Pretend To Be Mine

Chapter 1

ADRIAN

Istood at the head of the boardroom table, fingers pressed against the polished mahogany surface hard enough that my knuckles went white. Twelve executives stared back at me, their expressions ranging from concerned to downright terrified.

Good. They should be scared.

“Let me make sure I understand the situation correctly,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Fashion of Love Week launches in less than two weeks, and instead of generating excitement, we’re trending on social media for all the wrong reasons.”

I grabbed the remote and clicked through the slideshow Carol from PR had prepared. Each headline was worse than the last. The glaring accusations were beyond insulting.

And certainly embarrassing.

Blackwell Boys Over Their Heads?

End of the Line or All Hail the New Kings?

The Blackwell Princes of Fashion: Stepping Up or Stepping Out?

My jaw clenched as I read each one aloud. “This is what the world thinks of us. This is how they see the legacy my father spent thirty years building.”

The mention of Buck Blackwell cast an immediate pall over the room.

I watched grown men and women drop their gazes to the table, suddenly fascinated by their notepads and laptops.

The grief was still raw for all of us, a wound that refused to heal.

It had been exactly one year since I’d found him slumped over his desk in his office, Fashion of Love Week notes scattered around him like fallen leaves.

His heart had finally given out after decades of relentless work.

“My father loved this company,” I continued, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the tightness in my chest. I couldn’t afford to look weak right now. All these people were just looking for a reason to find me incompetent.

Those stupid headlines weren’t helping.

“He poured his soul into every design, every show, every decision,” I continued.

“Fashion of Love Week was his final vision. It was his love letter to the industry that made him who he was. And we will honor that vision on the anniversary of his death. We will show the world that Blackwell Couture is not just surviving—we’re evolving. And we’re stronger than ever.”

I paused, letting my gaze sweep across the room.

My three brothers sat to my right, their postures more relaxed than everyone else’s.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Briggs sat perfectly still, his lawyer’s mind probably already working through solutions.

Dash scrolled through his phone, but I knew he was listening to every word.

As the eldest, I’d naturally fallen into the leadership role after Dad died, but we all had equal stakes in this company. Equal responsibility. Equal pressure.

“Fashion of Love Week is our moment,” I said, beginning to pace along the length of the boardroom.

“Five shows across four cities—New York, London, Paris, Milan, and back to New York for the finale. Each of us will host one, showcasing not just our father’s legacy but our own vision for the future.

This is our chance to prove we’re not just trust-fund babies playing dress-up.

We’re the next generation of Blackwell Couture.

We know fashion. We know what people want. And we will deliver.”

I stopped pacing and turned to face them head on. “Someone explain to me why the press seems more interested in betting on our failure than celebrating our success.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Did they think I was going to lose my shit and attack? Yeah, I could be a little hotheaded, but that was to be expected, right?

Carol shifted in her seat. I locked eyes with her. She was good at her job, too good to be this visibly nervous. That alone told me whatever she was about to say was going to piss me off. Carol was the kind of lady that called balls and strikes without hesitating. So why the restraint?

“Well?” I prompted. “You called this meeting, Carol. You must have something to tell me.”

She stood slowly, smoothing down her blazer with trembling hands. “We’ve analyzed the negative press extensively, and we’ve identified the core issue.”

“Which is?”

“The public’s perception of the four of you.

” She clicked to the next slide, which showed a collage of paparazzi photos that weren’t exactly flattering.

There were a series of pictures of my brothers and me at various clubs, parties, and events over the years.

Sebastian with a model on each arm. Dash stumbling out of a nightclub at three in the morning.

Briggs in a heated argument with a photographer.

And me, a while ago, back when I was younger and more carefree.

I was grinning at some charity gala with a woman whose name I couldn’t even remember now.

My dark hair had been longer back then. My eyes had been brighter.

