“Act Like You Love Me, Please.”—The Poor Girl Begged the CEO Millionaire in Front of Her Ex…

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“Act Like You Love Me, Please.”—The Poor Girl Begged the CEO Millionaire in Front of Her Ex…

<!--td {border: 1px solid #cccccc;}br {mso-data-placement:same-cell;}--> “Act Like You Love Me, Please.”—The Poor Girl Begged the CEO Millionaire in Front of Her Ex… Ava Mitchell knew she did not belong at Lumiere before the hostess even looked up. The restaurant sat forty floors above downtown Chicago, all glass, brass, white orchids, and people who laughed like they had never checked their bank account before ordering dinner. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittered in sharp winter light. Inside, every table looked like a private negotiation between money and power. Ava stood near the entrance in a black dress she had bought from a thrift store on Milwaukee Avenue for twenty-two dollars. She had steamed it twice. It still looked like twenty-two dollars. With one hand, she clutched a thick cream envelope against her ribs. With the other, she kept smoothing the side seam of her dress, as if she could press herself into becoming the kind of woman who entered places like this without apologizing with her eyes. “Reservation?” the maître d’ asked. His tone was polite. That somehow made it worse. “I’m not dining,” Ava said quickly. “I’m just dropping this off for Mr. Callahan. Table under Stratton Legal Group.” The maître d’ glanced at the envelope, then at her shoes. Ava felt the glance like a fingertip against a bruise. Three weeks earlier, Derek had returned her engagement ring in a ziplock bag. Not a velvet box. Not even a napkin. A ziplock bag. He had placed it on her kitchen counter like evidence in a minor crime and said, “I think we both know this was always a reach for you.” She had not cried until after he left. That was the part she hated remembering most. Not the ring. Not the breakup. Not even the way he had already changed his relationship status by midnight. It was the fact that she had stood there, silent, still wearing the cardigan his mother once called “humble,” and let him walk out believing he had been right. Since then, Ava had become very good at small tasks. Answering emails. Returning calls. Updating spreadsheets. Taking the train home without looking at couples too long. Breathing through the moment when grief turned into embarrassment. Tonight was supposed to be another small task. Her boss had handed her the envelope at 5:17 p.m. and said, “Can you run this to Lumiere? Client needs wet signatures before tomorrow morning. In and out.” In and out. That was the plan. Then Ava saw Derek. He was seated near the windows beneath a chandelier that looked like frozen rain. Navy suit. Silver watch. The easy smile he used when he wanted a room to know he belonged in it. Beside him sat a woman with glossy hair, a diamond bracelet, and the relaxed posture of someone who had never been told she was almost good enough. Derek laughed at something she said. Then he looked up. Their eyes met. Ava forgot how to move. For one terrible second, his face softened—not with guilt, not with regret, but with pity. That nearly broke her. Because pity was worse than cruelty. Cruelty admitted it had done damage. Pity stood above the wreckage and called it unfortunate. Derek’s gaze dropped to her dress, then to the envelope clutched against her chest. A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. Ava turned away too fast, almost bumping into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. “Sorry,” she whispered. The waiter nodded and moved on. She tried to breathe. The room felt too warm. The glass walls too exposed. She could feel Derek looking at her from across the restaurant, feel him building the story already: Ava Mitchell, still running errands, still wearing cheap dresses, still proving him right. Her hand tightened around the envelope until the paper bent. That was when a voice beside her said, “You’ve been standing in the entrance for almost four minutes.” Ava turned. The man beside her held two glasses of champagne as if he had simply appeared from the architecture of the place. Tall, composed, dark suit tailored with the kind of precision that made price tags unnecessary. His expression was calm, but not bored. His eyes were sharp enough to make lying feel inconvenient. Ava recognized him after half a second. Nathan Cole. Everyone in Chicago business circles knew the name. Youngest self-made billionaire in the Midwest. Founder of Cole Meridian. A man whose photo appeared in profiles with titles like *The Quiet Strategist Rebuilding American Logistics*. He looked even more intimidating in person. “I’m fine,” Ava said automatically. Nathan’s gaze moved briefly to her hand, still crushing the envelope. “That’s usually what people say right before they faint or commit a felony.” Despite everything, Ava almost laughed. Almost. “I’m not doing either.” “Good. The maître d’ is getting nervous.” Ava glanced toward the front desk. The maître d’ was, in fact, watching them with the strained patience of a man trained to handle celebrities, senators, and emotional collapses near the coat check. Ava closed her eyes for one second. When she opened them, Derek was still looking. The woman beside him leaned closer, whispering something. Derek’s smile widened. Ava felt the old humiliation rise up her throat like heat. She did not know why she said it. Maybe because Nathan was a stranger. Maybe because strangers had no history to use against you. Maybe because she had spent three weeks pretending she was fine and had finally reached the edge of what pretending could hold. “Could you…” Her voice failed. Nathan waited. Ava swallowed. “Could you act like you know me?” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Just for a minute,” she said, the words coming faster now. “There’s someone here. My ex. I didn’t know he’d be here. I only came to drop off this envelope, and I know this sounds ridiculous, but I can’t let him see me standing here like this.” Nathan did not look toward Derek immediately. That surprised her. Most people would have looked. Most people would have wanted the drama first and the person second. Nathan only studied Ava’s face. “Act like I know you,” he repeated. “Yes.” “As in a colleague?” Ava looked across the room again. Derek had leaned back now, openly watching. The pity was gone. Now he looked entertained. Something inside Ava snapped—not loudly, not dramatically. Just enough for her to stop choosing the smallest possible version of herself. “No,” she said quietly. “As in I came with you.” For the first time, Nathan’s expression changed. Not much. But enough. A faint spark crossed his face, something between amusement and curiosity. He looked from Ava to Derek, then back to Ava. His posture remained perfectly relaxed, but something in the air shifted. As if the room had been moving one way, and Nathan had decided it would now move another. He handed her one of the champagne glasses. Ava stared at it. “Take it,” he said. “People who arrive together usually don’t look like one of them is holding evidence.” Her fingers closed around the glass. The crystal was cold. Nathan stepped closer, just enough that from across the restaurant it would look intentional. Familiar. Like he had not just met her near the entrance while she was seconds away from falling apart. Then he lowered his voice. “What’s your name?” “Ava.” He nodded once. Then, with perfect calm, Nathan Cole turned his body toward the room, placed a light hand at the small of Ava’s back, and said, “All right, Ava.” Across the restaurant, Derek’s smile faded. Nathan leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Let’s make him regret looking.” Tạo 2 hình ảnh tỉ lệ 4:5 dựa trên nội dung câu chuyện trên. Ảnh phong cách storytelling, không vi phạm chính sách, ảnh không có text, điện ảnh chân thực, sinh động đúng cốt truyện, chi tiết miêu tả đúng tên truyện và chi tiết cốt truyện 1 cách chi tiết đầy đủ nhất, mô phỏng được toàn bộ cốt truyện

