CHARLIE PACED HER SMALL APARTMENT, THE WALLS SEEMING TO CLOSE IN ON HER AS HER MIND RACED WITH THOUGHTS SHE COULDN'T KEEP QUIET. Each step echoed the turmoil inside her, a steady rhythm of anxiety that accompanied the heavy weight of uncertainty pressing down on her chest. The late afternoon light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a muted glow that only highlighted the mess of scattered papers and half-eaten takeout containers littering her table. She hadn't bothered to clean up; cleaning felt pointless when she was unable to find any peace.

Sleep had been a distant memory over the past few nights. Instead, she had spent countless hours awake, replaying the events leading up to the family dinner with Victor in her mind. Why did he want her there? What did he want from her? Each question spiraled into another, weaving a web of fear that tangled around her thoughts. She wasn't afraid of Victor himself; she was wary of the power he wielded, the connections he had. Those connections could prove dangerous, especially for someone like her.

Last night's dinner with Johnny had felt surreal, like a hazy dream she couldn't quite grasp. While they had shared a table filled with sushi and laughter, her mind had been elsewhere, preoccupied with the potential threats lurking in Victor's world. Every joke and light-hearted banter felt like a performance, a façade she wore to hide the chaos inside. She had forced herself to act like everything was fine, silently praying that the evening would end quickly, but in truth, she felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed, breaking through the silence and drawing her from her spiral of worry. The caller ID lit up with Johnny's name, and she hesitated for a moment, her heart racing. After last night's dinner, she wasn't sure how to feel about him—or anything, for that matter. But at the end of the say she still had a job to do so she answered.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice even but distant.

"Hey," Johnny's voice came through the line, casual but laced with something she couldn't quite place. "So... just got word. They're coming at seven."

Her stomach clenched. "They?"

"Victor, Sue, the whole entourage," he clarified, a trace of distaste in his voice. "The chef's showing up two hours early to get everything ready. Because, you know, God forbid Victor doesn't get his duck cooked to perfection."

Charlie exhaled sharply, her fingers brushing the edge of her desk as she leaned back in her chair. "Sounds like you're thrilled."

"Oh, absolutely," Johnny replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, softer, almost hesitant, "I really don't want to do this."

"You should tell Sue," Charlie suggested, shifting slightly as she walked across the room to check the door locks. "She'd understand. She always does."

"I don't want her to think I don't want to see her," Johnny admitted after a pause. His words were slow, careful, like he was picking them out one by one.

Charlie arched a brow, even though he couldn't see her. "Do you?"

"What? Not want to see her?" Johnny's laugh was low, bitter. "No, I don't mind Sue. I just don't like Victor."

Charlie felt a flicker of understanding. She paused near her security system, checking the screen of the front door camera. "I get that."

"Wait—you don't like him either?" Johnny asked, his curiosity piqued.

"My feelings about Victor don't matter," Charlie replied, her tone tight. She glanced at her watch, then checked the security feed again. "I work for him. That's all."

Johnny huffed a laugh, but it lacked humor. "That's a no, then. You're not exactly Victor's number one fan."

Charlie deflected with a small sigh, moving to a different part of the apartment. She opened a cabinet, checking her weapons. "What's your plan? You going to grin and bear it through dinner?"

"Actually, I was thinking we ditch it." Johnny's voice lightened, a hint of mischief creeping in. "Go do something fun instead."

"Like what?" Charlie asked, skepticism creeping into her voice as she began walking toward her secret floorboard compartment.

"The fair's in town," he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Charlie hesitated, caught off guard. She crouched down by the floorboard, her fingers brushing against the edge of the secret compartment. She pulled it open slowly. "I've... never been to a fair."

Johnny's sharp intake of breath was almost theatrical. "Never? Not even once?"

"Not once," she admitted, pulling a picture from the compartment and holding it in her hands. The edges were worn, faded with time.

"Well, that settles it," Johnny declared. "I'm taking you. Today."

She smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Not today. Whether I like it or not, I have to go to the dinner." Johnny groaned, the weight of disappointment evident. "Yeah, well, I don't."

The man in the photo was Evan, his boyish features frozen in a moment of carefree laughter. He had a strong jawline and a mop of unruly dark hair that fell over his forehead, and his eyes—a deep brown that seemed to search for something in the world—shined with a warmth that made him look approachable, even in the toughest of situations. 

"Johnny..." Her voice softened, a rare tenderness slipping through. "It's important to spend time with your loved ones. You never know when the last time will be."

There was an air of mischief about him, his smile almost too wide, but it was the kind of smile that made you forget whatever else was happening around you. His hands in the picture were resting casually in the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders slightly hunched in that familiar way of someone who didn't like to stand still for too long.

Charlie stared at the picture for a moment, feeling the weight of the past. Evan's absence hung in the air around her like a ghost. She exhaled quietly and slipped the photo back into the secret compartment, closing the floorboard gently, as if trying to shut out all the things that came with it.

