Chapter 1-The scandal
Audrey's POV...
The sunlight hit my face like a rude alarm clock. I groaned and turned away from the window, trying to cling to whatever sleep I had left. But something felt... off.
This wasn’t my bed.
I opened my eyes and blinked at the massive room. Sleek furniture. Thick white curtains. A ridiculous chandelier. Definitely not my penthouse. I didn't install a chandelier like that. This looked like one of those fancy hotel suites you only see in magazines.
Wait! Hotel? My heart started pounding.
Where the hell am I?
My phone buzzed beside me. I reached over to grab it from the nightstand, but froze when I heard it… the soft sound of someone breathing beside me.
A man’s breath.
My blood ran cold.
Slowly, I turned around. And there he was… shirtless, back turned, still asleep. A stranger. Or… was he?
My brain scrambled, trying to remember anything from the night before. How did I get here? Who is this guy? What did we do?
I rubbed my forehead, trying to piece it together.
Then, as if on cue, he stirred.
He blinked, sat up slowly, and looked at me like I was the intruder. “What are you doing here?” he asked, pointing at me.
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I had the same damn question.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed again. I reached for it and saw the screen, three missed calls. Probably Mom. Great.
I heard him moving too, probably going for his phone. Then came the shout, loud and echoing.
“What the hell?!”
I looked up.
He was staring at his screen, eyes wide.
I picked up my own phone and my jaw dropped. Splashed across a tabloid site was a headline that made my stomach twist:
“New York’s mannequin, Audrey Willow, caught in bed with billionaire Jonathan Ryder.”
And right there, beneath the headline, were pictures. Me and him. In bed. Cuddling. Smiling.
My throat went dry.
“What the hell is this?!” he asked, scrolling in disbelief. “Do you know anything about this?”
I didn’t. I really didn’t.
Before I could defend myself, the door burst open.
A hotel attendant stood there with a phone and a duvet, eyes wide as saucers. She stared at us, phone raised. Snap. She took a picture. Then she ran.
Jonathan and I looked at each other, frozen.
What. The. Hell.
_______________________________________
Cars rushed past like streaks of color beneath the city skyline. From my living room window, New York buzzed with life, oblivious to the scandal playing on every screen.
I sat on my couch, staring blankly at the television.
There it was again, me and Jonathan, tangled under white sheets, on a loop across entertainment news channels.
“Supermodel Audrey Willow in shocking scandal with billionaire Jonathan Ryder…”
My chest tightened. I’d worked my butt off to build my image. I was a professional. Careful. Clean. And now, this? A single night I couldn’t even remember was unraveling everything I’d spent years building.
I reached for my phone. The screen lit up with a flood of notifications.
9,287 Instagram messages. 1,743 Twitter tags. 86 missed calls.
I scrolled for a second, some fans were defending me. Most weren’t.
Just then, my phone rang. Mom.
I sighed and tossed the phone onto the couch. I can’t handle her right now.
I headed for the bathroom and let the shower wash over me, hoping it would take some of this mess with it. It didn’t.
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, my phone was lighting up like a fire alarm.
17 missed calls from Mom. 2 missed calls from Mr. Jackson.
My heart sank.
And then I saw the message.
“I'm sorry to inform you, Ms. Willow, that our contract has been annulled. I hope you understand. Mr. Jackson.”
“No, no, no” I said in disbelief. “He can’t just drop me like that!” I grabbed my phone, dialed his number.
No answer.
I didn’t bother changing out of my towel before I stormed into my room, threw on jeans and a blouse, and bolted out the door.
By the time I got to his office, I didn’t even bother to knock. I pushed the door open.
Mr. Jackson didn’t look up.
“Good day, Mr. Jackson,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’d like to know why you cancelled our contract.”
He sighed and finally looked up at me. “Audrey... I believe you’ve seen the tabloids.”
Oh, it's Audrey now, no longer Ms Willows. Huh.
“And you believe them?” I shot back, my voice rising.
He leaned back. “It’s not about what I believe. It’s about public perception. With your current image in the news, I can’t risk the brand’s reputation. Our sales could suffer.”
I clenched my fists. This can’t be happening.
“I’ve worked hard for this. I made your brand shine, and now you want to toss me out over a stupid rumor?”
“There is one way you could fix this,” he said, and there was this strange gleam in his eyes I didn’t like.
I stayed silent.
“If you can convince Mr. Ryder to invest in our stocks, we might be able to salvage the contract.”
I stared at him.
“You’re asking me to use him?” I said, disgusted.
“You’re a public figure, Audrey. Use that to your advantage,” he said coolly.
I scoffed. “No. I won’t manipulate anyone to save your sales.”
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “You can go to the marketing department and collect your final batch of products.”
I walked out, seething.
Back home, I was shaking. I slammed my bag on the floor and paced my living room.
How had everything collapsed in less than 24 hours?
I opened my laptop. One after the other, the emails came in. Cancelled. Paused. Dissolved. All my contracts… gone.
“I’ve worked too damn hard to let this ruin me,” I muttered. “I’m Audrey Willow. I don’t beg brands. They beg me.”
My phone buzzed again. I picked it up. The name on the screen made me freeze.
Jonathan Ryder.
I stared at it. Then answered.
“Ms. Willow?” His voice was calm.
“Yes.”
“I’m currently at a restaurant in Midtown. I’ll send you the address.”
Then he hung up.
I got the message seconds later.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. No way I was showing up looking defeated.
I slipped into a knee-length red dress, threw on a blazer, and left the house with my head held high. At that moment, anyone who saw me wouldn't think I had baggage of problems.
The restaurant smelled of warm bread and fine wine. I spotted Jonathan at the counter, scrolling through his phone.
I walked up and tapped his shoulder.
He looked up and gestured to the seat next to him.
“Have a drink,” he said, sliding a glass of wine toward me.
I frowned. “I don’t drink. It bloats me.”
He shrugged and sipped his. He appeared to be calm and didn't seem like someone who was bothered about the fact that his name was trending on the internet.
“I booked us a room upstairs,” he said casually.
I raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“A room to talk privately,” he corrected, catching my look. “That’s all.”
“Lead the way.”
The room was cozy but professional. A couch. A table. Nothing suspicious. Still, I stood near the door, arms crossed.
“I don’t bite, you know,” he said, sitting.
“I’m fine here,” I said sharply.
He leaned forward. “I’ve got a tech team pulling down the photos and articles. It’s a mess, but by morning, it should calm down.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s something, at least.”
“I have a question, though,” I added. “Do you remember anything from last night?”
Jonathan looked genuinely confused. “Nothing. The last thing I remember was signing the contract to have you model for us and toasting with a glass of wine.”
“Exactly.” I exhaled. “It doesn’t make sense. One drink and we both black out? I think someone set us up.”
He nodded. “That wine wasn’t strong. Maybe we were drugged.”
“It's important this mess clears cause my reputation and whole career is crumbling”
“That’s why I called you here,” he said seriously. “We need to clean this up… together.”
“I don’t need your help,” I snapped. “I can fix my reputation without anyone’s pity.”
“This isn’t just your scandal, Miss Willows. It’s ours. We’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”
I didn’t respond.
He leaned forward, locking eyes with me.
“I have a plan.”
My arms folded tighter. “What kind of plan?”
He took a deep breath.
“We fake a relationship. More specifically... an engagement.”
My brain stopped.
“Excuse me?”
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