Chapter 3
I woke up at six in the morning the next day.
Actually, saying I "woke up" wasn't accurate—I never fell asleep. Fletcher's betrayal, Howard's proposal, that life-changing contract... everything kept playing on repeat in my mind like a movie reel.
At exactly seven o'clock, a black Bentley pulled up outside my apartment building.
The driver opened my door: "Mr. Howard is waiting for you, Miss Martinez."
Forty minutes later, we arrived at a secluded private club in Beverly Hills. It looked more like a luxury spa, with expensive essential oils perfuming the air.
Howard was already waiting for me.
In workout clothes, he looked younger than when he wore suits, but that intimidating aura remained unchanged. My heart started racing for no reason.
"Right on time." He glanced at his watch, lips curving slightly. "I like that."
Even his compliments felt so distant...
The first person to greet me was Harley Pasternak, the private nutritionist to Hollywood's elite. He gestured expressionlessly for me to step onto a high-tech scale.
Brutal numbers flashed across the screen.
"Two hundred pounds, 38% body fat, metabolic age 45." Harley's tone was as cold as a machine. "Twenty-five pounds off in thirty days. No sugar, no carbs, no excuses."
My stomach clenched: "That's impossible—"
"In Mr. Howard's world, nothing is impossible." Harley handed me a strict meal plan. "Breakfast: protein powder with spinach. Lunch: grilled chicken breast salad. Dinner: salmon with broccoli. That's it. Non-negotiable."
I felt like a lamb led to slaughter.
Next came stylist Rachel Zoe. She scrutinized me with critical eyes, each second making me want to crawl into a hole.
"Darling, we need a complete image overhaul." She shook her head, disgust written all over her face. "This is going to take a lot of work... a tremendous amount."
She picked up a Balenciaga dress, then threw it aside with revulsion.
"Size 18? No way. Size 16 won't work either. We need to aim for 14." She muttered, "Maybe 12 should be our final goal."
Each size felt like a slap in the face. I clutched the hem of my clothes, remembering Fletcher's cruel words about me not even fitting into designer samples.
"Maybe this is a mistake..." I whispered.
Harley and Rachel exchanged a glance, their impatience obvious. Rachel started packing up the expensive clothing samples, clearly writing me off as a hopeless case.
Just then, Howard's voice came from the doorway: "What's the problem?"
Both of them straightened instantly, their attitudes doing a complete 180, becoming as respectful as if they were different people.
"No problem, Mr. Howard. We're developing the optimal plan for Miss Martinez."
Howard walked over, his tall frame blocking the harsh lights. His hand gently touched my shoulder, the warm contact making my whole body shiver.
"Trust the process, Lainey. Trust my judgment."
The absolute authority in his voice brooked no argument. Watching these arrogant experts bow and scrape before him, I finally understood the true extent of this man's power.
But would that power... really be used to protect me?
The training began. Under Howard's watchful gaze, I struggled through each movement.
"Wrong squat form." He moved behind me, hands gripping my waist. "Straighten your back."
His chest was almost pressed against my back, and I could feel his body heat radiating through our thin workout clothes. His large hands slid from my waist to my hip bones, adjusting my position.
"Just like that... take it slow." His voice was right behind my ear, warm breath ghosting across my neck, making me tingle all over.
My legs started trembling—whether from the exercise or his touch, I couldn't tell.
"Focus, Lainey." He seemed to notice my distraction, his palm giving my waist a gentle pat. "Feel the muscle engagement."
Next was plank hold. I was face-down on the yoga mat, my arms already shaking.
"Hold it." Howard crouched beside me, one hand gently stroking my back from shoulder blades down to the small of my back. "Your muscles are tense. Let me help you relax."
His fingers began massaging gently along my spine, each touch sending sparks through me, nearly making me collapse.
God... was this still training?
"Deep breaths." He leaned closer, and I could even smell his faint masculine scent. "Your body is too stiff."
With that, his hands covered my shoulders, thumbs drawing small circles below my collarbones. I couldn't help but let out a soft sound.
"Good, just relax like that." His voice grew husky, palms sliding down my arms until our fingers interlaced, helping support my body.
Our fingers were tightly intertwined, and I could feel the roughness and warmth of his palms. This position brought our faces within inches of each other—I could practically count his eyelashes.
"Lainey..." He whispered my name, his gaze growing intense.
Just then, my arms gave out completely, and I started falling. Howard reacted instantly, catching me around the waist, pulling us even closer together.
His arms encircled my waist while my hands instinctively pressed against his chest. Through his thin workout shirt, I could feel the firmness of his muscles and the steady power of his heartbeat.
"Careful." He looked down at me, our lips barely an inch apart.
My face instantly turned tomato red, my heart pounding so hard it might burst from my chest.
At lunch, I stared blankly at the bland chicken breast salad in front of me when my phone suddenly rang.
Fletcher.
I looked uncertainly at Howard. He nodded slightly: "Take it. Let him hear your new voice."
I took a deep breath and answered.
"Lainey? Where did you go?" Fletcher sounded nervous. "The producers said you took time off. Listen, about that night... we can talk—"
"There's nothing to talk about, Fletcher." My voice was surprisingly calm.
After a brief silence, cruel laughter came through.
"Oh, I get it. Found a new sugar daddy? Howard Buckner took you home, right? Let me tell you a secret, darling—Howard Buckner loves collecting 'projects' like you. Once the makeover's complete, he loses interest."
My knuckles turned white gripping the phone.
No... that wouldn't happen... would it?
"Susan says she's seen his previous... projects." Fletcher continued viciously. "They all disappeared. What makes you think you'll be any different?"
Just then, a large hand snatched the phone from me.
Howard's voice was ice-cold: "Mr. Caine, you should be more concerned about your own future than my fiancée's affairs."
Dead silence on the other end.
Howard hung up and returned my phone. But I was stunned.
Fiancée? He said... fiancée?
"Remember, Lainey." His voice softened again, fingers gently stroking my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "From now on, you only need to care about one person's opinion."
"Whose?" My voice was barely a whisper.
His thumb brushed across my lips, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"Mine."
But... did I really deserve to be Howard Buckner's fiancée? Or was this all just a game?
My heart was racing, but I couldn't tell if it was from fear or anticipation.