Chapter 2 Contract Lovers and Elite Training

# Chapter 2: Contract Lovers and Elite Training

I stared at Martin Chen's business card for three days before calling.

Not because I was hesitant—desperation had stripped away most of my pride—but because I needed to understand what game he was playing. Billionaires don't randomly rescue counterfeit sellers from public humiliation without expecting something in return.

On the fourth day, I called.

"Bergdorf's reported you've purchased nothing," he answered without greeting. "Disappointing."

"I thought it might be a trap," I replied, surprised by my own honesty.

"Smart girl. It wasn't, but it could have been." I heard the smile in his voice. "Meet me at The Pierre. Penthouse. One hour."

He hung up before I could respond.

I considered my options while standing in front of my closet—a painful irony given that I made my living from other people's fashion insecurities. Everything I owned was either counterfeit or from my previous life as a Wei, and I wasn't sure which was more fraudulent to wear to this meeting.

I settled on simplicity: black pants, white silk blouse (genuine, from my heiress days), and minimal jewelry. If he wanted to humiliate me, at least I'd face it with dignity.

The doorman at The Pierre knew my name. The elevator operator had instructions to take me directly to the penthouse. Everyone smiled at me with deference that felt like a costume I was trying on.

When the elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse suite, Martin was standing at the window, Manhattan sprawled below him like a personal possession. He wore no jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing tanned forearms and that obscenely expensive watch.

"Cassandra the counterfeit queen," he said by way of greeting, turning to face me. "Do you know why you're here?"

"To amuse a bored billionaire?" I suggested.

He laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine. "Close. You're here because we share a common enemy."

"The Wei family."

"Specifically, Eleanor Wei and her mother." He gestured toward a sitting area where a bottle of champagne waited in an ice bucket. "They've been lying about more than just your identity."

I remained standing. "Why do you care? You're engaged to Eleanor."

"Was engaged," he corrected. "That arrangement ended approximately three minutes after our encounter at Bergdorf's."

"Because of me?" I asked, disbelieving.

"Don't flatter yourself." He poured champagne into two flutes. "Eleanor has been a useful business arrangement, not a romantic attachment. The Weis needed my money; I needed their social connections. But I've recently discovered they've been... creative with certain investment propositions."

I accepted the champagne but didn't drink. "So you're angry they tried to con you."

"I admire a good strategic deception," he replied, his dark eyes evaluating me. "What I don't admire is mediocrity. Their scheme was... inelegant."

"Unlike stealing a baby and raising her as your own for eighteen years?" The bitterness in my voice surprised even me.

Martin's expression softened fractionally. "That was actually quite brilliantly executed. Which is why I'm proposing a partnership."

"Partnership?" I repeated.

He set down his glass and picked up a leather portfolio from the coffee table. "A contractual arrangement. Six months. I will teach you how to genuinely live the lifestyle you've been counterfeiting. In return, you will play the role of my new fiancée."

I nearly choked on the champagne I'd finally sipped. "You can't be serious."

"I'm rarely anything else." He handed me the portfolio. "The terms are straightforward. You get access to my resources—financial, social, educational. I get the satisfaction of watching Eleanor and Victoria Wei self-destruct with jealousy."

I flipped through the contract, my eyes widening at the figures. A monthly "appearance fee." A clothing allowance that exceeded most people's annual salary. A penthouse apartment. A personal staff.

"This is insane," I whispered.

"This is business," he corrected. "With the potential for mutually beneficial revenge."

I looked up from the contract. "What happens when the six months end?"

"You keep everything you've acquired during our arrangement. The clothing, jewelry, connections, education. Consider it severance."

"And what exactly do I have to do?" I asked, suspicious of any arrangement that seemed too good to be true.

"Be seen with me. Learn quickly. Make Eleanor regret ever exposing you." He shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "And sign a non-disclosure agreement, of course."

I continued reading, turning to the final page—and froze.

"If contract is breached," I read aloud, "all gifts and acquisitions must be returned to Martin Chen... including my kidney?" I looked up, horrified.

Martin's face remained impassive for three seconds before cracking into a genuine smile. "Just checking if you read the fine print. That clause is negotiable."

I closed the portfolio. "This is madness."

"This is opportunity," he countered. "You've been playing at wealth your entire life. I'm offering to make it real."

"Why me? You could hire an actress. A model. Someone who already knows how to navigate your world."

He stepped closer, and I fought the urge to back away. "Because you have something they don't: authentic motivation. The Wei family stole your identity, your security, your future. Don't you want to take something back?"

The question hung between us. Of course I wanted revenge. I'd fallen asleep every night since my expulsion from the Wei family imagining elaborate scenarios where I triumphantly returned to reclaim what was mine. But those had been fantasies.

"I don't know if I can pull this off," I admitted.

"You successfully pretended to be a Wei heiress for eighteen years."

"I didn't know I was pretending!"

"Even better. You were authentic in your counterfeit role." He took the portfolio from my hands. "First lesson in true wealth, Cassandra: confidence is the only thing you can't fake. Either sign the contract, or go back to selling knock-off handbags in department store bathrooms."

The choice shouldn't have been difficult. Six months of luxury and revenge versus a lifetime of scraping by on the margins? Yet something about Martin Chen unsettled me—the calculated intensity in his gaze, the sense that he knew far more than he was revealing.

"Why do I feel like I'm making a deal with the devil?" I murmured.

"The devil wishes he had my resources," Martin replied with a slight smile. "But unlike Satan, I'm offering this contract with full transparency. You know exactly what you're getting into."

