______________________________________________________________________________
"Some truths are more terrifying unopened. Because once the seal breaks, you can't unsee what trust has already betrayed."
______________________________________________________________________________
The house was quiet again.
Not haunting, not suffocating like last night just quiet in a way that made the floorboards feel too loud beneath her feet.
Keira wasn't sure why she found herself outside the study again.
No. That was a lie.
She knew exactly why.
Last night, she saw something she wasn't supposed to. A clause that didn't belong in a marriage contract. A name that shouldn't be tied to Rayyan's empire.
And now her mind refused to sleep until it found the missing piece.
She turned the doorknob slowly.
Click.
The room greeted her like it remembered her scent. The faint aroma of old paper and wood polish hadn't changed. But tonight, it felt more watchful.
She stepped in.
No lights. Just the glow of the moon filtering through the windows, sketching silver outlines across the bookshelves.
She headed to the desk.
Same drawer. Same folder.
But her fingers paused.
There was something else tucked at the back between two thick volumes of legal documents.
A smaller envelope.
Beige. No logo. Just a name, written in faded ink.
To: Rayyan AlverdineFrom: Edmund Davenport
Her heart stopped.
Her father's name.
On a letter Rayyan never opened.
She picked it up slowly.
The envelope had never been unsealed. The paper was still crisp. Untouched.
She sat on the edge of the leather chair, staring at the name over and over.
Why hadn't Rayyan opened it?
Did he know it existed?
Was this something recent… or something old?
And why was it hidden?
Keira ran her thumb over the seal. It wasn't waxed. Just glued shut. Easy to open. Too easy.
But she didn't.
Not yet.
Because part of her knew the moment she opened this letter, she'd cross a line neither of them could return from.
She leaned back in the chair, the letter still in her hand.
What did you write to him, Dad?
And more importantlyWhy did he never read it?
She didn't know how long she sat there.
The letter lay on her lap, taunting her with silence.
Keira's fingers twitched with the urge to tear it open, to see the truth that her father had writtenbut something about its unopened state held her back.
It wasn't hers.Not yet.
And maybe... maybe she wasn't ready.
She stood slowly, careful not to make a sound. The moonlight traced her silhouette across the study floor as she returned the folder to the drawer precisely where she found it.
But the letter?
That she kept.
She slipped it into the inside pocket of her robe, fingers curling protectively around the envelope like it might vanish if she let go.
Then, she glanced at the door once more.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No shadow.
She crept out, soft as breath, closing the door with the gentlest click.
Her feet padded against the cold floor, each step louder in her chest than in the hallway.
Back in her room, she didn't turn on the light.
She moved to her bedside table, opened the bottom drawer, and tucked the letter beneath a stack of old poetry books she never read but couldn't throw away.
Somewhere safe.
Somewhere hidden.
She exhaled finally.
Her back hit the mattress a second later. She lay still, the ceiling a blur above her.
The letter was a heartbeat away.
Unopened.
Unanswered.
Unforgiven.
And somehow, it felt heavier than all the silence in this house.
______________________________________________________________________________
Minutes passed.
Keira couldn't sleep.
She rose from the bed, walked over to her vanity table, and switched on the small lamp. The mirror reflected a tired version of herself—messy hair, shadowed eyes, but something else. A fire. She wouldn't be a pawn anymore.
Opening the drawer beneath the mirror, she pulled out an old journal. On a blank page, she began to write:
"Tonight, I touched the edge of something dangerous. A truth buried beneath this marriage. Rayyan knows more than he lets on. But the question is… does he care enough to stop me?"
Suddenly, a soft knock echoed through the door.
Three times. Gentle. Even.
Keira slammed the journal shut and shoved it back into the drawer.
She cracked open the door.
Rayyan stood there. Dressed in a loose gray sleep shirt and black joggers. His hair was slightly tousled, but his eyes remained alert. Calm. Wide awake.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, like always—appearing without warning, yet somehow, always when she least expected it.
Keira blinked. "You too?"
He gave a small nod. "Sometimes the silence is too loud."
They said nothing for several seconds.
Then Rayyan lifted a sheet of paper in his hand. "You dropped this in my study."
Keira froze.
It wasn't the letter. Just a schedule for next week's gala dinner.
She feigned indifference. "Thanks. Thought I lost it."
Rayyan stared at her. Hard. Like he was daring her to blink.
She stared right back.
"Don't play with fire if you're not ready to get burned, Keira," he said flatly.
"Maybe I'm tired of being cold."
