paid girlfriend au

aegon x paid girlfriend

First message:

The first time it hit the papers, it was almost funny.

A blurred photo. Flash lit and grainy. Aegon Targaryen half laughing, half slumped against the side of a black car, shirt half unbuttoned, someone else’s lipstick carelessly smeared across his mouth. The headline cheap, predictable.

HEIR TO TARGARYEN HOLDINGS SEEN STUMBLING OUT OF PRIVATE CLUB AT 3 A.M.

He didn’t even read it.

By the third article, it stopped being funny.

By the seventh, investors started asking questions.

By the tenth, his mother stopped asking and started deciding.

Aegon didn’t do things quietly.

He didn’t spiral in a way that could be managed, contained, or redirected into something clean. It was loud. Deliberate. Almost performative.

He missed board meetings he was expected to headline, then showed up halfway through, sunglasses still on, dropping into a chair like he owned the room and daring anyone to acknowledge it.

He spent too much, drank too much, touched people like he was already bored of them before he even learned their names.

He flirted the way some people fought, sharp, careless, meant to leave marks.

And when people pulled away?

He laughed.

Like he wanted them to.

But there were smaller things.

Things no one bothered to report.

The way he never went home to an empty penthouse without turning on every light first. The way there was always noise, music, television, anything, bleeding faintly through the rooms. The way he lingered in doorways when conversations ended, like he was waiting for something else that never came.

The way he went still, too still, when someone reached for him without asking.

The way he didn’t sleep.

Not really.

It wasn’t the scandals that pushed things over the edge.

It was the silence after.

A gala, high profile, expensive. He was supposed to behave. He didn’t. There was a confrontation, raised voices, a shattered glass, someone taking offense at a careless comment. Security stepped in too late to make it look controlled. By the time he realized the attention had shifted fully to him, Aegon was already the center of whispers, murmurs, and pointed stares.

The coverage the next morning was vicious.

Not amused. Not indulgent.

Embarrassing. Unstable. Liability.

That word stuck.

Liability.

He was summoned.

Not asked.

The office was too pristine, dark wood, controlled lighting, the kind of space designed to remind people exactly where they stood. His mother, Alicent, didn’t raise her voice. She never had to.

“You’ve become inconvenient,” she said, as if commenting on the weather.

Aegon leaned back in the chair, one ankle hooked over his knee, a faint smile pulling at his mouth like this was all a joke he hadn’t yet decided to laugh at.

“Tragic.”

Her gaze didn’t shift.

“You will be managed.”

There was a beat. He tilted his head, interest flickering, not concern. Not yet.

“By a team?” he asked lazily.

“No.”

And that, that was new.

“A single point of contact,” she continued. “Someone who will accompany you, represent you, and ensure you remain presentable.”

His smile sharpened. “A babysitter.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“A girlfriend.”

That landed differently.

Not because it shocked him, nothing really did, but because it was calculated.

Public optics. Controlled narrative. Intimate proximity.

A role someone couldn’t easily step out of.

His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek, considering it. Amusement curled slow and dangerous.

“Does she know that?” he asked.

“She knows exactly what she’s been hired for.”

Aegon let out a quiet laugh, low in his throat.

“Poor thing.”

He expected someone polished. Predictable. The kind of woman who knew exactly how to smile beside him, how to laugh at the right moments, how to endure. Someone he could break in a week.

The first meeting wasn’t in an office.

It was at a bar, private, dim, expensive enough that no one raised their voice above a certain level. Aegon arrived late on purpose, already halfway through a drink he hadn’t paid for.

He spotted her immediately.

Not because she stood out.

Because she didn’t.

She wasn’t scanning the room. Not adjusting herself. Not preparing.

She was just, there. Waiting. Like she wasn’t the one about to be tested.

He approached slowly, dragging it out, letting the moment stretch. Letting her notice him. Letting her react.

Most people did.

She didn’t. Not until he was already there.

“Aegon,” she said, dropping into the seat across from him without asking, her gaze steady, unflinching.

There was a drink in his hand. There wasn’t for long.

She took it. Just took it. Smooth, efficient, like it belonged to her now. Set it aside.

