The message glowed on the screen like a warning flare.
> Camille's been talking. You should clean this up before it gets messy.
Aiden stared at it, jaw tightening, the rhythm of his fingers on Zara's thigh stalling for the briefest second.
Zara noticed.
> "What is it?" she asked, tilting her head up to look at him.
He hesitated. Smiled. Too soft. Too controlled.
> "Just work," he murmured, slipping the phone screen-down on the table.
Zara narrowed her eyes. She knew that look—calculated indifference. Aiden didn't do soft unless he was trying to keep something from unraveling.
But she let it go. For now.
Instead, she curled closer into his chest, pressing a kiss just above his heart.
> "Promise me something," she whispered.
> "Anything."
> "If this ever becomes too much… if I ever become too much—don't shut me out. Don't go silent."
He didn't answer with words.
He answered with his hold—tighter, surer. Like she was the only thing tethering him to the ground.
But above them, the silence stretched thin.
A storm was brewing.
---
Later that evening, Zara padded barefoot into the hallway, a silk robe tied loosely around her waist. She passed the study—Aiden's sanctuary—and paused when she heard voices inside.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
She pressed closer to the door.
Camille.
> "She's naive, Aiden. If the board finds out what you've been doing—how you've blurred the lines—they'll eat you alive."
Zara's blood ran cold.
> "That's none of your concern," Aiden replied sharply.
> "It is if you plan to keep parading her around like she's more than a contract. People are talking."
Zara backed away, pulse hammering in her throat.
So it wasn't just about them anymore.
People were watching.
Judging.
Waiting.
---
She didn't confront him that night. Instead, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the words echoing in her skull.
Naive.
Parading.
Blurred lines.
By morning, Aiden was already up—suit crisp, hair perfectly in place, mask fully back on.
> "I have meetings all day," he said, buttoning his cuff. "Stay out of the media. No sudden outings."
> "Because of the board?" she asked, not looking up from the sheets.
He stilled. Just for a moment.
> "Because people don't need more reasons to misunderstand what this is."
She met his gaze.
> "And what is it, Aiden?"
He didn't answer.
The silence spoke for him.
---
In the shadows of the sunroom, Zara sat alone again.
No laughter.
No tea.
No warmth.
Only her thoughts—and Camille's voice echoing through them.
The lock pendant still hung at her throat, heavy with new weight.
She pulled it off.
And set it gently on the coffee table.
Just in case he came back and needed a reminder…
That hearts can only stay on a leash for so long.
Aiden returned late that night.
His tie was loosened, eyes shadowed—not with exhaustion, but with restraint.
He found the pendant on the coffee table.
Held it.
Stared at it like it burned.
Zara didn't speak from her place at the window. She sat cross-legged on the armchair, arms wrapped around herself, like she needed to hold her own heart together.
> "You didn't answer my question this morning," she said quietly.
> "About what this is."
He exhaled, placing the necklace down like it was a weapon.
> "Because I don't know how to."
> "Then I'll help you," she said, standing. "Because I know what this isn't."
She walked toward him—slow, measured steps.
> "This isn't pretend. This isn't just control or contracts or image management. This…" She stopped in front of him, pressing her palm to his chest. "This is us, Aiden. Whatever messy, terrifying, complicated thing we've built—it's real."
He swallowed hard.
> "Camille's stirring up rumors," he finally said. "She's telling people I'm compromised. That I've let you in."
> "Have you?" Zara whispered.
He didn't answer right away. His hand came up, brushing a thumb across her cheek like she was made of glass and danger all at once.
> "Every second I'm not with you feels wrong. Every second I am with you feels like falling."
Zara's lips parted, a soft sound escaping.
He stepped closer.
> "But if you stay... you'll be in the crossfire. This world isn't just money and power, Zara. It's war disguised in suits and headlines."
> "Then teach me how to fight."
He froze.
She didn't.
She rose on her toes and kissed him—slow, certain, full of everything she couldn't say with words.
When she pulled back, he looked like the wind had been knocked from him.
> "You are going to ruin me," he breathed.
> "Maybe," she smiled faintly. "But I'll rebuild you too."
---
The next morning, Zara stood beside Aiden in a conference room filled with polished sharks in designer suits. She wasn't wearing a collar or a contract.
Just confidence.
And a red dress she knew would have Camille grinding her teeth from across the room.
Aiden laced his fingers through hers under the table.
It was subtle.
But it was a declaration.
Until…
One of the board members leaned forward, eyes sharp.
> "Mr. Knight. We've received anonymous photos. You and your… companion. Certain compromising positions."
Zara went still.
Aiden didn't blink.
> "I don't respond to threats."
The board member smiled. "This isn't a threat. This is a warning. Control your narrative. Or we will."
And just like that, Zara realized something chilling:
The enemy wasn't just outside their walls.
It was inside.
---