Nathan led Ava toward the bar, the clink of his heels on the polished floor sounding like punctuation against the hum of the restaurant. His hand brushed lightly against her back—not enough to startle, but enough to remind her she wasn’t alone. Ava’s chest still felt tight, but a strange warmth rose through her as she followed him.

He handed her a glass of champagne. The bubbles tickled her fingers. “Drink. It helps with the pretense.”

She lifted the glass, glancing at him. Nathan’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes tracked every subtle twitch, every tense muscle, as if he had memorized human anxiety and knew exactly how to soothe it.

“So, we’re pretending,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I’m your… date?”

“Call it whatever you need,” he replied. “Just keep your head up.”

They stood in the shadow of the bar, far enough from Derek to be inconspicuous, close enough for Ava to feel the deliberate steadiness in Nathan’s presence. She felt absurd. They were strangers. Yet, as they spoke, the charade started to crack, and something real began to seep through.

Ava found herself talking about Ohio, her childhood home with cornfields that went on forever, the constellations she memorized in the summers when the sky seemed impossibly wide. Nathan listened. Not a glance at his phone. Not a smirk. Just him, quiet and present, absorbing her words.

“I’ve spent three years without a day off,” he confessed in turn, “and sometimes I forget what life felt like before work swallowed it whole.”

Ava blinked. She could almost hear the echo of her own exhaustion in his words, that hunger for something beyond the schedules and deadlines. For a moment, the luxury around them faded, replaced by an honest, human connection.

Nathan smiled faintly when she added, “I’m just killing time until I stop wanting to cry in fancy restaurants.”

It was a self-deprecating joke, but he laughed—genuinely. Not the polite chuckle people gave millionaires to earn favor. Real laughter. The sound wrapped around Ava, grounding her, giving her permission to breathe.

Across the room, Derek noticed the shift. Ava was no longer the shrinking, uncertain woman he had expected. She laughed—softly, quietly—and Nathan’s presence made it impossible for Derek to pretend he still had any control.

Ava raised her glass to Nathan without thinking. He returned it with a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken pact forming between them: they were no longer alone in this moment, and Derek’s shadow held less sway than it had mere minutes ago.

Nathan leaned just enough closer so that only she could hear, voice low but firm, “You don’t need to collapse. You don’t need to pretend. Just stay here. Right now. With me.”

Her shoulders eased, her grip on the envelope softened. For the first time since the ziplock bag incident, Ava felt seen—not pitied. Not judged. Just… noticed. Not by Derek. By Nathan.

And for that, she let herself relax, if only slightly, letting the luxury and coldness of Lumiere fade into background noise.

Derek’s eyes flicked again toward her, confusion now creasing his forehead. The power dynamic had shifted without a word spoken. The tiny victory he had expected vanished in the quiet strength of Nathan’s protective presence.

Ava realized, mid-laugh, that she was no longer playing a part for Derek. She was simply existing in the moment, in the only company that mattered.

 

6/1/2026

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