Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 86: A Performance in Pajamas

The car was still moving when he said it.

"Come home with me."

I turned to look at him, surprised. "What?"

Adrien didn’t glance away from the window. "To my place. Tonight."

There was no inflection in his voice. Just cool certainty.

"For... what exactly?"

"To clear any lingering rumors of the scandal," he replied. "We need to be seen together.

"You’ve already cleared everything up," I said quietly. "The internet’s been wiped clean."

Adrien finally turned his head, his eyes meeting mine across the dim interior of the car. The passing streetlights painted fleeting patterns across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw.

"Online eyes are easily distracted," he said, his voice still level, but now directed solely at me. "But the whispers... they take longer to silence completely." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "Being seen together tonight. Under my roof. It dispels any lingering doubt more effectively than any press release or deleted article ever could."

I stared at him, my initial surprise morphing into a mix of confusion and caution. "Tonight? Under your roof? Mr. Walton, wouldn’t just a public dinner, or being photographed together at an event be much more better? An overnight stay seems... excessive for just optics."

His lips curved slightly, a small, almost unnoticeable smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Excessive?" he echoed softly, the word lingering between us. The car slowed as we approached an intersection. "Or simply... more convincing? It looks effortless. Natural. Undisturbed."

"Therefore, we give them something else to focus on." He continued.

I blinked.

"A show," he said simply. "You and me. Looking like we’re in love. Like none of that ever happened. Like the whole world didn’t just try to rip you apart. I suppose this shouldn’t be hard for you"

"Hard for me?" I echoed, the surprise draining away to be replaced by a sharp, defensive edge I hadn’t intended. "It’s a little different doing it for a photoshoot or a controlled appearance, Mr. Walton. This is... living it. Even if it’s just for a night."

Adrien was still watching me, his expression unreadable in the low light. "The contract states we are to present a united front, a committed partnership, to protect my public image and, by extension manage yours. What is happening tonight is merely an extension of that clause. A particularly effective one."

He sighs. "I just want to protect you miss miller."

Okay, that was... weird. It caught me off guard — his sudden declaration of wanting to protect me felt crazingly out of place.

He has a point though.

I said. "alright"

"Good," he said.

The car continued its smooth progression through the city streets, and I texted my dad I wouldn’t be coming home and also texted Aria about the plan

****

The car pulled up to the mansion. Massive and intimidating, yet coldly beautiful in the moonlight.

Adrien stepped out first. He didn’t wait for the driver to open my door — he did it himself. Smooth and deliberate.

Then he said. "smile, there are paparazzi buried in the hedges."

My breath hitched. Paparazzi? Here? Buried in the hedges? Of course, he would think of this.

I plastered the brightest, most natural-looking smile I could manage onto my face, the kind I usually reserved for genuine happiness, not manufactured displays for hidden cameras.

I took his hand, his grip firm and warm and stepped out of the car.

I searched the darkened hedges near the gate, near the wall, where my eyes could reach, anywhere they could conceivably hide but I saw nothing. That means they are pretty good at hiding.

He laced our fingers together like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times.

And we walked up the stone path, hand in hand, to the front door of his sprawling, glass-and-concrete mansion.

I looked around once inside, breath catching.

This place.

I hadn’t been back since that morning. The morning I’d woken up here, confused and hungover, heart racing as I stumbled through unfamiliar hallways, running from a reality I hadn’t agreed to.

Now, I was walking in like I belonged.

Adrien let go of my hand once the door closed behind us.

"Mr. Walton," the butler inclined his head respectfully. His eyes flickered towards me for just a moment.

"Good evening, Thomas," Adrien replied, his voice smooth and even, carrying just the right hint of warmth for the staff’s ears. "We won’t require anything further tonight. I presume everything is ready?"

"Yes, Mr. Walton. Everything is as you requested." Thomas’s gaze lingered on me again, polite but assessing.

The ’everything’ hung in the air, vague but loaded. What exactly had he requested? A room ready? A prepared meal? Or something more elaborate to maintain the facade within these walls?

Adrien gave a slight nod, a subtle dismissal. Thomas inclined his head again and started leading the way to the sitting room.

Adrien walked over to a couch and grabbed something folded neatly across the edge.

"I had these ordered this morning."

He held out a matching pajama set — soft cotton, pastel-toned. A long teddy bear print top that looked impossibly cozy, and fitted shorts with little ribbon ties at the sides.

"For optics," he added.

He didn’t stop there.

With a faint smirk, he reached into the arm rest and pulled out the male version — same color, same bear print, just in shirt and loose lounge pants form.

"See? We match."

I blinked at the pajamas like he’d just handed me some kind of bizarre peace offering wrapped in cotton and childish prints.

"Matching pajamas," I repeated, trying to keep the disbelief out of my voice.

He held them out, perfectly folded. "We need photos of us looking... domestic and cmfortable. As if nothing in the world is remotely amiss." His gaze met mine, cool and expectant. "And what screams undisturbed normality more than matching sleepwear?"

I took the soft bundle from him, the fabric surprisingly pleasant against my skin. The teddy bear print, while ridiculous in this context, was genuinely cute. "Right," I said slowly, turning the fabric over in my hands. "Because the first thing people think about when a scandal breaks is whether the couple involved has coordinating sleepwear."

Adrien’s small smirk returned. "It’s a detail──and details matter. It’s also a subtle nod to... intimacy." He paused, his eyes flicking down to the shorts in my hand. "The kind of intimacy you only share behind closed doors that makes it look very real."

Thomas cleared his throat discreetly, drawing our attention. " Shall I show Miss Miller to her room, Mr. Walton?" he asked, his tone neutral.

Adrien nodded. "Please do, Thomas. And see that she has everything she needs. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.""

Thomas inclined his head. "Very good, sir." He turned to me, his expression still polite, but with that same underlying assessment. "Miss Miller?"

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