CHAPTER FIVE: A Week Of silk and strategy
1175 Words
Nyra’s POV:
If anyone had told me two weeks ago that I’d be standing in a luxury boutique, staring at a blood-red bikini held up by my best friend while being forced into a honeymoon I never asked for I’d have laughed in their face.
Now? Now I was dangerously close to letting Zimra buy it.
“Try it on,” she said, eyes glittering like a devil in designer heels. “That’s the one. This says ‘I’m a goddess who might ruin your life if you touch me without permission.’”
I raised a brow. “You mean you want to ruin lives in this.”
Zimra smirked and flung the skimpy thing over my arm anyway. “Both can be true.”
I sighed and let her drag me toward the changing room, the soft jazz in the background failing to drown out the pounding in my skull. Maybe it was the champagne she insisted we start the morning with. Or maybe it was the mental weight of knowing I was spending the next week on a private island with Jace Evric Taylor.
I still hated how smoothly his name rolled off my tongue.
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It all started three days ago, when my father called me into his study like I was a child who forgot to do her homework. I expected another lecture. Another threat. What I didn’t expect was…
“You leave for your honeymoon in a week.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, I think you’re confusing me with a willing participant.”
My father’s lips tightened. “You’ve played your part in the ceremony. Now play it in the tradition.”
“I already played it in the hostage situation,” I snapped. “You want a honeymoon too?”
He didn’t rise to the bait. He rarely did. “It wouldn’t be a wedding without one.”
I stood, my laugh cold and humorless. “You’re not even trying to pretend anymore.”
“Nyra,” he said in that quiet, grating tone, “you know what’s at stake. Behave accordingly.”
I left his study without another word. But in my chest, something curled tightly. Not pain. Not sadness.
Strategy.
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“I still can’t believe you’re actually going on this trip,” Zimra said, flopping onto the silk couch in the boutique’s private lounge while I adjusted the swimsuit behind the curtain.
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice,” she said, then paused. “Okay, fine, almost always. But you’re not just going to roll over and be his little wife, are you?”
I stepped out. The red bikini clung to my skin like temptation itself.
“I’m going to seduce him,” I said, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “Then leave him cold and confused.”
Zimra whooped. “That’s my girl!”
It was stupid. Petty. Reckless. But it was mine. And in this whole twisted arrangement, where my signature had been dragged out of me and my life packaged into a power play, I needed something that belonged to me.
Even if it was just a weaponized kiss.
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The rest of the week passed in a blur. I wrapped up the last of my duties at the Kingston office, delegating projects with the same satisfaction most women used when blocking toxic exes.
My staff stared at me like I was heading off to war.
They weren’t wrong.
Jace and I barely saw each other. He was calm, collected, polite even while I gave him the cold shoulder every time we crossed paths in the penthouse.
It was almost irritating how patient he was. No snide remarks. No manipulation. Just quiet, observant smiles and a voice as smooth as honey.
Like he was waiting for something.
And somehow, that was worse.
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The night before the flight, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my suitcase. Zimra had packed it with enough lace and silk to supply a burlesque show.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I picked up the sheerest slip she’d included midnight blue, low cut, dangerously soft and tossed it into the pile of things I didn’t want to admit I might wear.
I wasn’t going on this trip to fall in love.
I was going to play the game better than Jace thought I could.
Let him think I was melting. Let him lower his guard. Then I’d remind him exactly who he married.
Not a wife.
A weapon.
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The private jet was everything you’d expect from a man like Jace Taylor sleek, silver, and disgustingly elegant. White leather seats, gold-accented trim, and a stewardess who smiled too much at him for my liking.
He greeted me with that damnable dimple. “Good morning, Mrs. Taylor.”
I didn’t bother replying. Just walked past him and took a seat by the window.
The smirk I could feel on his face made my fingers itch to throw something.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly once we were in the air.
I turned to him, c****d a brow, and said sweetly, “Save it for someone who doesn’t know what your middle name is.”
His laugh was low and amused. “Still holding onto that, huh?”
“It’s useful,” I said, sipping my mimosa. “Like pepper spray.”
He leaned in just enough to make my pulse flicker. “You’ll need more than that if you plan to take me on.”
I smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “Oh, darling… I don’t plan to take you on.”
I plan to destroy you.
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By the time we landed, the sun was setting in a wash of gold over the Andaman Sea. The resort was nestled into the cliffs of a private island off the coast of Thailand lush, sprawling, and so exclusive it didn’t even appear on maps.
A golf cart drove us along winding paths lined with tropical flowers and the distant sounds of waves crashing against stone.
Our villa was perched at the edge of the island, overlooking endless turquoise.
Private infinity pool. Outdoor shower. Floor-to-ceiling windows.
It was paradise.
Too bad I had no intention of enjoying it with him.
I dropped my bags in the bedroom and turned to find Jace watching me from the doorway, his eyes unreadable.
“You don’t have to pretend, Nyra,” he said softly.
I raised a brow. “Pretend what?”
“That you hate it here.”
I stepped closer, brushing past him on my way to the balcony. “I don’t hate the place.”
I hate you.
I didn’t say it aloud. That would’ve made it too real.
Instead, I let the ocean wind whip my hair back and whispered to myself, “Let the game begin.”
- Writer
