______________________________________________________________________________
"In the game of power, love is the last thing on the agenda. Survival? Survival is a deal we never got to make."
______________________________________________________________________________
Keira stood at the far end of the floor-to-ceiling white curtains, peering down into the ballroom below. It all felt too perfect—like a dream that had been sent to the wrong destination. Her white dress hugged her body with elegance, and the crystal chandelier above twinkled as if to taunt her.
The orchestra played soft music, but it could not mask the panicked thumping of her heart.
"A big party for a fake marriage," came the cold voice behind her. She didn't need to turn. It was Rayan.
"Like a circus," Keira murmured, still staring at the crowd below.
Rayan stepped closer, his voice smooth but cutting. "A very expensive circus. And we're the main attraction."
Keira turned, her gaze sharp. "Was all this necessary? This entire charade?"
Rayan's eyebrow sprung up, but he did not hesitate. "You think I enjoy parties like these? But image is everything."
"So it's all about image?" she snarled, narrowing her eyes.
"And the future," Rayan went on, his eyes never wavering. "You're too smart not to know what we're fighting for."
Keira snorted dryly. "Humorous. You think I care about your version of 'the future'?"
Rayan did not flinch. "I don't need you to care. I need you to stay."
"To be your pawn?" Her tone was ice.
Rayan's eyes darkened. But instead of anger, he spoke low, "If you're a pawn, Keira. then you're the only reason this chessboard hasn't gone up in flames."
Keira froze. There was something in his voice—quiet, but full of things he wouldn't say out loud.
______________________________________________________________________________
During the party.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, Rayan's fingers around Keira's, holding her fast. She pulled against it, but his gaze locked her in position. Their stagey grins were the best acting in the room.
"Don't be so stiff," Rayan panted, his voice somehow. soft?
"Save the play your acting, Ray," Keira snapped back with a syrupy smile so taut it could have cut glass.
Rayan rested back against the railing. "Too bad. I thought faking was down pat. But you're on edge tonight."
Keira snapped out a sound of frustration. "I'm not you. I don't fake being cold when I have a covert mission of watching everything."
"Who said I was watching anything?"
"That movement just now."
Rayan didn't say anything. But his hand curled slightly inside his jacket pocket like he was balancing something.
Keira stepped closer, her voice a whisper and a challenge. "Afraid people might notice you're starting to care?"
He looked at her really looked. And this time, his eyes weren't calm. A quiet storm brewed beneath the surface.
"I'm not afraid," he whispered. "I just know when to fake it… and when to protect."
"Protect?" she scoffed. "From what? Yourself?"
"I'll not let anyone else so much as lay hands on you," he whispered into her, low and threatening. "Even if you hate me."
Something flickered in Keira. But before she could push again, another guest approached and they swapped their masks.
Rayan leaned in again, his warm breath in her ear. "You'll fall deeper than you can dream of. There is no escape."
Keira stared up at him, unmoving. "Then I'll make you wish you hadn't."
Rayan grinned—low and wicked and cruel. "Wait till you see it, Keira. This world's uglier than you can imagine."
He batted his fingers aside from her, but they both knew—there was no freedom. Something stirred deep within Keira's very chest. Something more than this whole game, something she didn't yet understand, or wouldn't.
"This party's over," she declared, trying to keep the wild abandon contained within her.
But Rayan stood firm, not scared, eyes never leaving hers. "You're right," he declared. "But we both know this just the start of it. Once we begin, no turning back."
Keira gazed at him, not comprehending wrapped in defiance. One thing for sure: the game wasn't over yet and no one knew who would win.
______________________________________________________________________________
Since the dance.
They emerged into the cold of the night air. The night breeze ruffled Keira's hair about her face on the balcony.
"Let me," Rayan interjected.
She instinctively stepped back. "I can take care of myself."
But he'd already slipped the stray strand of hair from behind her ear. His touch was deliberate. Gentle. Not his at all.
"You—You can be less sappy," she snarled, her heart crashing in her chest.
"If I'm too soft, you'll just get more confused," he panted, a wry smile playing around his mouth. "And I don't want you to be hoping for anything."
"Who says I'm hoping?" she snarled, quivering spines.
He leaned in, their noses millimetres apart. "I hope not," he breathed. "Because I still don't know how to stop caring… in a way that doesn't show."
Keira froze. Lips parted ever so slightly, words stuck in her throat.
And Rayan?
