Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 66: Why Do I Even Care?

I didn’t say a word as we left the sidewalk. My hand rested at the small of her back—not in a possessive way, not really, more... steady. Grounding. Like maybe if I didn’t do that she would fall over.

She didn’t say anything either, but I could feel the tension radiating off her body like she was on fire. Her silence wasn’t calm—it throbbed, loud and brittle, like something barely holding together.

The car door unlocked with a soft chime. She climbed in quickly, sinking into the leather seat like she wanted to disappear.

I walked around and slid in beside her. The scent of clean linen filled the space, but her perfume was buried beneath it—floral, soft, and mixed with vanilla. Something suggestive of regret? Anger? I couldn’t tell.

I turned on the engine and started the car.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hands fumbling with the seatbelt. They were trembling. Badly.

Damn I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

I noticed everything about her.

She was still shewing on her bottom lip like she was trying to swallow something bitter—like a memory was stuck between her teeth. I am sure it’s a result of incident that just happened. How dare he make my employee disturebed.

Her hands were shaking violently now as she fumbled with the buckle, the small plastic clasp suddenly a complex puzzle. She wasn’t just chewing her lip anymore; she was worrying it, biting down hard enough I worried she’d draw blood.

Damn it.

The urge to pull over, to just grab her and hug her tight and shield her from whatever storm was raging inside her, was almost overwhelming.

I held the steering wheel tightly.

I turned a little again and noticed she looked like she was going to cry. Her eyes were already glistening, the corners raw and wet with unshed tears.

Do something, Walton. Anything.

Do I call Cameron and ask him to fix clowns at a stop?

No. That is weird

The silence stretched, thick and heavy between us. The hum of the engine was a dull backdrop to the noise of her quiet struggle. Her breathing was shallow, forced, like tiny hiccups she was trying to suppress. Each one was like a pinprick to my gut.

I kept my eyes mostly on the road, but my awareness was entirely on her. I could hear the small, almost inaudible sniffle she tried so hard to hide. My hands tightened further on the wheel, the leather groaning faintly in protest.

He dared.

Dared to reduce her to this. To stand there and spew his possessive garbage after... after whatever he’d put her through. The sheer entitlement of it made my blood boil. And worse, the way it cut her to the core.

She brought a trembling hand up, pressing the heel của her palm against her forehead, as if trying to push the memory back inside. Her knuckles were white.

She looked like she was seconds away from falling apart.

And I hated that. Why do I hate that though? This is stressing me out.

Her shoulders were tight, rigid under her shirt. I could practically see the effort it was taking her not to break down completely. Each shallow breath was a battle won against the storm inside.

Should I just pull over?. To hell with getting her home efficiently. To hell with maintaining professionalism. I wanted to find a quiet spot, turn off the engine, and just... wait. Wait until she could breathe properly. Wait until she could look at me. Wait until she could tell me what she needed, or just sit in silence until the trembling stopped.

Then it hit me...

I changed my posture as best I could.. "Pookie Bear."

Her head snapped towards me so fast that I thought she might hurt herself, but I was excited to see the anger in her eyes.

Okay. I have her attention.

Let’s push it.

I needed to make her feel anything but broken over that bastard.

So let’s mock him and see if she can smile.

"Don’t tell me you forgot," I said casually, like I wasn’t watching her reaction out of the corner of my eye like a hawk. "That’s what she called him, right?"

Still nothing from her.

So, I continued and cleared my throat a little too dramatically and pitched my voice higher, mocking.

"Pookie Bear! I found the purse in the trunk! It was hiding behind your spine!"

I even wiggled my fingers like some kind of idiot. If I could just get a laugh—anything.

She shot me a look that could kill. Good. I was getting somewhere. Anger was decidedly better than tears or whatever patently awful emotion she was feeling.

But I wasn’t done.

"Oh, Isa," I purred, mimicking that walking neon sign lady. "What a surprise to see you here."

Her tone came out flat and cold. "Are you done?"

