Chapter 2 Fake Love Act, Real Emotions Emerge

The mansion was silent save for the soft click of Nora's heels against marble as she explored what would be her home for the next year. Three weeks into their arrangement, and she still felt like an intruder in Damian's sprawling estate.

"The west wing is yours," he had told her on arrival, not bothering to show her around himself. "My quarters are in the east. You won't need to cross paths with me unless it's for public appearances."

Yet here she was, wandering into his territory, drawn by curiosity about the man who had effectively purchased her presence in his life. The library door stood ajar, and she glimpsed him inside, silhouetted against the fireplace, a tumbler of amber liquid in hand.

"Exploring, Ms. Belmont?" His voice startled her. He hadn't even turned around.

"I was just..." She stepped into the room, refusing to be intimidated. "Getting to know my surroundings."

"Hmm." He finally faced her, his expression unreadable. "Tomorrow we begin the media circus. My PR team has arranged for a documentary crew to follow us for the next month—'Inside the Helios Marriage.' Are you prepared?"

"For cameras to invade our privacy? Not particularly."

"Privacy is a luxury neither of us can afford right now." He set down his glass. "The public needs to believe this is real. My grandfather may be gone, but his lawyers are watching closely. Any hint that this marriage is a sham, and the inheritance goes to my cousin Victor."

Nora studied him. "You really care about this company, don't you?"

Something flashed in his eyes—vulnerability, perhaps, gone as quickly as it appeared. "It's my legacy. I won't let it slip away because of an old man's sentimental conditions."

The next morning brought the promised invasion. Camera crews transformed their cold arrangement into a staged production, capturing their "domestic bliss" for the world's consumption.

"Just act natural," the director encouraged as they sat for breakfast.

Natural. As if there was anything natural about sipping coffee across from a stranger she was contractually obligated to pretend to love.

"Tell us how you met," prompted the interviewer.

Damian smoothly delivered their rehearsed story—a chance encounter at a charity event, an instant connection—while his hand covered hers on the table. His touch was warm, his thumb absently stroking her knuckles in a gesture so convincing that Nora almost believed it herself.

"And what drew you to Nora, especially given her... recent history?"

Nora tensed, but Damian's grip tightened reassuringly.

"When you find someone who sees you—truly sees you beyond the wealth and the name—you don't let public opinion dictate your heart." His eyes met hers, a perfect performance of adoration. "Nora has never cared about my status. That's refreshingly rare in my world."

Later, when the cameras temporarily withdrew, she confronted him in his study.

"That was quite a performance. You almost had me convinced."

He didn't look up from his laptop. "I didn't become CEO by being a poor actor."

"The public seems to be eating it up." She showed him her phone, where #HeliasLove was trending. "Though not everyone's convinced. Your ex has given three interviews calling me a gold-digger."

"Ignore it." He closed his laptop. "Public opinion is fickle. Today's scandal is tomorrow's forgotten headline."

"Easy for you to say. You're used to this. I'm still adjusting to being the most hated woman in Osiria."

Something in her voice made him look up, really look at her for the first time. "Is it that bad?"

She laughed bitterly. "I've received death threats, Damian. People think I tricked you somehow. That I'm using you after losing my Belmont status."

He was silent for a moment. "I didn't consider that aspect."

"No, you wouldn't have." She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"Tomorrow's charity gala. Stay close to me. I'll make sure no one bothers you."

The unexpected consideration lingered with her through the night.

---

The Osiria Children's Hospital Gala was the social event of the season. Cameras tracked their every move as they worked the room, Damian's hand never leaving the small of her back, a constant reminder of their arrangement.

"You're doing well," he murmured during a brief moment alone. "They're starting to believe us."

"I'm earning my millions," she replied with a tight smile.

The evening progressed smoothly until Nora excused herself to the powder room. Returning, she overheard Lily Belmont's distinctive voice around the corner.

"It's obviously fake. Damian Helios would never genuinely be interested in someone like her. I heard his grandfather's will forced him into marriage."

Nora froze, aware of the documentary camera crew just steps behind her, capturing every moment.

"She was never good enough to be a Belmont," Lily continued, "and she's certainly not good enough to be a Helios."

Taking a deep breath, Nora rounded the corner with her head high, coming face to face with Lily and her circle of socialites.

"Nora!" Lily's false smile appeared instantly. "We were just discussing you."

"I heard." Nora kept her voice steady, conscious of the cameras. "It seems you're still obsessed with defining my worth, Lily. I would have thought you'd have moved on by now."

Before Lily could respond, a commotion erupted across the ballroom. Damian was surrounded by reporters, one particularly aggressive journalist pushing too close. As security moved to intervene, the journalist stumbled backward, knocking over a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes.

Nora reacted instinctively, rushing forward as she saw the tray's trajectory heading straight for Damian. She reached him just in time, pulling him aside as glass shattered where he had been standing.

For one suspended moment, they stood frozen in each other's arms, faces inches apart. His eyes widened slightly, something unreadable flashing in their depths as he steadied her.

"Are you alright?" she asked, suddenly aware of the silence that had fallen across the room.

"Yes," he replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Thanks to you."

The moment was captured by dozens of cameras, immortalized in a photograph that would dominate social media by morning: Nora in Damian's arms, his expression transformed by something that looked remarkably like genuine concern as he gazed down at her.

Later that night, as they returned to the mansion, the tension between them had shifted into something neither could name.

"That was quick thinking," he said as they entered the foyer, cameras finally absent. "With the glasses."

"I didn't think. I just reacted."

He studied her for a long moment. "Perhaps that's what makes it convincing."

"What?"

"The instinct." He stepped closer, his voice low. "The public is calling it the 'look of love.' That moment when I—" He stopped abruptly, as if catching himself.

"When you what?" she pressed.

His expression shuttered. "Nothing. You did well tonight. The ratings will be excellent."

But as he turned away, Nora caught something in his eyes that hadn't been there before—a flicker of uncertainty, a crack in his perfect control.

That night, alone in her wing of the mansion, she scrolled through social media and found the photograph: #TheHeliasLook was trending worldwide, with millions analyzing the way Damian had looked at her in that unguarded moment.

What troubled her wasn't the public's reaction, but her own—the undeniable flutter in her chest when she remembered the feel of his arms around her, and the growing suspicion that somewhere along the line, the lines between performance and reality had begun to blur.