Now the brown looked dull against the bloodshot whites of my eyes.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Those photos are old. Some of them are from five years ago.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Carol said without wavering. “The public still sees you as the same playboys you were back then. They see four wealthy bachelors who’ve never committed to anything serious—”

“Except running a billion-dollar company,” Sebastian interjected, that smirk still in place.

Carol pressed on, undeterred. “And they’re questioning how you can put on an event celebrating love and romance when none of you have ever been in a serious relationship yourselves.

The narrative is that you’re hypocrites—or worse, that you’re too shallow to understand the very theme you’re trying to sell. ”

I scowled before looking at the projection screen again. That Adrian had been carefree, always chasing the next thrill. Always on the hunt for the next conquest. He’d lived in the moment without a care for consequences.

But he died the same day our father did.

“The media loves a good narrative.” Dash spoke up from his seat, finally putting his phone down. “And right now, the story they’re telling is that we’re a bunch of vapid man-whores who fuck anything with a miniskirt and boobs.”

Several people gasped. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Dash—”

“What? I’m paraphrasing what Carol was going to say anyway.” He gestured at her. “Am I wrong?”

Carol’s face had gone scarlet. “I wouldn’t have put it quite so…

crudely. But the sentiment is accurate. The press has painted you as spoiled, promiscuous, and unintelligent.

Never mind that you all have business degrees and have been successfully running this company for a year.

Never mind that the rumors were always exaggerated—”

“Mine weren’t,” Sebastian said with a grin.

Briggs shot him a warning look. “Not helping.”

“I’m just saying, we definitely leaned into that image,” Sebastian continued. “The bad boy thing sold magazines and it sold dresses. Women loved it. We loved it. Win-win for everyone.”

“Until now,” I said sharply. “Now it’s biting us in the ass.”

“And not in a fun way,” Sebastian added.

Carol nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Which is why we need to change the narrative immediately. We need to show the world that you’re not the shallow playboys they think you are. That you’re capable of commitment, of depth, of—”

“Of what?” I interrupted, my patience wearing dangerously thin. “What exactly are you suggesting, Carol?”

She took a deep breath and looked me dead in the eyes. “You need a fiancée.”

The words landed like a bomb in the center of the room. For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Then something inside me snapped. “You’re fired, Carol.”

The declaration came out flat and absolute. Carol’s face went from red to white in an instant.

“Adrian—” Briggs started.

“No,” I cut him off, my voice rising. “I don’t want to hear it. A fiancée? Are you out of your mind?”

“Mr. Blackwell, please—” Carol tried.

“Get out,” I said coldly. “Clean out your desk. You’re done.”

Briggs was on his feet now, his six-foot-three frame commanding immediate attention. “Carol is absolutely not fired.” His voice carried the same authority it did in courtrooms. He turned to me with a look that could freeze lava. “And you’re going to apologize right now.”

I stared at my brother, my jaw working furiously.

We’d butted heads plenty of times over the past year, but Briggs rarely squared up to me.

When he did, he was right to call me out.

Him and all that justice he was always chasing.

Right was right and wrong was wrong. He would throw down with anyone to set something right. I had learned to trust his counsel.

Damn it.

I forced myself to take a slow breath, then another. The red haze of anger began to recede, replaced by the familiar weight of responsibility and exhaustion.

“I apologize for firing you, Carol,” I said, meaning it. “But you can’t just spring something like that on me. It’s like tossing a live grenade at me. I don’t think. I just react.”

“Noted,” Carol said weakly, like she wasn’t sure if the emotional roller coaster ride was over.

Briggs addressed the room. “Let’s take a fifteen-minute break. Everyone except the Blackwells.”

There was an immediate scramble as executives gathered their laptops and papers, filing out of the boardroom with barely concealed relief. Carol was the first to leave. Briggs closed the door behind them all with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence.

I collapsed into my chair at the head of the table, pressing my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. Behind me, I heard Sebastian pour something into a glass, probably from the whiskey decanter Dad had always kept in the credenza. Some boardroom deals needed a helping hand.

“Little early for that, don’t you think?” I muttered.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Sebastian replied cheerfully. “Besides, I think we could all use one after that performance.”