Rayyan didn't reply.
Just that barely-there smile the kind that felt more like a warning than warmth. Then he walked away.
And Keira stood there at the threshold, her breath heavier than before.
Something was shifting in this marriage.
Not love. Not yet.
But something far more dangerous.
______________________________________________________________________________
The silence of the house was thick as Keira tiptoed down the marble stairs, hoodie zipped up, feet bare, her hair a soft mess after tossing and turning in bed for hours. She needed water. Or maybe something stronger.
Anything to shut her brain up. As she reached the kitchen and flipped on a dim light, her eyes froze.
Rayyan.
Shirtless.
Standing by the island counter, back turned to her, shoulders broad and toned, a faint sheen on his skin like he'd just finished a workout or just existed perfectly for no reason. He held a mug of coffee in one hand, flipping through a document with the other, completely unaware or just completely ignoring the chaos he was causing.
Keira blinked hard. God, I hate him.
"I thought vampires didn't need caffeine," she said casually.
Rayyan didn't flinch. "And yet, I keep waking up next to sarcasm."
Keira stepped into the kitchen, pretending to yawn. "Put on a shirt, Rayyan. Some of us are trying not to be emotionally unstable tonight."
He glanced over his shoulder. "Then don't look."
"Not looking is hard when the distraction is built like a Greek statue."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't respond.
She opened the fridge, pulled out a water bottle, and leaned against the counter across from him. "Why are you awake?"
"I could ask you the same."
"Nightmares."
"Of me?"
"Worse," she sipped her water, "your ego."
That got him to smirk. He sipped his coffee, leaned a hip against the counter, and just… stared at her. Like he was trying to read something behind her words.
And then came the slip.
She moved to walk past him, reaching for a napkin her elbow clipped the edge of his mug.
Spill.
Hot coffee splashed down the front of her hoodie and onto her shorts.
"AH—dammit!"
Rayyan set his mug down calmly. "Impressive aim."
"Your kitchen's a health hazard," she muttered, trying to pat herself dry with the napkin.
"You walked into me."
"You stood in the middle of the crime scene, half-naked. That's entrapment."
He took a towel from the drawer, tossed it toward her. "Change before you catch a cold. You look like a wet gremlin."
Keira froze. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
She huffed and started wiping her hoodie, but the coffee stain had soaked through. The fabric clung to her in places, transparent under the light. She didn't notice—until his gaze dropped.
Not obviously.
Just a flicker. But Keira caught it.
"You're staring."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"You're hallucinating."
"Then stop hallucinating at my chest, Rayyan."
He blinked, then looked away with a slight twitch in his jaw.
That reaction? Gold.
Keira smirked and peeled off the wet hoodie, revealing the thin tank top underneath completely innocent… until it stuck to her skin.
Rayyan's ears flushed. Just barely.
"You good?" she asked sweetly.
He cleared his throat. "Don't get too comfortable just because we're married."
"Why not? You clearly enjoy the view."
He sighed, turned his back to her, and reached for the cabinet.
But his hand missed the handle by an inch.
Gotcha.
Keira leaned on the counter, chin resting on her palm. "You know, for someone so composed, you're really easy to fluster."
"I'm not flustered," he said through clenched teeth.
"Mmhm. Say that again without gripping the mug like you're about to crush it."
Rayyan turned, met her eyes.
All playfulness drained for just a second.
"Don't push me, Keira."
Her smile faltered.
That wasn't a threat.
It sounded like a warning.
A desperate one.
But before she could speak, he dropped the towel on the counter between them.
"I'm going back to bed."
"You sure? We could always have a shirtless standoff."
He didn't smile. But he didn't look away either.
"I'm not the one who's confused here."
And with that, he left the kitchen.
Keira stared at the doorway long after he was gone.
Heart pounding.
Mind racing.
That last line?
What the hell did that mean?
Was she the confused one?
Or was he just really, really good at pretending?
______________________________________________________________________________
The night air was colder than usual.
Keira wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body as she stepped out onto the balcony. The city lights below blinked like secrets trying to be heard.
And there he was again.
Rayyan.
Leaning on the railing in a black long-sleeve shirt, cigarette between his fingers, barely lit. As always, he didn't smoke it. Just held it like a memory he couldn't let go of.
She didn't say anything.
She just stood beside him, their arms inches apart. Silent.
He was the first to speak.
"You're not sleeping."
She exhaled slowly. "Didn't know I needed permission."
He glanced sideways, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't care what you do, Keira."
