The Lie I Told the King

When I was in college, I was dirt poor. And I dated a guy who was richer than God.

He was the undisputed king of New York’s elite, the kind of guy everyone just called by his last name, Ford.

It was a love story that made no sense from any angle, and no one thought it would last.

Not even him. “This is just a bit of fun,” he’d said. “Nothing serious.”

So when I broke up with him, to save the last shred of my pride, I lied. I told him I’d fallen for someone else. That I didn’t want him anymore.

His eyes, usually so cool and steady, burned with a furious, crimson-edged hurt. He told me if I walked out that door, I’d better not live to regret it.

I never looked back.

Five years later, we met again. And the man they now called the cold, untouchable head of the Ford empire cornered me on a darkened film set.

“I told you to go, and you just… left?” he asked, his voice raw.

“How could you be so goddamn heartless?”

Then, his voice broke. “It was me. I’m the one who regrets it, Willa.”

1

The day the director announced our main investor was visiting the set, the name Landon Ford never once crossed my mind.

At that moment, my back was to him as I ran lines with another actor.

He was standing by the monitors, surrounded by a deferential cluster of suits, only a few feet away.

A nervous lump formed in my throat. My fingers tightened on my script, the pages crinkling under the pressure, leaving deep creases.

Thankfully, the producer scurried over with the film’s lead actress in tow.

“Mr. Ford,” he said, his voice dripping with sycophancy, “I’d like you to meet our star. She’s one of the hottest new talents in the industry.”

The woman, her makeup flawless, offered Landon a practiced, gentle smile. “Mr. Ford, we met once at a gala. I don’t know if you remember?”

Landon barely glanced at her, a flicker of his eyes his only acknowledgment. He didn’t offer her a single courtesy.

His gaze was locked on the monitor in front of him, his eyes dark and intense. For a split second, it was like watching a storm surge across a vast ocean, only to be swallowed by an unnerving calm.

The producer, left hanging, nervously followed his line of sight to the screen.

“Mr. Ford?” he ventured carefully. “Is something wrong?”

A cool, thin smile touched the corner of Landon’s mouth. “No. I just saw someone I know.”

The casual words, tossed out so carelessly, made the muscles in my back seize. A cold knot of panic tightened in my stomach.

“Oh! An old friend on our set?” The producer’s face lit up, practically glowing with delight. “Who might that be?”

In that instant, I felt a dozen pairs of eyes sweeping over the set, searching.

Then, Landon’s voice, as cool and sharp as ever, cut through the air. “Her.”

2

“Her. Pippa.”

The young actress standing across from me gasped.

I just blinked, my mind struggling to catch up.

The producer practically sprinted over, nudging me aside to enthusiastically guide Pippa toward Landon.

Watching them talk, a familiarity in their exchange, the breath I’d been holding finally escaped in a silent, shaky rush.

Thank God…

Thank God he wasn’t talking about me.

All these years had passed. An awkward reunion with an ex-boyfriend felt… not just cliché, but deeply unwelcome.

Besides, they genuinely seemed to know each other.

Even when Pippa, pushed in front of him, complained, “Hey, I was in the middle of running lines! What do you want?” Landon’s response was a lazy smirk.

“Your brother told me to tell you to stop playing movie star and come home.”

He was nothing like the short-tempered tyrant people whispered about. The producer’s beaming face was proof enough of that. Their meeting was going swimmingly.

So swimmingly that when the producer and director suggested they all continue the conversation over dinner, Landon didn’t refuse.

I watched their retreating backs, my body finally unclenching.

I carefully smoothed out the mangled script in my hands and let out a long, slow sigh.

Somehow, I’d survived the day.

But just as she was about to turn the corner, Pippa glanced back over her shoulder.

“Willa!” she called out, her voice bright and full of energy. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?”

3

For the first time in my life, I understood what it felt like for time to freeze.

When the world snapped back into focus, I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward to hide my face.

“No, thanks. You guys go ahead. I have plans tonight.”

I turned and walked away, my steps hurried, almost fleeing.

I had no idea if Landon had recognized me. The lighting on set was dim; maybe he hadn't gotten a clear look. Or maybe he had, and the current version of me simply held no significance for him.

Our breakup had been a spectacular, ugly mess.

I had humiliated him, a man so fiercely proud, in front of everyone he knew. I had been the one to dump him, my cruelty a sharp, decisive blade that shocked everyone.

But only I knew the truth. I was the one who walked away, and I was the one who cried myself empty for weeks afterward.

I could still hear Landon’s voice from that day, laced with fury.

“Willa, if you walk out that door today, you better not live to regret it! If I ever see you again, I swear I’ll make you pay.”

I knew he was capable of it. He was capable of anything.

So I grabbed my bag and ran.

And I never, ever looked back.

But now, five years later, we were here.

I chewed on my thumbnail, a wave of cold fear washing over me.

It’s been so long.

He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t still want revenge, would he?

4

Landon Ford had a bad temper.

That was the one thing everyone who knew him could agree on.

He was the heir to the Ford empire, the crown prince of New York City. It wasn’t just that his family had money and he had the looks of a fallen angel; he was brilliant, too, effortlessly acing his way through Columbia.