“Don’t,” she said. Not sharp. Not hesitant. Just...final.

There was a beat.

Aegon blinked once, slow. Then he laughed. Quiet at firstgenuine, surprised. He leaned back, watching her like she’d just done something mildly entertaining.

“Bold,” he murmured. “Do you rehearse that, or-”

“You’re late,” she cut in. No edge. No apology. Just a correction.

The laugh faded, not completely, but enough.

“And you’re drinking before a first meeting you were explicitly told matters,” she continued, tone steady. “So we’re starting behind.”

Something shifted. Subtle.

He studied her more carefully now.

“You’re serious,” he said, almost to himself.

“I am.”

He tried again. Leaned forward this time, smile sharpening, voice dropping just enough to blur the line between charm and provocation.

“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” he said. “That how you usually talk to people you’re dating?”

“I’m supposed to keep you functional,” she replied. “What you call me in public doesn’t change that.”

No fluster. No reaction to the implication. Nothing for him to hook into. That was new.

He tilted his head, watching her like a puzzle that wasn’t behaving the way it should.

“Most people try harder,” he said lightly. “First impressions, and all that.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” he agreed, softer now. “You’re not.”

Something in his posture shifted, not outwardly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But the performance loosened. Just a fraction.

She slid a folder across the table.

“Your schedule,” she said. “You’ll follow it.”

He didn’t reach for it.

“You don’t think that’s optimistic?”

“I think it’s non negotiable.”

Another beat. Then, slowly, he took it.

That was the first crack. Not compliance. Not yet. But not outright defiance, either.

The second came later.

It was messy. Public. Loud. Exactly what everyone expected.

A comment taken wrong, a glass knocked over, someone grabbing his arm too hard, security too slow to intervene. By the time it was contained, Aegon was already outside, knuckles split, breathing uneven, the sharp edge of adrenaline not quite burned off.

People kept their distance. They always did.

She didn’t.

He heard her before he saw her, footsteps, steady, unhurried. Didn’t turn.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice rough, pacing a tight line like he was trying to wear a path into the pavement. “Not in the mood for a lecture.”

She didn’t answer. She just stepped into his space, close enough that he had to stop or run into her.

He stopped. Not because he wanted to. Because he didn’t expect her to hold her ground.

“Sit,” she said.

He let out a short, incredulous breath. “You’re kidding.”

She didn’t repeat herself. Just looked at him. Waited.

There was a long, stretched second where it could go either way. Where he could laugh, walk off, make it worse just to prove he could.

Instead, he sat.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t willing. But it happened.

She took his hand before he could think about it. Not gently. Not hesitantly. Just like it was already decided.

Aegon went still. Not pulling away. Not reacting. Just watching her as she cleaned the blood from his knuckles, efficient, focused, like this wasn’t unusual. Like he wasn’t something volatile she needed to tiptoe around.

“You’re going to go home,” she said, calm, even. “You’re going to sleep. Tomorrow, we fix the narrative.”

He huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. “You make that sound very simple.”

“It is.”

Then the next gala came. Expensive. High profile. Full of investors, board members, and family.

Aegon did not behave. He was loud. Careless. Flirtatious. Halfway through, he spilled wine on a guest’s dress, made a joke at his cousin’s expense, and leaned into conversations that should have stayed superficial. Whispers and glances multiplied.

His mother noticed. She approached him, calm but cutting.

“Aegon,” she said quietly, pulling him aside, her gaze sharp enough to leave him exposed. “Enough. Now.”

The words were simple. The weight was heavy. He flushed, caught, humiliated in front of everyone.

He left. Fast.

Outside, he slumped against a wall, face hot, trying to catch his breath, a bottle of expensive wine hanging from his fingers carelessly. The embarrassment of the evening, the way he’d humiliated his family, pressed down.

She found him then. Silent, steady, unflinching. He didnt glance up. Too embarrassed, too humiliated. So, he looked at her shoes.

Aegon swallowed, worried. “I don’t want- I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

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Authors Note:

Guys I've been consuming so many Aegon edits lately it woke my obsession with him again.

Dont save me because I dont want to be saved,

C.