Not even close, I wanted to say but I don’t want to push it too hard.

Instead, I gave her my signature smirk, the one I knew she hated. "I didn’t say I was starting."

Then she turned to face me, full of heat and defiance and trembling confusion.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice rising. "Back there. With Max."

I could feel my smile fall—only just a little.

What does she mean? Did I do something wrong? Was it wrong for me to intervene?

"Do what?" I asked, doing my best to make my voice even.

"Don’t play dumb. You turned a simple situation into a full-blown messy spectacle!" She snapped her fingers to emphasize it.

I squeezed the steering wheel harder.

Because yeah—I did. And I don’t regret a thing.

Am I really the bad guy here?

The engine hummed below us. Traffic lights dulled red and yellow against the windshield, but everything inside the car felt frozen. Like it was suspended.

"So that’s it?" she scoffed. "Now you’re deaf too?"

I slammed the brakes harder than I should have when the red light flared up ahead. She jolted forwards with the force of the seatbelt locking up against her chest.

I didn’t mean to scare her.

But my temper was thin.

"No," I said, turning to her. My voice was sharper than I intended. "I was giving you space to decide if you were going to keep pretending you weren’t furious. I guess we’re done with that now."

Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. Her voice came out small. "You think this is funny? You—mocking me. Turning that entire scene into a joke while I was standing there trying not to fall apart."

What?

My voice dropped low. "I wasn’t mocking you." I looked back at the road. "I was mocking him. That pathetic excuse of a man and the Barbie clone he cheated with."

I’d never hated anyone more than I hated Max in that moment and I didn’t want to look at her pathetic tears, Not like I actually care, I just hate people that think they can hurt some one and go on about their day like nothing happened.

"You don’t get to do that," she whispered. "You don’t get to play hero. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not even my friend. This isn’t your business."

I nodded once, my jaw locked. "You’re right. It’s not my business."

I turned my head slowly and locked my eyes with hers.

she is really right because why the fuck do I give a fuck or interfere with anything.

But you know what? Fuck it.

"But you cried over that bastard."I said.

"You poured your heart out to me—that night, in my car—whining and sobbing like he broke something precious. And now I finally see the piece of shit who did it, and I’m supposed to just—what? Smile and nod?"

Her face turned pale and her body was frozen.

She blinked a few times like she couldn’t believe what she heard.

"Wait..." she breathed. Her voice cracked. "You... that was you? That night?"

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I didn’t want to respond. I didn’t know how

I knew.

Knew I said too much.

Her eyes widened, and I saw the exact second it clicked.

I looked away, jaw tight, throat burning. The secret I’d kept buried—the night she cried and complained in my car, mascara-streaked and shaking, sobbing over a man who didn’t deserve her—I remembered it like it was scorched into my skin..

She leaned back like I punched her. Her voice was distant now. "But... but I thought you were a driver. Aria’s driver."

I stayed silent.

What was there to say? Her mouth opened and closed in quick succession as if she was trying to catch up to herself. Her hand flew to her mouth like she was going to throw-up.

God.

she’s so good at acting though.

She doesn’t know how much I wanted to ask her lots of questions. Like how she’s good at lying and deception.

"You..." she croaked. "You knew it was me all this time? And you... you hired me anyway?"

Her hands were still hovering near her face and all the color had left her face. Her eyes, which had moments ago been sparking with defiance and confusion, were now wide and glassy, fixed on me with a look of utter disbelief. It wasn’t the look of someone caught in a lie, or so my stupid brain offered, but the look of someone who had just had their world tilted on its axis. Still, the thought niggled. Spare me the fakeness.

She swallowed hard and her chest was now rising steadily.

"Why?"

Because I couldn’t forget you.

Because I have seen you again, and again, and again, until you appeared as the interviewee for my personal assistant position.

Because I hated how much you mattered after just one night.

Because I wanted to know why you keep appearing and what your true intensions are.

But I said nothing.

Because none of that would make it any better.

So I stared at the road and let her fall apart beside me.

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