If it weren’t for the fact that I was broke, I never would have taken that temp job as a model at a luxury car show. Our paths never would have crossed.

The first time I saw Landon, it was in a private, gilded club in midtown.

He was perched on a high stool, legs crossed, lazily propping his chin on one hand as he watched me interact with the host on stage.

The upperclassman who’d gotten me the gig said I could make extra cash by doing a private showing for a group of rich kids after the main event.

Money was the one thing that could make me bend, make my heart race.

So there I was, in an ill-fitting gown and heels that pinched my feet, smiling in front of one gleaming supercar after another until my face felt like stone.

I knew I was pretty. My roommates always said I had the face of an ice queen but the eyes of a lost fawn, a combination that could fool anyone who didn’t know the real me.

But I had no idea how casually cruel the world of the wealthy could be.

Before I had even stepped off the stage, a fleshy-faced man was leering at me, his voice slick with suggestion. “A college girl, huh? Need a little pocket money? Daddy can help with that.”

My stomach turned. My face went rigid. But I needed the money, so I forced myself to pretend I hadn’t heard him.

In a place like this, drowning in champagne and privilege, no one was going to help me. His comment was met with a chorus of encouraging snickers.

But just as the man reached out to grab me, a chair came flying from above, crashing down on him and sending him stumbling back, blood suddenly blooming on his forehead.

He clutched his head, roaring with rage at the second-floor balcony. “What the hell? Who the fuck threw that? You got a death wish?”

That’s when Landon descended the staircase.

He casually stubbed out a cigarette, his eyes sweeping the room through the haze of smoke before they finally landed on me, tucked away in the corner.

He turned his cold gaze back to the bleeding man.

“That would be your daddy,” he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

I remember my heart pounding, terrified they were about to get into a bloody fight because of me.

But the man, who had been so aggressive and menacing moments before, underwent a bizarre transformation. He saw Landon, and a strained, anxious smile stretched across his face.

He started wringing his hands, bowing his head.

“A misunderstanding! A complete misunderstanding!” he stammered. “Mr. Ford, it was all a mistake!”

He looked like a terrifying, life-sized bobblehead. It was both pathetic and deeply frightening.

It was in that moment I understood. The title “crown prince” wasn’t just some nickname his friends had cooked up.

And it was the first time I saw his temper, raw and unfiltered.

He completely ignored the man’s frantic apologies. He simply nodded to his friends, and they broke the man's arm—the same one he had reached out to touch me with.

Afterward, Landon leaned back against a chair, lit another cigarette, and pressed the sole of his shoe onto the man’s head.

“Try to keep the gutter trash in your head from now on,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Otherwise, I might have to consider helping your family line end with you.”

5

A cold night wind swept through the lot.

I waited, calculating how long a fancy dinner might last, before finally grabbing a jacket and stepping out of my trailer.

The set was quiet for once, a rare lull before the night shoot began. I started down the familiar path toward the little diner I always went to.

As I rounded a corner, I saw a silhouette standing in the moonlit path ahead.

At first, I assumed it was a crew member returning from a break.

But as I drew closer, a sense of unease made me slow my steps.

There, under the bright, cold moon, stood Landon. Dressed in all black, he almost blended into the shadows.

A cigarette smoldered between his fingers. He looked up through the rising smoke, his eyes meeting mine across the narrow path.

Those eyes, dark and sharp as ink.

They were exactly the same as the night we first met.

…

6

The wind whispered through the trees. The world around us was utterly silent.

My feet felt rooted to the spot. I turned, intending to walk away.

“You’re an actress on this film?” Landon’s voice stopped me.

My body tensed. “...Yes,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

“What’s your role?”

“The third lead.”

“Going to dinner?”

“Yes.”

“You know who I am?”

“Yes.”

The film’s primary investor. The man who held our jobs in the palm of his hand.

His rapid-fire questions made my palms sweat. I had no idea what he wanted, what his game was.

Before I could process it, another question came.

“Are you afraid of me?”

…

“No.”

“Then why are you looking at the ground?”

“The wind… it’s strong.”

He let out a low, soft chuckle, his voice a little rough.

“You remind me of someone I used to know.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. My throat went dry. “Is that so? I guess that’s a compliment. I’ve been told I have one of those familiar faces.”

“I suppose,” he mused. “In your line of work, looking like someone else is practically a job requirement.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I just nodded slightly.

Silence fell between us again.

I watched him light another cigarette. The smoke curled from his fingertips, coiling in the air like something dangerous, barely contained. A chill ran down my spine.

That ??, that deep-seated anxiety, returned. I couldn’t figure out the point of this conversation.

I’d been in the entertainment industry for three years. While I’d certainly changed from the girl I was in college, I wasn’t a completely different person.

But in the dim light, with his cryptic words hanging in the air, I couldn’t tell if he genuinely didn’t recognize me, or if, to a man like him, I was simply someone not worth remembering.

In the end, it didn't matter which it was.

We were not in a position to be having this kind of late-night heart-to-heart.

I pulled my jacket tighter against the cold. “Mr. Ford,” I said, my voice muffled. “I have a night shoot soon. If you’ll excuse me.”

I started to step around him, my head down.

“Willa Hayes.”

His voice stopped me cold.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

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