The Man I Shouldn't Want: A Game of Seduction and Lies

14. A Game of Expectations

I stare at the small plastic stick on the bathroom counter, waiting. The instructions said to wait three minutes, but I’ve been here for over five, anxiously hoping for two lines that still haven’t appeared. I let out a loud breath, my shoulders sagging in disappointment.

There’s nothing. Not even a faint shadow of a second line.

“Of course, there’s nothing,” I whisper to myself, a harsh laugh escaping my lips. “Why did I even bother?”

I know I can’t be pregnant. There’s been no missed period, or s*x that could have led to this. I haven’t been with Mike in months, and Ric... well, Ric and I haven’t gotten that far, even if my mind has wandered there. So why did I even take the test?

I scoff, tossing the stick into the trash can. “Stupid,” I mutter under my breath, wiping my hands on a towel before glancing in the mirror. My eyes are glassy, and I blink back the tears that have formed.

Was it because of Mike? His stupid confession about Hayley — his mistress — being pregnant... It had stirred something in me, something raw and painful that I didn’t want to admit was there. A part of me had hoped — no, craved — some sick twist of fate where I would be pregnant with his child, a way to hold onto him despite everything. Maybe even a way to win him back.

My stomach churns at the thought. How messed up am I to think like that? Mike doesn’t deserve my loyalty, and yet, here I am, clinging to some broken dream.

A knock on the bathroom door pulls me out of my spiralling thoughts.

“Natalie? You okay in there?” It’s Meera. Of course, she’d notice I’ve been in here too long.

I quickly wipe at my face, trying to hide any evidence of my emotional breakdown. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second,” I call back, forcing a steady tone.

When I open the door, Meera’s standing there with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly. She knows me too well. She gives me a once-over, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Nat, were you... crying?”

I shake my head and flash her a bright, forced smile. “Nope. Just needed a minute. I’m fine.” I wave off her concern, trying to keep things light.

She doesn’t buy it, but she lets it go for now, like every other time. “Well, the director is ready for you. The set’s all prepared.”

I nod, straightening my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

As we walk to the set, I do my best to shake off the lingering sadness. I’m here to work. I’ve got to put on my professional face and get through this. The ad for the haircare product is simple enough, just a few shots of me smiling, looking glamorous, and tossing my hair. Easy. I can do this in my sleep.

The makeup artist touches me up, and soon enough, I’m in front of the camera. The lights are blinding, the crew is bustling, and the director is barking instructions from his chair. I slip into the role effortlessly, letting the motions take over. Smile. Look to the left. Tilt your head. Toss your hair.

I do everything they ask, and after a few takes, the director calls out, “That’s a wrap for this scene.”

I force a smile, but inside, I feel hollow. Even as the crew compliments me on a job well done, I can’t shake the doubt gnawing at me. Was it good? Did I even do well? Every move feels mechanical, disconnected. My decision to return to modelling and acting again after all these years — was it the right one? Or am I just pretending to be something I’m not?

It feels like I’m playing a part in someone else’s life, like the success I’ve achieved isn’t real. All the love and praise I received when I announced my movie role four months ago — it feels distant now, like they were only joining the applause because everyone else was clapping. Like a party where people toast to your success, not out of joy, but because it’s just what’s expected.

Just when I think I can escape to my trailer for a moment of quiet, I hear the director’s voice ring out, louder this time.

“Cut! Everyone take five! Mr. Jones is here.”

I freeze, the air around me seeming to still. My father. What is he doing here?

The director practically sprints over to greet him, treating him with the kind of reverence people reserve for kings. My father’s name carries weight, his influence stretching far beyond the entertainment industry. And he loves that kind of attention.

I watch in quiet fury as they exchange pleasantries, my father smiling like he’s proud of being here. Like he’s proud of me. But I know better.

Without thinking, I march over to him, my fists clenched. The director sees it as his cue to step aside and he does.

I snap, “Dad, what are you doing here? This is my job. You can’t just barge in whenever you feel like it.”

He scoffs, clearly unbothered by my anger. “Job?” he repeats, the word dripping with disdain. “This isn’t real work, Natalie. It’s a pathetic hobby. A pastime.” His eyes flicker over the set, unimpressed. “Your mother didn’t understand it either.”

The mention of my mother makes my heart clench painfully. She’d been an actress too, and she always supported me. But when I told her I was putting my career on hold to focus on my life with Mike, she had been devastated. She’d always preached about making sacrifices for love, yet she couldn’t understand why I was doing it for Mike.

She passed away not long after that conversation. Quietly, unexpectedly. And after that, my father had only grown more distant, more immersed in his work. He never appreciated my mother’s career, and now he was treating mine with the same contempt.

I grit my teeth, refusing to let him see how much his words sting. “I’m not you, Dad. I don’t want what you want. I chose this.”

He doesn’t respond, just gives me that cold, disapproving look I’ve come to know so well. “You didn’t use the big event the way I asked. Both you and Mike have been disappointing.”

I laugh bitterly, glad to finally hear him admit it. “Disappointed in Mike too, huh? That’s a first.”

“You’re being hasty, Natalie,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, that familiar disapproving look settling on his face. “This divorce—it's not just about you. Mike took our family name. He carries Jones now, not just for the sake of your marriage, but for the business. For the legacy.”

I feel the anger bubbling up inside me, ready to burst. Of course, it’s all about the business. Always the image. The legacy. Never me.

I snap. “All you care about is your damn legacy. You’ve never cared about me, Dad. Not once.”

His eyes narrow, and his voice turns cold. “Emotions are for the weak, Natalie. If you want to succeed, you have to wear a face that doesn’t belong to you. Mike gave me hope,” he snaps, his voice rising for the first time. “Hope that the business, the family, wouldn’t die with me.” And now you’re taking that from me.”

My blood boils at his words, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I can be better than Mike. I’ve achieved success in acting, and I can do the same in your business too.”

He laughs, mocking me. “You? Success? You call playing pretend on a screen success? That’s not real work. You’re not capable. You don’t have the backbone for it.”

I meet his gaze, fire burning in my chest. “Put me in charge, then.”

Without missing a beat, he nods, a cruel smile on his face. “Fine. You want to prove yourself? You’ll take on a new client—a project that’s risky. And you’ll do it without my help.”

I square my shoulders, determined. “Deal.”

“And if you fail, you’re staying married to Mike!” he announces with a tone of finality in his voice. As he walks away, I know I’ve just made a dangerous move. But I’m ready. It’s time to prove everyone wrong.