The applause following their dance was a deafening roar, but to Ava, it sounded like it was coming from underwater. As Liam pulled her upright from the final dip of the waltz, his hand lingered on the bare skin of her back for a fraction of a second too long. His touch left a trail of fire that made her knees weak.
"Stay close," Liam leaned in, his lips brushing the stray curls near her ear. The heat from his body was the only thing keeping her grounded in this room full of sharks. "The real predators don't bite in the middle of the dance floor. They wait for the shadows."
He didn't give her a chance to breathe. He led her through the gilded double doors that opened onto a sprawling, moonlit terrace. The cold New York air hit Ava's heated skin like a shock, making her shiver. Beyond the terrace lay a private, high-walled garden filled with white roses that glowed like pearls under the midnight sky. It was quiet here, the muffled sounds of the violin music and the clinking of champagne glasses feeling like a distant dream.
Liam didn't stop until they reached the deepest part of the garden, where the shadows of the ancient oak trees hid them from the mansion's windows. He finally let go of her waist, but he didn't move away. He stood so close that the toe of his polished shoe touched the hem of her black silk gown.
"You're a fast learner, Ava," he said, his voice dropping into that dark, gravelly tone that always made her heart skip. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter, the small flame illuminating the sharp planes of his face for a moment before he lit a thin cigar. "Most women in that room have spent twenty years trying to master that look of bored elegance. You did it in twenty-four hours."
"I wasn't bored, Liam," Ava confessed, her voice trembling slightly. She hugged her arms across her chest, the cold air nipping at her shoulders. "I was terrified. I still am."
Liam exhaled a cloud of smoke that swirled around them like a silken veil. He took a step closer, forcing her back against the rough bark of a tree. He didn't touch her with his hands, but his presence was overwhelming. "Fear is a powerful fuel. It makes you sharp. It makes you look... alive."
His eyes traveled down her face, lingering on the hollow of her throat where her pulse was jumping frantically. The silence of the garden was thick with an unspoken tension, the kind of heavy, electric air that comes before a storm. In the foreign high-society circles Liam moved in, this was the moment of the 'predatory pause'—where the game of power turned into something far more primitive.
"Why are you doing this?" Ava whispered, her breath hitching as he leaned in, his shadow completely enveloping her. "You could have hired a professional actress. Someone who knows this world. Why a waitress from a dive bar?"
Liam reached out then. His fingers didn't go for her hand; instead, he traced the cold line of the diamond earring he had gifted her, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of her jaw. The contrast between his cold jewelry and his warm skin was intoxicating.
"Because an actress can be bought by anyone," Liam rasped, his eyes turning a stormy, unreadable blue. "But you... you have a fire that can't be rehearsed. You look at me with real defiance, Ava. And in a world full of 'yes' men, I find that dangerously refreshing."
He leaned closer, his nose brushing against hers. The scent of expensive tobacco, cedarwood, and the cold night air was dizzying. Ava could feel the frantic thudding of her own heart against her ribs. She should pull away. She should remember the contract, the ten million dollars, the lie. But as his thumb slowly moved to the corner of her lips, her world narrowed down to the heat of his gaze.
"Is this part of the act, Liam?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "The garden, the shadows, the way you're looking at me right now?"
Liam's grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her stay. "The world is watching for a mistake, Ava," he murmured, his face inches from hers. "But out here, in the dark... there is nobody to perform for."
He lowered his head, his lips hovering just a hair's breadth from hers. Ava closed her eyes, her senses screaming for the contact. She felt the ghost of a kiss—a promise of fire that threatened to burn down the walls she had built around her heart. But just as the tension reached its breaking point, a distant voice called out his name from the terrace.
Liam froze. The spell shattered. He pulled back, the cold mask of the businessman snapping back into place instantly. He adjusted his cuffs, his eyes once again turning into shards of ice.
"The Dowager is looking for us," he said, his voice flat. "My grandmother. She is the final boss of this game, Ava. If she believes you, you're safe. If she doesn't... God help us both."
He offered his arm, the cold, formal gentleman once again. Ava took it, her hand shaking. Her body was still humming from his near-touch, her lips tingling with the kiss that didn't happen. The garden was dark, but the fire he had lit inside her was burning brighter than the chandeliers inside.
They began to walk back, the crunch of the gravel under their feet sounding like a ticking clock. Every step toward the lights of the terrace felt like leaving a sanctuary and entering a cage. Ava felt the cold night breeze tugging at her hair, but it was nothing compared to the chill settling in her chest at the mention of the Dowager. She had heard stories—Beatrice Moretti was a woman who had survived three wars and five recessions, and she had done it by being sharper and more ruthless than the men who tried to depose her.
Liam stopped just before they reached the pool of light spilling from the open doors. He turned to Ava, his shadow falling long and lean over her.
"One more thing," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate command. He reached out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they adjusted the diamond earring he had gifted her. The heat of his fingertips against her jaw made her breath hitch once more. "My grandmother doesn't look at clothes or jewels. She looks at eyes. She looks for the soul. If she sees the waitress, we lose. If she sees the girl I almost kissed in that garden... we might just survive."
Ava looked into his icy blue eyes, searching for a sign that he was still acting, but all she saw was a dark, swirling storm of something real. "Is that what I am to you, Liam? A survival tactic?"
Liam didn't answer. Instead, he took her hand and pressed it firmly against his bicep. "Just don't let go of my arm. No matter what she says, stay pinned to me. Let her think you're so infatuated you can't breathe without me."
"That shouldn't be too hard," Ava whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Liam's grip on her hand tightened for a heartbeat—a silent acknowledgement of the confession—before he straightened his posture. He was the Ice King once again, ready to present his fake queen to the real empress of the Moretti empire. As they stepped back into the warmth of the hall, the transition from the dark, electric garden to the blinding gold of the ballroom was jarring. The game wasn't just about a contract anymore; it was about protecting the tiny, flickering spark of whatever had just happened between them in the dark.