I doubted that very much. But I also knew I'd regret walking away.

"If I sign," I said slowly, "I want one amendment."

"You're already negotiating. Excellent." He seemed genuinely pleased. "What's your demand?"

"I want to know everything you know about the Weis and why they chose me. The full truth about my identity."

Something flickered across his face—so quickly I almost missed it. Caution? Approval? Concern?

"Agreed," he said after a moment. "But that information comes with time. As you earn my trust."

He produced a pen—platinum, heavy in my hand. The weight of decision.

I signed.

Martin didn't smile so much as look satisfied, like a chess player whose opponent had made an anticipated move. He pressed a button on the wall, and moments later, a woman entered carrying a garment bag.

"Your first assignment begins in one hour," he said. "Eleanor is hosting a gallery opening downtown. We'll be making our first public appearance."

The woman—Martin's personal stylist, I would later learn—hung the garment bag on a nearby door and unzipped it to reveal a dress that I immediately recognized as a Valentino couture piece I'd seen in Vogue. The genuine article, not a replica.

"This is moving very fast," I said, suddenly overwhelmed.

"Wealth moves at its own pace," Martin replied. "Lesson two: keep up or get left behind."

An hour later, dressed in Valentino and borrowed diamonds, I stepped out of Martin's Bentley in front of the gallery. Photographers immediately began snapping pictures, and I froze momentarily until Martin's hand pressed gently against the small of my back.

"Smile like you own the room," he murmured. "Because tonight, you do."

We walked into the gallery, and the crowd parted like water. I recognized faces from my former life—socialites, business associates of the Wei family, fashion editors who had once air-kissed me at events. Their expressions now ranged from confusion to curiosity to outright alarm.

And then, directly ahead, Eleanor Wei turned around. She wore a cream designer gown that I knew had been custom-made for her. Her face transitioned from social smile to shocked disbelief as she registered Martin with his hand still on my back.

"Martin," she said, her voice tight. "What an unexpected surprise."

"Eleanor," he nodded coolly. "I believe you know my fiancée."

The gallery seemed to go silent around us, though logically I knew conversations were still happening. Eleanor's face drained of color, then flooded crimson.

"Your what?" she hissed.

"Fiancée," he repeated, his arm now sliding around my waist. "Cassandra and I have been keeping things private, but we decided it was time to make our relationship public."

I felt Eleanor's eyes scanning me, taking in the Valentino dress—the same one she had tried to order but had been told was already reserved.

"This is absurd," she finally said. "She's nothing but a fraud. A counterfeit."

Martin's grip on my waist tightened slightly. "I find authenticity comes in unexpected packages," he replied. "Speaking of which, that dress looks familiar. Limited edition Chanel from last season?"

Eleanor's chin lifted proudly. "Of course. One of only five made."

"Hmm," Martin said thoughtfully. "Cassandra, didn't you mention that Chanel never produced that design in cream? Something about the creative director vetoing it after the runway show?"

I hadn't said anything of the sort, but years of spotting counterfeits had trained my eye. Now that he mentioned it, the stitching on Eleanor's dress did have the telltale signs of a high-end replica.

"Yes," I said, finding my voice. "They only produced it in black and navy. The cream version was a runway prototype."

Eleanor's face paled again, and I knew we were right.

"I'm afraid my fiancée has quite the eye for authenticity," Martin continued smoothly. "A talent I've come to deeply appreciate."

Just then, Eleanor's mother Victoria appeared, stopping short when she saw me. "What is she doing here?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Wei," Martin greeted her with practiced charm. "I was just explaining to your daughter that Cassandra and I are engaged."

Victoria's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is some kind of sick joke."

"Not at all," Martin replied. "In fact, we're celebrating tonight. Cassandra just moved into the penthouse."

Victoria grabbed her daughter's arm. "Eleanor, come with me immediately."

"Actually," Martin said, "before you go—Cassandra received a delivery today. Something I think might interest you both."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small velvet pouch, handing it to me. I opened it, confused, and pulled out a stunning diamond tennis bracelet. I recognized it instantly—it had been part of the Wei family collection, one of Victoria's favorites that she'd claimed was a family heirloom.

"My bracelet!" Victoria gasped. "That was stolen when we moved."

"Interesting," Martin said. "The jeweler who authenticated it for me confirmed it was sold to them three weeks ago. By you, Mrs. Wei." He paused. "Right around the time you began liquidating assets to cover certain investment losses."

Victoria's face hardened to stone. "How dare you."

"I dare many things," Martin replied calmly. "Especially when protecting what's mine." He guided me toward the exit. "Do enjoy the exhibition. I hear the artist specializes in exposing false appearances."

As we walked away, I heard Eleanor's furious whisper: "Mother, what is happening?"

Outside, safely in the Bentley, I finally exhaled. "That was..."

"Just the beginning," Martin finished for me. He looked at the bracelet still in my hand. "Put it on. It's yours now."

"Did Victoria really sell it?"

"Yes. The Wei empire is crumbling faster than anyone realizes." He studied me. "You did well tonight. But there's much more to learn."

"About being your fake fiancée?"

"About being genuinely powerful." He took the bracelet and fastened it around my wrist. "Anyone can pretend to have money, Cassandra. I'm teaching you how to wield it."

As the Bentley pulled away from the curb, I caught sight of Eleanor and Victoria exiting the gallery, their faces locked in tense conversation. For the first time since my expulsion from their family, I felt something other than shame.

I felt dangerous.