RENT A HEART

Eve's POV

"I can't believe Frederick would stoop so low as to sneak into your office under the guise of friendship to steal sensitive information," Stephanie said, her voice laced with annoyance.

"It's incredibly disappointing, really," I sighed, rubbing body cream into my skin inside the private dressing room attached to my office. The scent of lavender filled the air.

"Are you going to sue?" she asked, her tone sharp. To be honest, I hadn't even considered it, but now that she mentioned it, I didn't really want to blow the issue up any more than it already was. The publicity would be a nightmare.

"No," I said simply, my decision firm, and Stephanie frowned in disapproval. Suddenly, her expression shifted, her face breaking into a broad, knowing smile.

"Anyway, how is he?" She asked as I began to get dressed, pulling on a tailored power suit.

"Who?" I asked innocently, pretending not to understand as I fastened my earrings.

"Your boyfriend, duh," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

I chuckled at her antics, amused despite myself.

I had come directly from the hospital to the office, driven by the urgency of the important yearly meeting with my stakeholders. Every minute felt like a trade-off between the man I loved and the empire I needed to protect.

"He's doing okay," I said, shrugging nonchalantly as I slipped on my heels, the sharp click echoing in the room.

"From what I saw of his car, how damaged beyond repair it was, he's really lucky to be alive, to be honest," Stephanie said, her voice a little too somber for my liking. I shot her a sharp, warning glare.

"You know I'm telling the truth, he was lucky," she insisted, refusing to back down.

"Yeeah, you're right. He was," I conceded, my voice softening, the image of his mangled car flashing unbidden in my mind.

"So tell me, how was it meeting his father, the great Leonard Luther?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at me, her gaze knowing.

"He was really nice and really cared about his son, from the brief moment I spent with him," I said, studying my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of my blouse.

"And what else happened? I mean, you slept with him at the hospital," she said, her tone teasing.

"Stephanie!" I called her out, exasperated by her nosy tendencies.

"What? You slept over, did you not?" she asked, her face contorting into a funny, exaggerated expression, clearly fishing for details.

"Well, I did, but you didn't have to word it like that!" I chided, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

"Well, go on, tell me everything that happened, including the juicy parts!" she insisted, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Well, he said...he said he loved me, and he was going to ask me out properly after my fashion show last week Thursday but didn't get the chance to," I confessed, my voice softening as I recalled the tender moment.

A pin could have dropped in the room and been heard. There was a beat of utter silence before Stephanie shrieked loudly, her hands flying to her face.

"Oh my God, Eve! I told you! My instinct can never be wrong!" she exclaimed happily, jumping up and down with excitement.

"Let's go; we're going to be late for the meeting. My schedule is already packed as it is, and most importantly, I need to leave early today," I said, grabbing my purse and striding towards the door, trying to regain my composure.

The meeting lasted an hour and a half before I went back to my office for an already scheduled interview with Times Magazine.

Stephanie, against my will, had hired a makeup artist for a quick makeover before the interview.

"You're a fashion icon; you need to look the part," she had argued, and I eventually gave in, knowing it was a losing battle.

"Please let them in," I told my assistant through the intercom, and a few minutes later, the reporters from Times Magazine walked in, their smiles professional and practiced.

"Hi, welcome. Please make yourselves comfortable," I said, extending a warm smile of my own.

"Thank you for having us, and I must say, you have a truly beautiful office," their leader, a woman with short, cropped hair and a sharp gaze, said, taking in the chic, minimalist decor.

"Thank you," I said, offering a gracious nod.

The media crew from Times Magazine began setting up their equipment, as they prepared for the interview.

"My name is Gracie, and I'll be interviewing you today," one of them said, stepping forward with a notepad and pen.

"Alright then, go on," I said, settling into my chair, ready to face whatever questions they had for me.

"How do you feel about being named the fashion icon of the year for the third time in a row?" she asked, her voice polite and professional.

I smiled, thinking about how far I had come, the challenges I had overcome, and the dreams I had realized. I took a deep breath and replied, my voice measured and confident. The questions were relatively formal, focused on my career, my design process, and my future aspirations. No personal questions were asked until towards the end, when Gracie's expression turned serious.

