone.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I have to look away before I combust on the spot.
He offers his arm, the perfect gentleman. “After you.”
Once inside the car, my nerves finally rear their ugly head and I start twisting my hands in my lap. Worth notices instantly. He takes one of them in his, his thumb tracing lazy circles against my palm. The small, steady motion calms me more than I want to admit.
“It’ll be fine, Kitten. Don’t worry about the cameras or the questions. I’ll handle it.”
I exhale. For all the ways he drives me insane with his bossiness, it’s nice to let someone else take the reins for once.
He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a slim velvet case.
When he flips it open, my eyes nearly fall out of my head.
Nestled inside is a diamond necklace so brilliant it looks like it could blind the whole damn city.
The stones catch every bit of light, glittering like fire, delicate yet undeniably worth more than my entire student debt ten times over.
“Worth…” My voice is barely a whisper as he takes the necklace out of the case. “I can’t take this. It looks like it belongs in a museum.”
His eyes lock on mine, burning right through me. “Turn around.”
“Worth—?”
“Turn.” His tone brooks no argument, and before I can protest again, I find myself shifting in my seat, my spine straightening, as though obeying him is instinct.
The case snaps shut, and cold diamonds brush against my skin when he drapes them around my neck. His fingers graze my nape as he fastens the clasp, and the contact sends a hot shiver through my body I pray he can’t see.
I catch my reflection in the darkened car window—the necklace glitters like starlight against my collarbone, transforming me into someone I barely recognize. Someone elegant. Someone who looks like she belongs at Worth Miller’s side.
My lips part. “I don’t know what to say.”
Worth leans back into his seat, a smile forming at his lips. “It’s nothing, really. To keep up appearances.”
The words slice clean through the haze, dousing the spark in my chest with ice water. Of course—nothing more than appearances.
I nod stiffly, forcing my hands to rest in my lap, even though every part of me wants to rip the necklace off before it sears me. “Thank you,” I manage, the words dry and brittle.
Beside me, Worth studies me for too long, like he knows exactly what just shifted inside me.
The rest of the ride stretches in silence.
When we finally arrive at the venue, the car has barely stopped before the flashes start. Bright white light explodes in every direction, disorienting me.
“Mr. Miller, is this your new girlfriend?”
“Worth! Over here—can we get a smile?”
“Who’s the mystery woman? Name, please!”
The barrage of questions fires like bullets, and my chest tightens. Worth slips out first, then offers his hand to me. The second I take it, his arm sweeps around my waist, firmly tugging me flush to his side.
Security closes in, ushering us forward, but the photographers keep pressing, voices overlapping, camera shutters stuttering like machine guns.
Worth lowers his mouth to my ear. “Relax, baby. I’m right here. I got you.”
The word ‘baby’ almost makes me stumble. Just minutes ago in the car, he made sure I understood this was only for appearances. Now he’s sweet-talking me like he means it? My pulse spikes at the contradiction, and I force a smile so wide it aches as we pause for the cameras.
He holds me steady, anchoring me with the pressure of his hand at my hip. I mimic his composed stance, angling slightly towards him while cameras flash in a relentless storm.
Once inside the building, my lungs expand for the first time in what feels like forever.
The night passes in a haze of introductions and fake smiles. Worth doesn’t leave my side. His hand is either splayed across the small of my back, curled around my fingers, or guiding me through the crowd.
When he introduces me, it’s never just “Mya” or “my girlfriend.” It’s always: “This is my woman.”
At one point, I finally whisper, “Why not just say girlfriend?”
“Sounds too juvenile for what this is, Kitten.”
Whiplash. Again.
The more the night goes on, the more confused I become. Every protective gesture, every whispered word in my ear, every lingering glance feels too real—too much like something a man in a real relationship would do.
And yet, I can’t forget. This is business. A performance. Nothing more.