The clink of silverware against porcelain is the only sound in the room.
He sits at the head of the long glass dining table while I'm at the far end. A jug of milk, a pot of coffee, toast, and untouched eggs sit between us, like a neutral ground in a war no one's declared.
Aiden doesn't look at me.
Doesn't speak to me. He just sips his coffee and is scrolling through his phone. I stare at the window behind him. The fresh morning breeze comes through and I wonder just how drastically my life has changed. My eyes shift back to him.
The silence stretches long.
Heavy.
Why is he not asking any questions?
Why is he acting like last night didn't happen?
The scar he saw. The way his breath hitched when our eyes met in the mirror.
The way his stare lingered when I said good night.
It's actually easier this way…, pretending.
But I can't take it anymore, the air feels too heavy.
"Do you always eat like you're alone?" I ask, my tone light, casual.
His eyes flick towards me. Calm. Collected.
"I usually am."
"Well since I'm here now you might as well treat me as though I exist," I say stabbing a piece of fruit.
"You exist too loudly."
Unbelievable, me too loud? I puff lightly offended. "That's rich coming from a man who works like a thunderstorm.
He almost smiles.
Almost.
He leans back in his chair, eyes lingering for a second longer than necessary.
"Why are you actually doing this? The protection, this fake relationship, what is in it for you?" I ask softly.
He doesn't answer right away. The air shift. Tighter. Thicker.
Then: "Control," he simply says.
I blink. "Well, that was honest."
"It's also the truth."
"So I'm a spawn."
"No," his voice firm. "You're bait."
I freeze. He doesn't look away.
"You said your enemies saw me," I say. " You want to draw them out."
He nods.
I laugh bitterly. "Using me as a target. Great idea.
"You'd rather be defenseless?" He asks. "At least this way I'm watching."
"And who watches you Aiden?"
He reacts, a flicker of something in his eyes. Pain? Guilt? Loneliness?
But it's gone before I can name it.
He sets his coffee down. "Finish your breakfast, we have a photoshoot at ten."
I blink. "A what?"
"You are my girlfriend, remember you need to look the part."
"You are unbelievably"
"And you're late," he announces rising from his seat. "Get dressed."
As he walks past me I realize our silence isn't empty.
It's loaded.
With questions.
With secrets.
With the kind of tension that burns.
—-
The black SUV pulls up outside a high-rise studio in Midtown. Glass exterior. Cameras are already waiting. People pretending not to stare.
He didn't tell me this would be public.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, tugging at the hem of my dress his assistant picked for me, it's expensive. Soft silk, too much leg, too much skin, too much me out there.
Aiden glances over. "Nervous?"
I glare at him "You should have warned me."
"If I had, would you have come?"
"No."
He smirks. "Exactly."
The door opens he comes out first, commanding, calm, every inch the powerful, untouchable man the world the him as.
Then he turns and offers his hand.
I hesitate then take it.
Cameras flash the second we step onto the pavement. Aiden's hand tightens around mine; not painfully, but firmly, possessively. Like he was staking his claim on me.
Inside the studio is a flurry of stylists, photographers, and assistants. They all greet Aiden with the kind of fear-coated respect reserved for men who can destroy careers with a glance.
"This is Serina," he says smoothly, pulling me closer. "Make her perfect."
I shoot him a look. "Charming."
He doesn't respond, just walks off to speak with the director.
Ten minutes later, I'm in heels I can't walk in, makeup I don't recognize myself under, and a dress that barely counts as fabric.
The photographer waves us over. "Let's start with something casual — seated, close. Intimate, but not too forced."
Aiden sits first, spreading his legs slightly, arm draped along the back of the couch. When I hesitate, he pats the space beside him.
"Come on, sweetheart," he says smoothly. "Pretend you like me."
I roll my eyes but sit.
The first few shots are awkward.
I'm stiff. He's composed. The space between us is tense.
"Closer," the photographer says.
"You're a couple. Be natural."
Aiden slides his hand around my waist, pulling me tighter against him. My breath catches.
He leans down, whispering,
"Relax. You're safe."
It's the first time he's said anything that even sounded kind.
And it throws me.
I glance up at him, and for a moment, I forget we're not real.
His face is inches from mine. His hand splayed across my hip. The camera clicking fades to the background.
We don't kiss.
But we could.
And the world would believe it.
Because in that second with all the lies and fear swirling around us this feels dangerous.
And this is dangerously real.
"Perfect," the photographer says. "Let's try standing next."
I start to move away, but Aiden's grip doesn't loosen.
He leans in, brushing his mouth against my ear. "You're doing better than I thought."
"Meaning?" I murmur.
"You're not running."
I pull back just enough to look him in the eye. "Maybe I'm just playing the part."
His gaze darkens. "Then play it well."
---
The photo studio is quiet now. The crew has packed up, and the stylist has stepped out. The lights are dimmed, but the heat between us lingers like smoke.
I should leave. Walk away. Say something sarcastic and pretend like this whole day didn't get under my skin. But I don't move.
Neither does he.
Aiden is standing by the mirror, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Slowly. His eyes meet mine in the reflection.
"Stop staring," he says softly.
"You wish," I fire back.
He turns, taking a step toward me. My pulse spikes.
"We did what you wanted," I say, trying to keep the air light. "Pictures. Smiles. Fake couple, remember?"
He walks closer.
I take a step back, bumping into the wardrobe behind me.
"You kissed my cheek in front of the cameras," I continue, voice thinning.
He doesn't answer.
Now he's right in front of me. Too close. His hand reaches up and brushes a loose strand of hair from my face.
"I told you to play the role," he says. "You did."
His hand lingers near my jaw.
"And now?" I ask.
He leans down, his breath warm. "Now I don't know if I'm acting anymore."
My eyes widen in realization. I open my mouth to say something, anything at all but then his lips crash into mine.
It's not gentle.
It's not hesitant.
It's hungry.
Dominant.
His hands are at my waist, pulling me closer. My back hits the cold edge of the vanity as he presses against me, claiming space I didn't even realize I was guarding.
And I kiss him back.
Maybe I shouldn't.
Maybe this is a mistake.
But in this moment, I don't care.
His kiss is punishment and possession all at once. Like he's trying to erase every man who ever touched me before him. Like he's daring me to forget who he is.
I break the kiss first, gasping. My fingers are twisted in his shirt, my heart thundering.
"This doesn't change anything," I whisper, breathless.
He looks down at me, his eyes darker than ever. "It changes everything."