Chapter 4 Stay in Character

"The first time I told you I loved you," he continued, not looking at her, but staring at a point on the wall, "was three weeks after the funeral. You were working late in your father's old office. I brought you coffee. It was raining. You were crying. I put my hand on your shoulder. You looked up at me, and I just… said it."

Chloe stared at him. The detail was stunning. He had painted a scene so vivid, so tender, she could almost smell the rain and the old leather of her father's chair, feel the weight of his hand on her shoulder. For a moment, the imaginary memory felt more real than the actual, lonely nights she had spent grieving.

"You've put a lot of thought into this," she said softly, her throat tight.

He finally looked up, and his eyes were unreadable. "Details sell the lie, Chloe. The smallest inconsistency can unravel everything."

He had started using her first name during these planning sessions. It was part of the act, he said. They had to be comfortable with it. But every time he said "Chloe," it felt like a small electric shock, a jolt of something that felt dangerously like intimacy.

The night before their engagement party, the tension was a living thing in the room. The party was to be a small, elegant affair at her penthouse, for close friends and family which mostly meant Julian and a handful of board members he controlled.

"Tomorrow is the first big test," Rhys said, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the glittering city. "Your uncle will be watching us like a hawk. Every touch, every look. He'll be looking for any sign that this is a business arrangement."

"I know," Chloe said, wrapping her arms around herself. She was wearing silk pajamas, and he was still in his trousers and a tight-fitting black t-shirt that clung to the hard planes of his chest and arms, making him look more like a special forces operative than a fiancé. The difference between their worlds, between the soft silk and the hard muscle, felt vast and unnerving.

"Chloe," he said, turning from the window. His voice was different. Softer. Almost gentle. "Look at me."

She met his gaze across the dimly lit room. The city lights played across his face, highlighting the sharp angles.

"In there tomorrow, you can't look like you're following a script. You have to “feel” it." He took a step toward her. "You have to look at me like you can't believe your luck. Like I'm the only man in the world."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "How do I do that, Rhys? This is all a business deal. A contract. You said it yourself."

"Then think of it as the most important business deal of your life," he said, closing the distance between them. He stopped just inches away. The heat from his body radiated toward her, a tangible force. "Your future depends on it. Your father's legacy depends on it. Now, look at me."

She forced herself to look up into his face. The sharp planes of his cheeks, the firm set of his mouth. His eyes were dark and intense in the low light, and they held hers captive.

"Now," he whispered, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate tone that made her shiver. "I'm going to touch your face. Don't flinch."

He raised his hand, his movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a skittish animal. His fingertips, rough with the calluses of a man who knew how to fight, brushed against her cheekbone, then traced a slow, feather-light path down to her jaw. It was the most intimate touch she had ever experienced. It wasn't possessive or demanding; it was… reverent. Her breath hitched in her throat. This wasn't part of the script. This felt terrifyingly, dangerously real.

"My God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his eyes searching hers, seeming to look right into her soul. The words were part of the act, she knew it, but the way he said them, with a kind of awed reverence that shook her to her core, made her knees feel weak.

And then he leaned in.

Chloe's eyes widened. Was he going to kiss her? Panic and something else, something warm and treacherous and full of longing, flared inside her. This wasn't in the plan. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat.

But he stopped, his lips a hair's breadth from hers. He was so close she could feel his warm breath on her skin, could count the dark lashes framing his eyes. The anticipation was intense.

"See?" he said, his voice a low that vibrated through her entire body. "That's the look I need tomorrow. The surprise. The breathless anticipation. The want. Can you do that?"

He was teaching her a lesson. Demonstrating his technique. The realization was a bucket of cold water. Humiliation washed over her, hot and sharp. She had been moments away from kissing him, from getting lost in a moment of pure fabrication, and for him, it was just a rehearsal. A drill.

She pulled back as if burned, her cheeks flaming. "I understand the principle. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get some sleep."

A strange expression crossed his face, a sign of something that looked almost like regret. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual impassive mask. He nodded, all business once more. "Of course. Goodnight, Chloe."

He turned and walked out of the living room, leaving her alone with a heart that was beating far too fast and the lingering, phantom sensation of his touch on her skin. The silence he left behind was deafening.

Their engagement party tomorrow if successfully completed, will be a masterpiece of deception.