He just stepped back, smiling that same sarcastic smile. "See? You're already confused."
______________________________________________________________________________
Guests gathered at the center of the ballroom, and the host's voice echoed—calling the newlyweds to the stage for a toast.
Keira took a deep breath. "Time to play pretend again," she muttered.
Rayan pushed his hand into his pocket. "If you're smart, this is going to be your best piece. Everyone's expecting you."
She glanced at him. "You forget something, Ray. I detest theater."
He moved closer, voice low against her cheek.
"Don't overact."
She raised a brow. "Why? Scared I'll get drunk and inform the world how sweet you are while you sleep?"
Rayan blinked, his eyes squinting. "I'm not sweet, Keira. I'm poison—strawberry-flavored."
Keira echoed a cough-laugh. "Figures. Addictive and slow-killing."
He smiled at her, reaching for a glass of champagne and holding one out for her.
Their fingers touched. For an instant. But no one withdrew. If anything, Rayan hung by a fraction more. Their eyes met.
Keira's ribcage tightened.
Not from the drink.
From that look. That look that, for once… didn't feel like a lie.
"Let go of my hand before I become drunk on you," Keira snarled.
Rayan chuckled low. "Too late."
The MC's voice cut in again.
"Welcome the happy couple!"
Rayan subtly moved, still gripping his glass. "Happy couple, aren't we?"
Keira advanced, her smile wide and 100% artificial. "Let's give them a show they will never forget."
Rayan stood beside her. Glass held aloft.
"Tonight, we drink…"
his voice rough, low,
"not to love, but to the compromise that keeps it all alive."
Keira added, "And to all the eyes watching—may they really think we're in love."
They clinked glasses. The ring in the air was jarring like the final shot of Act One. But the thump in Keira's chest wasn't because of the toast.
And when she caught a glimpse of Rayan over there who still stared at her there was something in his eyes.
Not love. Not exactly.
But something so much more lethal: sincerity wrapped in strategy.
______________________________________________________________________________
As they moved into the ballroom, Keira's eyes scanned the room involuntarily. And that was where she spotted him—a gray-haired man wearing a charcoal-colored immaculately tailored suit, standing at the periphery of the room with a drink in his hand. He was staring at them. No, at Rayan.
Rayan noticed it too. His posture shifted ever so slightly, like a lion that has caught a whiff of another hunter standing in pouncing range.
The man lazily returned the salute with his drink. Rayan nodded curtly, his jaw aching a hair's breadth short of a tic.
Keira moved forward reluctantly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who is he?"
"Just a business acquaintance," Rayan jerked out too hastily.
"Right," Keira jerked back, her eyes turning hard. "The kind that crashes uninvited to your fake wedding?"
Rayan didn't respond. He pulled her back from the man, his grip a fraction too hard.
"Rayan—" Keira began, but he shushed her with a scolding glance. "Not here."
They pushed further into the crowd, but Keira's mind remained behind. That man. his presence hadn't been coincidental. He was the sort of man who harbored secrets. Secrets written in transactions made in shadows and blackmail.
And in that moment, Keira realized something:
She wasn't marrying Rayan.
She was marrying into something much darker.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Later in the night, there was a time when Keira was alone. Rayan had gone off "urgent call," he told her, but his tone didn't ring quite real.
She saw him again. That same older man she'd seen before, now standing just outside one of the side corridors. Rayan approached him, the tension between the two of them thick.
Keira wasn't sneaking. Her heels carried her of their own accord. She halted just at the edge of the hallway, standing in the shadows as sound made its way towards her.
"we agreed to this, Rayan," the older man spoke, controlled but with a venomous edge to his tone. "Don't forget who signed first."
"I haven't forgotten," Rayan said, low and strained. "But do not push—"
A snapping clink of glass.
"Excuse me, Miss—champagne?"
A tray appeared in front of her, brought by a smiling server who somehow had the worst timing in the universe.
Keira jolted, heart racing. She grabbed a glass, muttering, "Thanks," before glancing back toward the corridor.
Empty.
They were gone.
Of course.
She stared into the golden liquid, her reflection fractured by bubbles and doubt.
What the hell was that about?
______________________________________________________________________________
END OF CHAPTER 3
Glasses clink. Eyes glance. A toast is suggested. But under the blinding lights and borrowed smiles, something unwritten tightens between them—something not quite hatred, not yet love. Only tension, nicely dressed in silk and sarcasm, waiting to strike.
______________________________________________________________________________