"Then why do you keep showing up where I am?"
No answer.
Only the sound of the wind brushing past them, the soft flick of his lighter as he lit the cigarette, then let it die out almost immediately.
Keira turned to him. "Do you always flirt with fire you never intend to keep?"
He looked at her, eyes low. "You think this is flirting?"
"I think you're scared."
Rayyan laughed. Quiet, bitter. "Of what?"
"Of wanting me."
That silenced him.
The kind of silence that makes the air feel heavier. Thicker. She didn't back down.
"You look at me like I'm a threat," she continued, stepping closer. "You talk like I'm a deal. But you touch me—"
"I don't touch you," he cut her off sharply.
Exactly.
And that's the problem.
"You almost did," she whispered.
Rayyan's jaw tensed. His hand still held the cigarette, but it burned out long ago.
"I could make you want to," she added, voice softer now, more dangerous. "I could kiss you right now, and you'd let me."
"You're testing me."
"No. I'm proving something."
She took one more step.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
They were close now—too close. She could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the tiny shift in his throat as he swallowed hard.
"Say something," she whispered.
"I should walk away," he muttered.
"But you won't."
A pause. Just long enough to feel like time had frozen.
Then Rayyan's hand rose. Barely. Fingertips grazing the edge of her jaw.
It wasn't a kiss.
But it was something far more dangerous.
Intention.
He looked at her like he was torn between two instincts—run or ruin.
"I don't want you to be a mistake," he said.
"Then don't treat me like one."
Rayyan let his hand drop.
Turned away.
And walked back inside.
Leaving Keira on the balcony, breathless, heart racing.
She touched her jaw where his fingers had barely lingered.
Not a kiss. Not even a touch, really.
But God, it felt more intimate than either of those.
The night had grown quieter.
The wind had calmed, but something in the air between them had not.
Keira leaned her back against the balcony railing now, watching Rayyan through narrowed eyes. He still hadn't come any closer. But he hadn't left either.
That, in itself, was telling.
"Why do you always walk away?" she asked softly.
Rayyan didn't look at her. "Because if I don't, I'll do something I'll regret."
"Like what?"
Silence.
She tilted her head. "Say it."
He turned toward her then—finally—and the look in his eyes nearly knocked the breath out of her.
It wasn't anger. Or coldness. It was raw restraint. Like a storm pacing just behind glass.
"I don't want to want you," he said, almost like a confession.
Keira's breath hitched.
"But you do," she whispered.
His jaw clenched.
"That's the problem," he replied. "Wanting you wasn't part of the contract."
She stepped toward him. One step. Barefoot on cold marble. She didn't care.
"Neither was protecting me from your own board members. Or telling me not to drink too much at the gala. Or showing up at my door just to check if I'm breathing."
Rayyan didn't move.
So she took another step. Close now. So close.
Their breaths collided before their bodies did.
"You feel something," she said. "Don't lie."
Rayyan's eyes flicked to her lips. Then to her eyes. Then away.
And then back again.
"Keira."
She looked up.
That was the first time he'd said her name like that.
Not with irritation.
But with restraint.
Longing.
Desperation.
"I don't trust myself with you," he said.
"You don't need to," she replied. "Just trust me."
Then his hand moved.
Very slow.
Calloused fingertips brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. He didn't pull away.
And Keira, standing there in the chill of the night, felt the burn of that single, featherlight touch like a brand.
Still no kiss.
Still no bold move.
Just the unbearable, devastating closeness of two people too afraid to break first.
"I should stop this," he muttered.
"Then stop."
He didn't move.
So she stepped closer, and this time her chest nearly brushed his.
"You're not stopping," she whispered.
Rayyan's breath hitched.
He looked at her lips again. Then exhaled sharply and turned his head—stepping back like he'd just walked out of fire.
"Don't tempt me, Keira."
"But you're already burning."
He didn't reply.
Didn't deny it.
He just stood there, facing away, his shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides.
Keira stared at his back for a long time.
"You said you don't want me to be a mistake," she said. "Then be sure. Because if I fall into this… and you pull away, I won't break quietly."
He turned his head slightly.
And in the silence, just before he walked away, he murmured—
"You never break quietly, Keira. That's what scares me."
______________________________________________________________________________
END OF CHAPTER 5
"They parted like nothing had happened. No touch, no kiss, not even a word too soft. But something had shifted in the silence. Not quite love. Not yet. But something deeper and far more dangerous."
______________________________________________________________________________