"The public would like to know your relationship status. Although you told us Mr. Christopher Luther was your partner during your last show, is that still the case, given the rumors that are circulating on the internet this morning?" the reporter asked, her eyes fixed on mine, her gaze probing.

I was taken aback by their question, especially the mention of rumors. I didn't know there was even a rumor to begin with, and a sudden, chilling premonition washed over me. I wondered what it was all about, what had been said, and who was behind it.

"What rumor?" I asked calmly, trying to project an air of detached amusement, although my heart was pounding against my ribs. I waited, my senses on high alert.

They exchanged a quick, furtive glance before one of them subtly gestured for the interviewer, Gracie, to answer.

"Well, the rumor is that your relationship with Mr. Christopher Luther was a contractual one, that it's fake, and that your father, the chairman, has already rejected Christopher as a suitable partner for you because of the bitter history between both your families," the interviewer said.

I had to take a moment to gather my thoughts, forcing myself to maintain a calm exterior as I mentally scrambled to formulate a response that the media wouldn't twist and sensationalize. Inwardly, I was seething, a white-hot fury simmering beneath the surface. I already knew who was responsible for leaking this damaging information to the press.

'How could Frederick do this?' I thought, my jaw clenching, my nails digging into the palms of my hands. The betrayal stung, deeper than I cared to admit.

"We can move on to the next question if you do not wish to answer that, Ma'am," Gracie suggested, her tone polite but persistent, sensing my hesitation.

"No, it's alright. I will answer you," I said, forcing a smile, determined not to appear flustered or defensive.

"First of all, Christopher is still my partner, and someone that I love very much. And that is what matters, at the end of the day," I replied simply, deliberately side-stepping the rumors about a contractual relationship, choosing to focus instead on the genuine affection that existed between us.

"Secondly, my father, as much as he wants the best for me, cannot marry me off to anyone. Most importantly, he can't reject Chris because he hasn't done anything wrong. And, most importantly, the supposedly 'bitter family history and rivalry' between both families was rooted in misunderstandings that will be cleared up very soon. I can guarantee that," I answered, as calmly as I could muster, careful not to reveal too much information. However, I could tell by the subtle gleam in Gracie's eyes that she had picked up on the hint of a scandal I was deliberately dropping.

"So we should be looking forward to the union of both families in marriage?" she asked, her tone playful, her eyes dancing with anticipation. I couldn't help laughing, knowing exactly where she was going with this line of questioning.

"Well, we'll see, but I certainly hope so," I said, smiling enigmatically, refusing to confirm or deny anything, leaving the reporters to speculate and gossip to their heart's content.

The rest of the questions were fairly simple and straightforward, targeting solely on my company, my business acumen, and my future plans. However, I honestly didn't mind answering questions that had to do with Chris. He was such an integral part of my life now, and I felt a strange sense of pride in being associated with him, both professionally and personally.

The interview lasted for an hour. Afterwards, we went down to the changing room, where I posed for some photographs for the magazine spread, changing into a series of carefully curated outfits that showcased my personal style.

By the time I was done with all the meetings and professional engagements, it was already past five in the evening. I hurriedly changed into casual clothes in my private dressing room at the office, grabbed the food I had ordered for Chris and myself, and headed out, eager to see him and put the day's stress behind me.

It took me thirty minutes to get to the hospital, fighting through the city's notorious rush-hour traffic. Using a private elevator reserved for VIP patients, I quickly made my way to the floor where Chris was staying.

As I approached his room, I noticed something was preventing the door from fully closing. Hesitantly, I peered inside, and my blood ran cold. My brother Cole was inside, talking to Chris, and the words I overheard made me weak, almost causing me to collapse to my knees.

The conversation was intense and ominous, painting a picture of Frederick that was so sinister and so far removed from the friend I knew, that it was almost impossible to reconcile. A sense of dread washed over me, and I realized that the danger facing Chris was far greater than I had ever imagined.