His silence on the other end stretched, heavy and unspoken, until finally, Johnny muttered, "That got... awkwardly deep."

Charlie winced, feeling a flush creep up her neck. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get all philosophical. Your feelings are valid, but I still think it's important to go. At least I have to."

She moved toward her weapon storage, checking each compartment, securing the weapons hidden in various spots around her apartment. As much as she wanted to ignore the dangers of the dinner, she couldn't. She had to be ready. Just in case. She replaced the batteries in her security cameras, reviewed the latest footage, then grabbed the weapons she planned to take with her. Everything had to be perfect. She made sure to hide her spare guns in the false bottom of a drawer and tucked a knife into her jacket, just out of sight.

Johnny's voice cut through the silence again, resigned this time. "Fine. If you're there, I'm there."

Charlie smiled, feeling a sense of finality in his words, though she knew things wouldn't be the same after tonight. "Good. I'll be there in less than an hour."

"Guess I'll see you soon," Johnny replied, his tone softer now, a strange mix of affection and resolve.

"See you," she said, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she tucked her phone into her pocket.

She took one last look around, her heart pounding in her chest as she double-checked her apartment one final time. The evening loomed ahead, dark and uncertain, but there was no turning back now. Whether she was ready or not, the dinner was happening. And she had a job to do.

🔥

Charlie was wandering the aisles of the grocery store, her fingers grazing over bottles of liquor and mixers, putting together a mental list for the cocktails she had in mind. Johnny had mentioned them the night before, and while she knew the dinner would be a drag, she wanted to make the night a little more tolerable for him. She grabbed a bottle of gin, considering whether she should pick up vermouth or just go for a simple gin and tonic. There was something calming about the routine of shopping, the hum of fluorescent lights above, and the quiet bustle of other shoppers. It gave her a brief moment of peace.

As she turned to grab some limes, she caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Her muscles tensed, and instinctively, she reached for the hidden blade tucked against the side of her jeans. She palmed it, the cool metal smooth under her fingertips, just in case. When she turned around, though, there was no one there. She exhaled slowly, shaking off the unease. Probably just her mind playing tricks on her. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

Her grip tightened around the blade as she pushed her cart down another aisle, the hum of the store surrounding her. The unsettling sensation crept back, prickling at the back of her neck. This time, the footsteps were unmistakable, soft but deliberate, drawing closer with every step. She resisted the urge to turn around, trying to focus on the shelves in front of her, but she couldn't ignore the growing tension.

And then, the footsteps stopped.

Charlie's body went rigid, her hand tightening around the blade as she spun on her heel, ready to confront whoever was creeping up on her. To her surprise, there stood a girl—around her age—with an awkward smile on her face. She had deep brown eyes that seemed to be searching Charlie's face, and her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, with a few stray curls framing her face. She wore a grocery store uniform: a simple black polo and black pants. But there was something in the way she stood, a certain quiet confidence, that made her seem more intriguing than any other person in the store.

"Hi," the girl said, her voice light, almost hesitant. She offered a small wave.

Charlie's heart raced as she processed what was happening. "Is there a reason why you're following me?" Charlie asked, her voice cool and guarded.

The girl quickly lowered her head, her cheeks tinged with pink. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," she muttered. "I just... I was wondering if you were Johnny Storm's girlfriend?"

Charlie's posture softened, but her mind flickered back to Johnny's words last night, the part about being his "fake girlfriend" for the benefit of his image. She sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settling on her chest. "Yeah, I am," she said, though the words felt strange on her tongue.

The girl's eyes widened, and she shook her head, almost in disbelief. "Oh, wow, I—uh, I thought so. But, um, no... I wasn't asking for an autograph or anything. I just wanted to meet you. I think you're really pretty, and cool. I think what you do is... well, kind of scary, too. But I admire it."

Charlie's back straightened, surprised by the words. No one had ever said something like that to her before. She blinked, unsure how to respond. There was something endearing about this girl, her enthusiasm, her openness. It wasn't lost on her how rare it was for someone to approach her, let alone look up to her like this.

She shifted her weight, more self-conscious now, but also strangely flattered. Johnny had told her to think of the benefits of being his fake girlfriend—attention, status, all of that. But in that moment, it felt like it was a lot more than she bargained for. More eyes on her, more pressure, more paranoia.

"Thanks," she finally muttered, the warmth of the compliment mixing with the lingering discomfort she felt at being so exposed. "I've never had someone say that to me."

Her eyes sparkled, clearly pleased by the response. She smiled, and Charlie scanned her uniform, noticing the name tag. Bonnie. It was a simple name, but something about it felt genuine, like a breath of fresh air compared to the world of pretensions she usually dealt with.

"That's a pretty name," Charlie said without thinking, her lips curving into a small, friendly smile.