“I don’t need your commentary right now.”

“Tough. You’re getting it anyway.” The glass appeared in front of me, amber liquid catching the light. “Drink. Then we talk. You’re wound up tighter than Briggs.”

“I’m not wound up,” Briggs said. “I’m in control.”

I grabbed the glass and downed it in one burning swallow. The whiskey scorched its way down my throat, but it did take the edge off my anger.

Briggs leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Carol’s idea isn’t completely insane.”

“Oh, yes it is.”

“Hear me out,” Briggs interrupted. “Think about it logically. Adrian Blackwell getting engaged would be massive news. It would be like a Kardashian getting a butt reduction—completely unnatural and therefore completely fascinating.”

Despite everything, a short laugh escaped me. “Did you really just compare me to a Kardashian’s butt?”

“I mean, you are being a bit of an ass.” Briggs’s expression remained serious. “But I’m not joking, Adrian. You getting engaged would change the entire narrative. It would show growth, maturity, commitment. All the things the press is claiming we don’t have.”

“Then why don’t you get engaged?” I shot back. “Or Sebastian? Or Dash? Why does it have to be me?”

Sebastian snorted. “Because you’re the face of the company, big brother. You’re the official CEO. You’re the eldest. And let’s be honest—you’re the only one of us who’s been living like a monk for the past year.”

“I’ve been working,” I said defensively. “Someone has to keep this ship afloat. Which may I just point out, my monkhood should already be enough to refute the playboy thing. One of you get married.”

“You’ve done a great job,” Dash chimed in from across the table. “But Sebastian’s right. You’ve barely been seen in public unless it was for company business. You haven’t dated anyone. Hell, you haven’t even hooked up with anyone as far as I know.”

“Which can’t be healthy,” Sebastian threw in.

“You’re the perfect candidate for a sudden engagement because it would actually be shocking,” Dash continued. “People would assume that’s why you’ve been lying low. People would question everything they thought they knew. It’s free publicity, Adrian. A slam dunk, really.”

I wanted to argue, but they had a point.

After Dad died, I’d thrown myself completely into work.

The company had needed steady leadership, and I’d been determined to provide it.

There hadn’t been time for anything else—not parties, not women, not even friendships beyond my three brothers.

And even if I did have time for those things?

They did nothing to fill the gaping hole the loss of my father had blown through my chest.

“You don’t actually have to get married,” Sebastian added helpfully. “Just keep up the charade until after Love Week. Then you can quietly break it off. The public will eat it up. Star-crossed lovers torn apart by the pressures of fame or whatever bullshit story we spin.”

“That’s incredibly dishonest,” I said.

“It’s PR,” Dash countered. “Same thing.”

Briggs pushed off from the table and began pacing, his mind clearly working through the logistics.

“Here’s how I’m picturing it. We hire an actress through a reputable agency.

Someone discreet who can sign an airtight NDA.

She plays the role of your devoted fiancée for the next month—attends the shows, does some press with you, posts on social media.

After the finale in New York, you announce an amicable split. Everyone walks away happy.”

“Except for the part where we’re lying to the entire world,” I pointed out.

“Welcome to the fashion industry,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “Half of what we do is smoke and mirrors anyway. This is just a different kind of styling.”

I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. Was I really contemplating this? A fake engagement to save face?

But it wasn’t just about saving face, was it? This was about honoring Dad’s final vision. This was about legacy.

“If I agree to this insanity,” I said slowly, “I’m choosing the woman.”

Three pairs of eyes locked onto me.

“What do you mean?” Briggs asked.

I sat up straight, decision made. “I mean if I’m going to pretend to be engaged to someone, I pick. I don’t trust you assholes not to set me up with some ogre just to fuck with me.”

Dash grinned. “There goes that plan.”

Sebastian raised his now-empty glass in a mock toast. “To Adrian Blackwell, soon-to-be engaged man. May God have mercy on your soul.”

I flipped him off as I headed for the door.