Chapter 3
1021 Words
Fault Lines
The drive back from the gala was suffocating.
No words. No glances. Just Seraphina staring out the tinted window like the city had betrayed her, and Aidan fuming in silence beside her, jaw tight, fingers clenched into fists.
The kiss. That damned kiss.
It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not the way it did. Not with that kind of hunger. That kind of… need.
Seraphina had initiated it for the cameras, one hand on his jaw, lips brushing his like a whisper, and Aidan, reckless as ever, had taken it further. He kissed her like she was his to claim. Not a wife on paper. Not a pawn. A woman. His woman.
And the worst part? She kissed him back.
Now, she hated him for it.
When they got home, she didn’t wait for him to open the door or speak. She walked in first, stilettos clicking like gunshots on the marble floor.
“You crossed a line,” she said, not even turning around. Her voice was calm. Too calm.
Aidan tossed his blazer on the couch, eyes narrowed. “You started it.”
“I started a performance. You made it real.”
He took a step closer. “And you responded like it was real.”
Her silence was loud.
He saw the flicker of guilt in her eyes, but she masked it too quickly. Back to her icy self.
“You don’t get to rewrite it, Seraphina. Not this time.”
“I don’t owe you anything.” Her voice sharpened, colder than ever. “We had a deal. You stick to the script, and I keep you out of the gutter.”
Something in Aidan broke.
He stared at her, and for the first time, there was no fire in his eyes. Just betrayal.
“You think money is everything, don’t you?” he said, voice low. “You think this house, this name, gives you the right to treat people like tools.”
“You are a tool,” she snapped. “One I’m trying to use to keep my legacy intact.”
The words echoed.
Pain. Blunt and ugly.
Before Aidan could respond, her phone buzzed.
The screen lit up.
"FATHER."
She hesitated just for a second then answered.
“Papa.”
His voice was calm on the other end, but there was an undercurrent of warning.
> “That display tonight was… interesting.”
Seraphina straightened. “It was controlled.”
> “No, it was chaotic. You lost composure. You let him lead.”
Aidan turned away, but not far enough to miss her expression falter.
> “You’re making mistakes, Seraphina. Don’t forget why we chose him.”
Her blood ran cold. “Choose?”
> “You think I approved this marriage just to save your inheritance?”
Her chest tightened.
> “Aidan has value beyond your tantrums. I suggest you remember the terms before I start pulling strings you're not ready for.”
The call ended.
She didn’t realize her hand was shaking until Aidan turned back to her.
“What did he say?”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Her silence said it all.
And in that moment, everything shifted.
Whatever power Seraphina thought she held… was slipping. Whatever illusion Aidan had of being a pawn… was gone.
He wasn’t just part of her plan.
He was part of Don Moretti’s.
And neither of them knew why.
—
Aidan didn’t sleep that night.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the guest room, his room, she insisted, watching the city blur under the weight of thoughts he couldn’t name. Every piece of this arrangement had been transactional. Clean lines. Cold logic. But now?
Now there were cracks.
That kiss had awakened something. Not just between them, but behind them. Like pulling one thread had unraveled secrets neither of them was ready to face.
Why had Don Moretti chosen him?
It wasn’t about inheritance anymore. Not just. The Don didn’t make sentimental choices. Aidan had been selected deliberately and that meant there was something bigger playing out.
And Seraphina knew more than she let on.
The next morning, he found her in the breakfast room, perfectly dressed in cream silk and red lipstick like nothing had happened. A woman built for war, even at 7 a.m.
She didn’t look up when he entered.
“You didn’t sleep,” she said, slicing into an orange with surgical precision.
“Neither did you,” he replied.
“Doesn’t mean I look like it.”
He sat across from her, poured himself coffee.
Silence.
Finally, he spoke.
“Why did your father choose me?”
Her knife stopped mid-slice.
She looked at him truly for the first time since the gala.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m protecting you.”
That caught him off guard.
“For someone who thinks I’m a tool, that’s rich.”
She set the knife down, the clink louder than it should’ve been.
“There are things about my father you don’t understand. Things you don’t want to understand.”
“Try me.”
A beat.
Then: “He’s not just a billionaire. He’s a kingmaker. And kings don’t build empires without blood.”
Aidan leaned back, arms folded.
“That am I then? His next pawn? His heir?”
Seraphina’s expression didn’t change. But her voice did.
“You’re bait.”
The word landed like a punch.
She stood, smooth and composed, pushing her chair back with calm finality.
“You wanted honesty, Aidan? There it is. You were never just my mistake. You’re his strategy.”
“And you went along with it.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
He stood too, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.
“You always have a choice.”
She looked at him then tired, haunted.
“So do you.”
And with that, she left him standing in the quiet, holding a cup of black coffee and a thousand unspoken questions.
- Writer