(Bonnie) 

Bonnie blushed again, her cheeks turning a shade darker. "Thanks. You can call me Bonnie. And, uh, if you ever want to hang out sometime or grab a drink, let me know." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, scribbling something on it before offering it to Charlie. "Here's my number."

Charlie hesitated for a second, looking at the small scrap of paper. Something about it didn't sit right with her—Bonnie was a stranger, someone who had appeared out of nowhere, telling her she admired her from a distance. Charlie could feel the weight of it, the sensation of being watched, the unease lingering just under the surface.

Still, there was something kind and innocent in Bonnie's eyes that made her pause, and for a moment, the stress of her situation lightened. She took the paper with a polite nod, her mind already racing with thoughts. "I'll keep it in mind," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Bonnie's smile was wide and hopeful. "Great! Just text me whenever," she said before turning to walk away, still beaming.

Charlie's gaze lingered on the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, her fingers running over the edges where the ink was faintly smudged. Bonnie's number. She could almost feel the weight of it, not just the paper itself, but the strange tension that came with it. She frowned, her mind still spinning from the unexpected encounter. Bonnie had looked at her with wide, trusting eyes, as if Charlie was someone she admired, someone she could look up to. It felt oddly comforting, but that comfort quickly faded under the weight of the ever-present suspicion that gnawed at Charlie's mind.

Charlie's eyes darted back down the aisle, hoping the movement would distract her, but it didn't. The unease that had first crept up on her in the store refused to fade. She could still feel it, the unsettling sensation of being watched, of having someone linger in the shadows. It was like a persistent itch under her skin that no matter how much she scratched, it wouldn't go away. The encounter with Bonnie had been odd, and while the girl seemed harmless enough, Charlie knew better than to trust strangers. Trust had always been a fragile thing in her life—a dangerous game she'd learned to avoid at all costs.

She thought back to everything she had learned in the years since she'd started living this life, the life that had forced her to close off her heart to anyone who wasn't Johnny. But even trusting Johnny felt like walking on a tightrope, one gust of wind away from falling. It had never been easy, but she found herself trying. Trying to believe in something, anything, that didn't revolve around running, lying, or fighting. Johnny had been a strange constant in her life—someone who made her laugh, someone who seemed to care, but at the same time, he was a reminder of everything she had to protect herself from.

Trusting him, she thought, was making my head explode.

It was the one thing that ate at her, the one thing that threatened to tear her apart. She wanted to believe that he was different, that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't just using her for his own gain. But it wasn't that simple. He was Johnny Storm, after all, and Charlie knew better than anyone that people like him didn't play by the same rules. 

They had a way of making everything seem easier than it really was, spinning their words and weaving their charm until they had you questioning your own instincts. She had been down that road before, trusted people who smiled at her and pretended to care, only for it to all come crashing down when the truth came to light.

The truth was, trust was a currency that Charlie couldn't afford anymore. She had spent too many years keeping her distance, hiding her true self from everyone who came her way. It was safer that way—safer than risking her heart, her life, for something that could slip away in the blink of an eye.

Her fingers curled tighter around the paper. Bonnie had seemed harmless, sweet even. But she had no idea who this girl really was, and Charlie wasn't about to let herself be sucked into another unknown. The life she had built with Johnny, for better or worse, was one that was entirely hers. She didn't need anyone else complicating things, didn't need any more distractions. And yet, in the back of her mind, a small part of her couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it.

No, she thought, shaking her head. I can't do this.

Without a second thought, Charlie shoved the piece of paper into her pocket, ignoring it for the time being. She wasn't going to deal with it now. The uncertainty, the lingering question of whether Bonnie was really just being friendly or if there was something else lurking beneath the surface—it wasn't worth her time. She had enough on her plate as it was.

Her mind was already swirling with thoughts of Johnny. She could almost hear his voice in her head, reminding her of the benefits of their arrangement. The fame, the attention, the opportunity to finally breathe without constantly looking over her shoulder. But even with all of that, Charlie couldn't ignore the sense of paranoia that came with being Johnny's "fake" girlfriend. The world was watching, and they had expectations—of both of them.

She shook her head again, as if trying to shake the thought from her mind. The feeling of Bonnie's eyes still lingered, but Charlie forced herself to focus on shopping. She was here to buy ingredients, to put together something for Johnny that would make the night easier for him. She wasn't here to start building new connections, especially not ones that might lead to more complications.

She took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task in front of her. One thing at a time, she reminded herself. Focus on the cocktails. Focus on Johnny. Focus on the dinner. That's all that matters right now.

But as she grabbed the last bottle of vermouth from the shelf, her fingers brushed against the piece of paper in her pocket. Her mind briefly flickered back to Bonnie, to the strange feeling that had washed over her in that brief moment of contact. She exhaled sharply, trying to banish the thoughts.

For now, she would keep the paper in her pocket, out of sight, out of mind. The world was complicated enough without adding anything else into it.