By noon, the Sterling townhouse was no longer a home; it was a production set.
A crew of five people had transformed the sun-drenched library into a studio. Heavy-duty lights stood like sentinels, casting a clinical glow over the leather-bound books and the mahogany desk. I stood in the center of it all, feeling like a high-end forgery.
I had been changed again—this time into a soft, cream-colored cashmere sweater and silk trousers. "Approachable," the stylist had called it. "The girl-next-door who melted the glacier."
"You're overthinking it, Maya. Your jaw is so tight I can hear your teeth grinding from across the room," Reid's voice cut through my thoughts.
He was leaning against the bookshelf, looking disgustingly comfortable in a navy blue suit with the top button of his shirt undone. It was a calculated messiness. Everything about him was a calculation.
"Hard not to overthink it when there's a man with a lens the size of a telescope waiting for me to look 'blissfully adored,'" I muttered, adjusting the heavy diamond stud in my ear. "I don't even like you, Reid. How am I supposed to look like I'd die for you?"
"Don't look like you'd die for me," Reid said, stepping into the light. He walked toward me, his movements fluid and predatory. "Look like you're keeping a secret. People mistake mystery for passion all the time."
The photographer, a frantic man named Julian who smelled of espresso and hairspray, clapped his hands. "Alright, lovely couple! Let's begin. Mr. Sterling, behind her. Arms around the waist. Maya, lean back. Give me... domestic intimacy!"
Reid didn't hesitate. He moved behind me, and I felt the heat of his body before he even touched me. When his hands settled on my waist, I jumped. His fingers were long and firm, and even through the cashmere, I felt the pressure of his grip.
"Relax," he whispered into my hair. His breath was warm, smelling of peppermint and coffee. "You're vibrating like a trapped bird. Julian will see it in the photos."
"I'm not vibrating. I'm caffeinated," I lied. My heart was thumping against my ribs—a frantic, irregular rhythm that had nothing to do with the "Ice King's" charm and everything to do with the fact that I hadn't been touched by anyone in months.
"Chin down, Maya," Julian barked. "Mr. Sterling, nuzzle. Just a little. Like you're whispering a promise."
Reid tilted his head, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin just below my ear. I gasped, my fingers instinctively reaching up to clutch his forearms. His skin was hot, the hair on his arms slightly rough against my palms. It was a visceral, human sensation—a reminder that beneath the five-million-dollar contract and the charcoal suits, there was a man made of blood and bone.
"Is this the 'promise' part?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
"The promise is that if you don't stop flinching, I'm going to make this photoshoot last another three hours," Reid murmured against my skin. His lips grazed my earlobe, and a traitorous shiver raced down my spine.
I forced myself to go still. I focused on the smell of the old books in the library, the dust motes dancing in the studio lights, anything to ignore the way Reid's thumb was tracing small, slow circles against my hip. It was a practiced move, something he'd probably done a thousand times with women like Cassandra, but it was working. My breathing slowed. My head drifted back, resting against his shoulder.
"Perfect! That's it! The 'Safe Haven' look!" Julian squealed, the shutter of his camera clicking like a machine gun. "Now, turn. Face each other. Hand on his chest, Maya. Look into his eyes. Give me the 'World is Fading Away' gaze."
I turned in the circle of his arms. Up close, Reid's eyes weren't just gray; they were a storm of silver and flint. I could see the tiny lines of exhaustion around his lids, the slight scar on his chin, the tension in his jaw that mirrored my own.
I placed my hand on his chest. Through the fine wool of his blazer and the silk of his shirt, I felt it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart was fast. Faster than it should be for a man who was just "performing."
I blinked, my gaze dropping to his mouth, then back to his eyes. For a second, the library disappeared. The photographers, the lights, the five million dollars—it all blurred into the background. There was just the weight of his hands on my back and the terrifyingly human rhythm of his heart beneath my palm.
"You're doing it again," Reid whispered. His voice was lower now, stripped of the sneer.
"Doing what?"
"Looking at me like you're trying to find the exit sign."
"Maybe I am," I breathed.
"Eyes on me, Maya," he commanded. It wasn't a cold order this time; it was a plea. Or maybe it was a warning.
He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. Our breaths mingled, a shared intake of air in a room full of strangers. I felt the callouses on his fingers—rough from something other than office work—as they tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck.
"Beautiful! Stay there! Don't move!" Julian was practically dancing now.
But I couldn't move even if I wanted to. I was paralyzed by the sudden, sharp realization that the "Ice King" wasn't made of ice. He was a furnace, and I was standing too close to the flame.
Reid's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to my lips. For a terrifying second, I thought he was actually going to kiss me. Not for the cameras. Not for the contract. But because the friction between us had finally sparked a fire that neither of us knew how to put out.
"Reid..." I whispered, my voice a broken thread.
"I know," he muttered, his grip tightening.
Then, the library doors flew open with a bang that shattered the moment like cheap glass.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, pull yourselves apart! It's nauseating!"
Cassandra Vance stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her face a mask of pure, aristocratic fury. She wasn't wearing white today; she was in a red power suit that made her look like she was bathed in blood.
Reid didn't let go of me immediately. He took a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers lingering on my neck for one heartbeat longer than necessary before he stepped back. The cold air rushed in between us, and I felt the sudden loss like a physical bruise.
"Cassandra," Reid said, his voice returning to that flat, clinical tone that made me want to scream. "I don't recall giving you a key to the townhouse."
"I don't need a key when your security is too busy watching your 'fiancée' play dress-up," Cassandra snapped, her heels clicking like gunshots as she marched toward us. She ignored me entirely, her eyes locked on Reid. "The board is meeting in an hour. They've seen the gala photos, and they aren't 'reassured,' Reid. They think you've had a mental breakdown."
She flicked a glance at me—a look so full of venom it made my stomach flip. "They want a formal vetting of the 'waitress.' Financial records, family history, medical files. They want to know exactly how much it cost you to buy her silence."
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. "My silence isn't for sale, Cassandra. But my patience is getting pretty thin."
Cassandra laughed—a sharp, high-pitched sound. "Oh, the little bird has a beak. How quaint. Reid, if you let this girl anywhere near that board meeting, she will dismantle everything your father built in ten minutes."
Reid stepped in front of me, his back a solid wall of navy blue. "Maya isn't going to the meeting to be vetted. She's going as my partner. And if the board has a problem with the woman I've chosen to marry, they can discuss it with my resignation letter."
The room went silent. Even Julian stopped moving.
I looked at the back of Reid's head, my heart doing that frantic dance again. He was defending me. He was risking the empire for the "insurance policy."
"You're bluffing," Cassandra whispered, her face pale.
"Try me," Reid said.
As Cassandra turned and stormed out, Reid didn't turn back to me. He stayed staring at the door, his shoulders tense.
"Reid?" I asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm.
"Don't," he said, flinching away from my hand. "The photoshoot is over. Go upstairs and change, Maya. We leave for the lions' den in thirty minutes."
He walked away without looking back, leaving me standing in the middle of the bright lights, feeling more like a fraud than ever before.