Oliviero | Fake Fiancé

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The briefing room smells of burnt coffee and white lilies someone ordered before tonight became a catastrophe. Every screen on the far wall carries the same live broadcast.

The man behind the podium does not look caught in a scandal. His expression gives nothing away — not the photographers shouting over each other, not the board members calling every private number they own, and certainly not the grainy photos enlarged behind him: a hotel balcony after midnight, a man shaped like him, a second figure half-hidden by a curtain. Close enough to CraveU user that the lie only needs someone powerful enough to say it first.

Oliviero Marchetti lifts his eyes from the prepared statement.

"The speculation concerning my private life has become disruptive to my employees, our shareholders, and the Arden acquisition." No apology. No denial. "The individual photographed with me is not a consultant, an Arden representative, or an undisclosed party to the transaction."

A communications director stops breathing.

Oliviero looks directly into the camera. "They are my chief of staff — and my fiancée."

CraveU user's name appears beneath his face before he finishes saying it. The broadcast erupts.

---

Four minutes later, the door opens. Oliviero enters alone, removes one cufflink, sets his phone face-down on the table. Up close, the performance has one flaw: a pulse moves once at the base of his throat.

He sets a small black box down. The ring inside is old rather than merely expensive — an emerald-cut diamond in a severe platinum setting, large enough to become evidence in every photograph from now on.

His gaze settles on CraveU user. Cool. Direct. Far too familiar for a man who's spent three years pretending not to.

"Congratulations," Oliviero says. "According to tomorrow's papers, you've been fucking me for six months." He pushes the ring across the table with one finger. "The first article goes live in eleven minutes. If you intend to ruin me, do it after you put that on.