Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 175: EVE

The conversation shifted. We moved toward the next investor—a woman in a metallic grey gown with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. I made introductions. I said the right things. Smiled. Listened.

But something was... off.

My pulse began to stutter. Not fast—just uneven. Like a clock hand catching on something it shouldn’t. My skin felt warmer than before, like someone had turned the temperature up by a few degrees.

I blinked hard.

The room tilted, barely. Like a ship in the gentlest wave. My hands felt too warm in my gloves. My collar, too tight.

I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek. Dry.

Too dry.

"...Pardon?" I asked the woman before me, her words suddenly arriving through a tunnel.

She smiled indulgently, repeating something about Shanlhai’s interest in Eden’s northern wing.

I nodded, slower this time, trying to focus.

Another blink.

The edges of the room pulsed. The lights flared too brightly—then dimmed just a breath too much. The violin in the background seemed to stretch, warping just slightly out of rhythm.

I shifted my weight. My gloves now felt like sandpaper.

What the hell was—?

A low hum settled at the base of my skull, not painful, but insistent. My skin prickled beneath the fabric of my jacket.

Twenty minutes.

Had it been twenty minutes since I drank it?

"Excuse me," I murmured, nodding politely as I disengaged from the conversation.

Clara fell into step beside me. "Adrien," she murmured, leaning close enough that her breath ghosted my ear. "You’re flushed. Maybe it’s too warm in here?"

I straightened, tugging at my cufflinks to disguise the subtle shake in my hands. My body rarely betrayed me. I could drink half a decanter of scotch and hold a boardroom hostage with a single look. But right now...

Something was not adding up.

"No," I said flatly. "Just—" I stopped. What had I been about to say?

My mouth felt dry. Not just my mouth. My throat, my tongue, even the inside of my cheeks—dry like paper left too close to a radiator.

I reached for another glass from a passing tray, something clear this time. Water. It cooled my throat, but not the heat blooming under my skin.

It wasn’t adrenaline. I knew adrenaline. This was different.

My palms itched. My fingers twitched, needing to do something—touch, grip, anchor.

Noise blurred at the edges. Laughter turned to low hums. Voices slowed just a little too much. Someone brushed past me and it felt like static against my suit sleeve. Did she drug me?

Clara’s voice cut through, soft and sweet like a tuning fork. "You sure you’re okay?"

I didn’t look at her.

My heart wasn’t racing, but my skin was—every nerve alert, lit up like someone had run a live wire just beneath the surface. My breathing came shallow. Too shallow. I adjusted my collar againn and found it clung to my neck like it was made of glue.

She rested a tentative hand on my forearm. "Why don’t we step away for a bit? You’ve been working the room nonstop."

I gave her a sidelong glance. Clara—always poised, always polished. Tonight her ruby gown clung to her like spilled wine, and every smile she offered the crowd was perfectly measured.

But I saw the flicker in her eyes. Too bright. Anticipation masked as concern. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"I’m fine," I said flatly.

She tilted her head, that childhood familiarity slipping into her tone. "Adrien, you’re pale. You’re... shaking." Her fingers brushed my sleeve lightly. "Just a minute to sit. That’s all."

I hesitated. The heat in my bloodstream pulsed again—low, persistent, unnatural.

Clara took my silence as consent and guided me away from the murmuring crowd.

I let her, calculating. Cameron’s words echoed in my head—People reveal themselves when they think no one’s watching.

We entered the elevator.

The lights inside buzzed faintly above me, casting a golden hue over the floor. I closed my eyes for a second—just a second—and when I opened them again, Clara was watching me with a softness I couldn’t read.

When the doors slid open, she walked with me down a quiet corridor lined with gilt-framed portraits, each step echoing on the floor. My pulse throbbed at my temples. The warmth was spreading rapidly, thick and molten, like fire laced through my veins.

Clara’s pace was unhurried, practiced. Like she had all the time in the world. She glanced back occasionally, her smile softening into something warmer than it had been all night. Like she was guiding me to safety.

"This way," Clara whispered, slipping through an open doorway.

The room was secluded, dimly lit by a crystal chandelier.

"You’ll feel better here," she said, closing the door behind us.

I didn’t answer. I moved to the far side of the room, leaning one hand on the carved mantelpiece. My breath was heavier now, dragging through my chest like smoke. My usual stillness—the razor control I built myself on—was fraying strand by strand.

"What did you put in that drink?" My voice came out low, dangerous.

Clara froze for half a second, then composed herself with a small laugh. "Adrien... don’t be paranoid. It’s just a cocktail. You need to relax."

Relax.

The word sounded obscene.

She approached slowly, her heels silent on the thick rug. "You work too hard. You’re always on edge. I just... I thought maybe you needed a night where you didn’t have to think about every threat in the room."

I lifted my head, my gaze cutting into her. "So you drug me?"

Her lips parted, feigning shock. "I didn’t—"

"Don’t lie to me." My voice cracked like a whip, but even as I tried to summon fury, my muscles trembled, heavy and uncooperative. My body burned. My skin hypersensitive, every brush of fabric sparking down my nerves.

She faltered only briefly, then shifted tactics. Stepping closer, her expression softened into something she must have thought passed for devotion. "Adrien..." Her fingers hovered near my chest. "I’d never hurt you. I just... wanted you to see me. To see how much I... I love you."