Chapter 4 PLAYING WITH FIRE

LILY’S POV

I spent exactly three hours staring at the number on my computer screen.

$75,000.00.

The first half of the Ice Machine’s donation had landed in the St. Jude Library’s account just after lunch. It was a miracle. It was the answer to every prayer I had ever whispered into the quiet corners of the stacks.

So why did I feel like I had just swallowed a bag of pucks?

"You okay, Lil? You’ve been staring at that screen for twenty minutes," Mrs. Higgins asked, her knitting needles clicking as she sat in her usual spot by the fireplace.

"I’m fine," I lied, my voice sounding light. "Just... processing some paperwork."

The paperwork was a contract with the devil. I looked at my phone, resting on the desk. It felt like a ticking bomb. Every time it buzzed, my heart tried to jump out of my chest.

Then it happened. 

Not a buzz. A ring.

I raced to grab it, nearly knocking over my vanilla tea. 

Unknown Caller.

"Hello?" I whispered, ducking behind a shelf of biographies.

"Miss Bennett," Victor’s smooth, oily voice filled my ear. "I trust you saw the transfer?"

"I did. It’s... it’s a lot of money, Victor."

"It's a small cost to keep the library going. But Roman gets angry quickly. The rebranding starts now. There’s a team dinner tonight at The Gilded Blade. It’s a big charity event. You should be there."

My breath fastened. "Tonight? Victor, I can’t. I’m working. And I haven't even told Leo about…"

"That is the point, Lily," Victor interrupted. "The 'secret' romance is what sells. Roman is tired of being the villain. He wants to be the man who was tamed by a librarian. A car will be at your apartment at seven."

The line went dead.

I leaned my head against a shelf of Winston Churchill biographies. I felt like I was being swept away by a current I could not swim against.

My phone buzzed again. 

A text.

‘Be ready. Don't wear the glasses. I want to see your eyes when you lie to my team. - R.V.’

"He is such a brute," I muttered, my temper finally sparking.

I checked the clock. 4:30 PM. 

I had two and a half hours to turn into someone else. 

I closed up the library early, my hands shaking as I turned the Closed sign. Mrs. Higgins gave me a curious look, but I just waved and ran.

When I got to my apartment, I went straight to the closet. It was a disaster of beige sweaters and skirts that hit below the knee.

"I look like a box," I groaned, throwing a cardigan onto the bed. "A soft, bookish box."

I tried on a floral dress. Too young. I tried on a black skirt and blouse. Too much like a funeral.

The panic was starting to crawl up my throat. This was a mistake. I should call Victor and send the money back. I could find another way. I could sell my car. I could sell a kidney.

Buzz.

"What now?" I snapped, answering the phone without looking.

"Are you ready?"

The voice was deep, husky, and instantly made my skin feel too tight. 

Roman.

"I’m not ready," I said, my voice rising. "I don't have anything to wear, Roman. I don't belong at a five-star dinner. I belong in a quiet room with a book. Just take your money back and find an actress."

I heard a low, dark chuckle. It wasn't a nice sound. 

"Check your door, Lily."

"What?"

"The door. Now."

I walked to the front door, my heart beating against my ribs. I looked through the peephole. A courier was standing there with three shiny white boxes tied with blood-red ribbons.

I opened the door, signed the pad, and dragged the boxes inside.

"What are these?" I asked, still on the phone.

"Your armor," Roman said. "I do not pay $150,000 for a girl in a beige sweater. I will see you at seven. Do not be late."

He hung up.

I frowned at the phone before turning to the boxes. I untied the first ribbon. My breath hitched.

Inside was a dress. But it wasn't just any dress; it felt like liquid silk. It was a deep, dark red, like a bruised heart. It had thin straps and a back that was completely open.

It looked like it cost more than my car.

I opened the second box. There were black high-heeled shoes that looked really dangerous to wear.

I opened the third. A diamond necklace and a small note.

I took out the card. The writing was rough, crooked, and looked like it was cut with a knife.

‘Wear the red one. It matches your temper. - R.V.’

"I hate him," I whispered, but my fingers were already tracing the soft silk. "I absolutely hate him."

The transformation took forever. I had to dig out a pair of old contact lenses I hadn't worn in a year. My eyes hurt, but without the glasses, my face looked different. More open. Vulnerable.

I let my dark hair down. It fell in waves past my shoulders. I tried to do my makeup, my hands clumsy as I applied a dark red lipstick that matched the dress.

"Who are you?" I asked the mirror.

The girl staring back wasn't the shy librarian. She looked like a WAG. She looked like she belonged on the arm of a man who broke things for a living.

At 6:55 PM, the buzzer rang.

My stomach did a somersault. I grabbed my clutch, my legs feeling like jelly in the high heels. I checked the peephole, expecting the driver.

It wasn't the driver.

Roman was standing in my hallway.

He wore a black suit that fit his broad shoulders well. Underneath, he had a black shirt with the collar open. No tie. He looked both scary and amazing at the same time.

I opened the door, my breath catching.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, his icy blue eyes traveling from the top of my head, down the curve of my neck, to the slit in the dress that showed way too much leg.

"The dress fits," He spoke in a deep voice. His Russian accent sounded stronger in the small, quiet hallway of my building.

"It's too much," I said, my voice shaking. "I feel like I'm in danger."

"You are in danger," he said as he walked into my apartment. 

He was so big that the ceiling seemed lower. The air was filled with his smell—winter, fancy leather, and something spicy.

He reached out. I flinched, my back hitting the doorframe, but he didn't stop. He hooked a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up. 

"Where are the glasses?" He asked, his thumb lightly touching my jaw. His skin felt warm. Too warm.

"I... I wore contacts. Like you said."

"Good." He bent down, his face close to mine. I noticed the little silver spots in his blue eyes. They didn't seem cold now. They were full of heat.

"Tonight, you’re not a Bennett," he said quietly, his voice rough. "Tonight, you belong to me. Every guy in that room will want you. But you will only look at me. Do you get it?"

"This is an act, Roman," I reminded him, my heart racing. "A business deal."

"Then be a good business partner," he said, his hand sliding from my chin to the bare skin of my shoulder. His touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my toes. "And don't trip."

He took my arm tightly, like he owned me. 

He didn't just guide me; it felt like he was taking a prisoner out.

We stepped into the elevator. 

It was really small, and he looked much bigger. I stood in the corner, feeling small and out of place in my red silk outfit. I could see him looking at me in the reflection of the metal doors.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, hugging my bag.

Roman didn't look away. His gaze was dark and intense, filled with something that made my blood run hot.

"Because," he said as the doors opened to the lobby. "I am wondering how long it will take for your brother to try and kill me when he sees what I am holding."

He stepped out, holding me close, his hand resting on my waist. I looked up at him, and for the first time, I wasn't just scared of the deal.

I was scared of the man.

And as the black SUV waited at the curb, I realized I was not just playing with fire.

I was walking right into danger.