I did not invite him.
I simply mentioned the flowers, the note, and the reminder that Caleb still knew my address.
And Rhyland vanished.
And now, three hours later, he walked into the penthouse again and did not say a word. His appearance is subtle. Knuckles were red.
I did not want to inquire.
I inquired anyway.
"What did you do?"
He shrugged out of his jacket. "We spoke."
"That's not an answer."
"No, it's not."
I followed him to the kitchen. "You can't go threatening people."
"Worked, didn't it?"
"You're not my bodyguard, Rhyland."
He rested against the counter, his gaze coming to mine. "You're right. I'm not. But I am the guy pretending to be your fiancé, and if someone's threatening you—or Noah—I'm not sitting around sipping tea."
His voice was low. Controlled. The sort of quiet that carried substance.
"I didn't ask for this," I said softly.
"No," he said. "You asked for protection. I just happen to have a mean right hook."
I looked down at his hand.
"You hit him?"
"Yes, I gave him a warning. Then I offered him an option."
"Let me guess—he didn't take it so well."
"He won't be bothering you again."
I wished I could be angry.
Instead, I felt something I wasn't expecting: relief.
"Don't make a habit of this," I said.
"I make no promises."
Later, I stood in front of the mirror, trying to zip up the back of my dress without pulling a muscle.
The gala invitation had been downgraded to a subdued dinner with Elliott Granger and his wife, Lillian. "Something intimate," they said. "Just family."
Which, unfortunately, included us.
Rhyland appeared at my back like a damn rom-com villain—tie loose, shirt crisp, I had a hard time reading his face.
"Need help?"
"I've got it."
"You don't."
I scowled at my reflection. "Don't read into this."
He edged closer, warm fingers tracing down my spine as he zipped the jacket up with infuriating ease.
"I never said a word," he breathed.
His fingertips lingered a fraction of a second too long.
I stepped back before I forgot how phoney this was.
Granger's townhouse was straight out of Architectural Digest—modern but not trendy, all neutral colours and soft jazz music playing from hidden speakers.
Lillian air-kissed us and referred to Noah as "an absolute cherub."
Elliott poured wine and asked how "wedding planning" was going.
"We're keeping it small," I lied smoothly. "Low stress."
"Smart," he said. "Weddings are mostly for everyone else anyway.".
Dinner was roasted duck, root vegetables, and a dessert that involved edible flowers. Noah made it halfway through the salad before he declared war on a bread roll and threw it at Rhyland's plate.
Rhyland laughed.
Real. Unforced.
I watched him scoop Noah up like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You're good with him," Lillian said, smiling at Rhyland.
"I'm just trying to survive," he said. "He's got stronger opinions than most CEOs I've met."
"He looks like you," she said.
That stopped us both short.
No one said a word for a moment.
I grasped my glass of water, trying not to let my heart stumble in my chest.
We settled in after dessert in the sitting room, wine in hand. Noah had collapsed on the couch, thumb in mouth, cheeks pink with too much excitement.
Elliott leaned toward me. "Tell me, Emery. Why did you fall for him?"
I nearly gagged on my pinot noir.
Rhyland watched me, intrigued—like he also wanted to know the answer.
"Well." I set the glass aside. "He's obstinate. Self-righteous. Always presumes he's in the right."
"Romantic start," Elliott said, grinning.
"But…" I swallowed. "He appeared when I needed him. Even when I didn't invite him. Even when I didn't want him to. And. he stayed."
I couldn't say when the words stopped being a performance.
Rhyland never glanced away from me.
"And you?" Lillian asked him.
"What did you see in Emery that you fell for him?"
He didn't immediately answer.
"She's a mess," he finally said. "She sets things on fire when she's angry. She throws pillows when she's scared. She speaks her mind when it will get her into trouble."
I looked.
"She drove me crazy," he went on. "And then somehow, it was empty without her."
The room became quiet.
Too quiet.
Nobody spoke. Nobody contradicted.
It sounded real.
It felt real.
The ride home was silent. Noah slept between us, arms outstretched as if he owned the backseat.
I looked at the city lights whizzing by, heart pounding in ways I didn't enjoy.
"That answer," I said at last. "Back at their house."
He looked over. "Yeah?"
"You didn't need to say all of that."
"I know."
"So why did you?"
"Because I meant it."
My breath caught.
"This isn't real, Rhyland."
He nodded. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true.".
"So why are we both worried it isn't?"
I said nothing.
Because I wasn't brave enough to lie.
Later, I stood on the penthouse balcony, enjoying the breeze of night to steady my nerves.
Rhyland appeared at my side, two glasses in hand. He pressed one into my palm.
"Still want to make more rules?"
"I think we're past rules," I replied.
He grinned, slow and crooked. "Dangerous."
"Tell me about it."
He braced his arm on the railing beside me, shoulders bumping.
"I wasn't lying," he breathed. "I didn't make that up."
"I know."
We stared out over the city.
For a moment, it was only us. No fake ring. No photographs. No pressure.
Just two individuals who couldn't stop pretending—and had no idea how to stop wanting.
"I should get some sleep," I said, backing away.
He nodded. "Right."
"Goodnight, Rhyland."
"Night, Em."
I turned.
Stopped.
And breathed over my shoulder, "Thanks for not letting him intimidate me."
His voice echoed behind me into the darkness.
"Thanks for making me the guy who gets to keep you safe."
The next morning, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
1 image attachment.
I opened it.
It was me.
In the dress from last night.
Standing in the hallway.
Kissing Rhyland.
Caption:
"Bet he doesn't know what you looked like after our last night together." – C
I stared.
Lost in thought.
My hand shook.
And I was afraid again, for the first time in a very long time