CHAPTER THREE: Sunlight Lies
1099 Words
Jace’s POV:
The first time he saw her, she was on fire.
Not literally. But that was how she looked fury dancing in her eyes, her voice a whip of sarcasm, her presence like a match daring the world to strike. He’d been fifteen, tagging along to a Kingston fundraiser he hadn’t cared about. Bored out of his mind, he’d been staring at his phone when a commotion near the fountain caught his ear.
There she was Nyra Kingston, hair wild, dress torn at the hem, yelling at a boy twice her size who’d grabbed her little cousin’s wrist too hard.
“You touch her again, and I’ll make sure you forget what your hands are for,” she’d snapped, shoving the boy back.
He hadn’t known who she was then. But he’d found out. That same night, he asked his father about her. And from that moment on, Nyra Kingston became a slow, consuming fixation.
Not a crush. Not love. Something more… precise. Like a blueprint. A long-term investment. A game he intended to win.
And now, she was his.
Well technically, not yet. But legally, she would be.
Soon.
Jace Evric Taylor adjusted the cufflinks of his suit and stared out the floor-length windows of the penthouse suite where the engagement dinner would be held. The skyline glittered below like scattered diamonds, but his thoughts were fixed on the past and the future.
She didn’t want this. Not yet. She hated it. Hated him.
He smiled faintly. That was fine.
She would come around.
Nyra always fought what scared her.
He just had to become the one thing she couldn’t fight.
The door opened behind him. His assistant, Leland, stepped in, quiet as ever. “Sir, the Kingstons have arrived. They’re in the lobby.”
Jace turned, smooth and composed. “And Nyra?”
“Refused the elevator the staff offered. Said she’d find her own way up.”
A chuckle escaped his throat. “Of course she did.”
Leland hesitated. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? She’s… not exactly enthusiastic.”
Jace looked at him, and the softness in his expression vanished like mist in the sun. “She’s exactly who I want. Let’s not mistake resistance for incompatibility.”
Leland swallowed and nodded, then slipped back out.
Jace ran a hand down the front of his jacket, then walked to the mirrored bar cart, poured himself half a glass of whiskey, and sipped it without flinching. He didn’t drink often only when he needed to keep his hands busy.
He’d waited too long to lose focus now.
Everything had gone according to plan.
The deals, the silent investment in the Kingston company, the slow push toward bankruptcy—only just enough. Just enough to make Mr. Kingston come begging for a solution.
And Jace had offered one: a merger, sealed with a marriage. Perfectly reasonable. Classic, even.
He never once mentioned that he’d manipulated the numbers, created the scarcity, pulled strings in the market to apply just the right pressure.
Let them think it was a business miracle. Let them think Jace Taylor was a savior.
He didn’t care about the company.
He cared about her.
The elevator dinged.
His pulse ticked up.
He set the glass down with surgical precision and turned toward the door.
Seconds passed. The door remained closed.
Then it swung open.
And there she was.
A vision in black silk, hair swept up like she hadn’t bothered but still managed to look like sin itself. Her expression was unreadable—cool, poised, and entirely disinterested. But her eyes gave her away.
She was furious.
Jace had to remind himself not to smile.
“Evric,” she said, her voice laced with acid, “You look exactly like someone I’d sue.”
He grinned. “And you look like someone who’d enjoy it.”
She moved past him, ignoring the hand he offered. Her perfume followed, something dark and spicy and far too addictive. He watched her scan the room with casual disdain, then pour herself a drink like she owned the place.
God, he missed her fire.
“You’re not going to ask me how I’ve been?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
“I assume you’ve been plotting my captivity. How charming.”
He laughed. Not because it was funny but because it was accurate.
She turned toward him, leaning against the counter. “You must be proud of yourself. Did you enjoy puppeteering my father like a toy?”
“You make it sound so sinister,” he murmured. “I offered a solution. He accepted.”
“You exploited a family’s desperation.”
“I offered a marriage. Not a guillotine.”
“You think there’s a difference?”
Her words were knives, but he didn’t bleed.
Instead, he stepped closer, slowly, until he could see the defiant line of her jaw. “Nyra,” he said softly, “you’ve spent your whole life fighting cages. I’m not here to trap you.”
She scoffed. “Sure. Just… buy me instead.”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t buy you. I chose you.”
That made her flinch. Just slightly.
Because she remembered. That night at the party. The first real conversation they ever had.
“You don’t even know me,” she said, eyes narrowing.
“But I do,” he murmured. “I’ve been paying attention. All these years. You think your rebellion hides you, but it only makes you clearer.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then, without warning, she threw back the drink, set the glass down with a clink, and walked to the far side of the suite.
He didn’t follow.
He didn’t need to.
She was angry. Resentful. Unstable.
Good.
He could work with all of that.
What he couldn’t work with was indifference. And Nyra had never been indifferent to him.
As she stood by the window, silhouetted by the city lights, he allowed himself a moment to study her. The curve of her neck. The way her hands curled into fists even when she tried to appear relaxed.
He’d imagined this moment for years.
Not just this room. But the nights. The fights. The sharp edges and the soft ones she hid.
He wasn’t afraid of her fury.
He wanted it.
Because fury meant she still had feeling. And feelings could be redirected.
Nyra would hate him. Then she’d tolerate him. Then she’d need him.
That was the plan.
And Jace Taylor never deviated from the plan.
- Writer
