Chapter 6
1136 Words
Kieran’s POV
Sienna’s delivery—though it appeared accidental—was actually part of my plan all along.
I wouldn’t let my sly uncle take what belongs to me. Never!
But then there’s that strange pull. An invisible, irritating thread. A part of me wants to dismiss it, but I can't ignore it. There’s something about her that draws me in, and I hate it.
Before I could dwell on it, the sound of the doorknob turning snapped me back to reality.
I straightened in my chair, forcing my attention back to the screen.
The door creaked open, and there he was—Victor Wolfe.
A slow, sickening smile spread across his face.
“Damn, Kieran, don’t tell me a lowlife like this can just walk freely into your office now?” His grin widened.
"Victor," I finally said, with just the right edge to remind him that I’m still the one in control here. "Don’t waste your time."
He chuckled darkly like that's the funniest thing he’s heard all week, and steps further into the room.
“I’m just saying, nephew,” he drawls, “you’ve got some nerve letting people like that waltz into your office now. My soon-to-be office. You’ve really lowered your standards.”
I could feel my jaw tighten. My hands, still gripping the armrests of my chair, were beginning to ache.
“I’ll take care of my business, Victor,” I said coolly, a smile curling on my lips that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
Victor just raised an eyebrow and let out a low whistle. "Yeah, I’m sure you will, Kieran. Just don’t forget—this office needs to be kept free from people like that. For me.”
He turned, putting his hands up in the air, laughing as he walked out.
I exhaled slowly. Shrugged it off. He wasn’t worth my energy.
I had bigger problems. Like the strange, unwelcome pull I had felt toward her.
Focus. Man. Focus.
The day passed in its usual cold blur, and before I knew it, night had fallen.
I slid into the driver’s seat of my black sedan, the leather creaking under my weight. I adjusted my tie, resisting the childish urge to rip it off.
Not yet. There was a place to be, something to do, and I couldn’t afford to look disheveled.
“James, to The Rook,” I said, my voice low and commanding. James just nodded and started the engine.
We arrived.
The restaurant was buzzing with quiet conversation and the clink of glassware. I barely noticed.
My gaze found her instantly.
Already seated, spinning a straw between her fingers like she had nothing better to do. Her dress wasn’t designer, but it clung to her like it had been made for her alone.
She looked up as I approached, smirking like she had been expecting me.
Without a word, I pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.
A faint wisp of perfume reached me—light, sweet, irritatingly pleasant. I inhaled once, slow and careful.
"You must be trying very hard to pretend to be my wife," I said flatly.
She blinked, then laughed—an easy, unbothered sound that scraped against my nerves.
"Wow. You really are allergic to basic human decency."
She leaned in, flashing that wicked little smile again.
"I know your type. You could’ve just said I smell lovely," she said, spinning the straw again. "But no, that would bruise your ego, huh? Gotta act like a Greek god looking down on us mortals."
I didn’t respond. I simply pulled a black folder from inside my jacket and slid it across the table.
"Let’s get to it."
She opened it slowly, flipping through the pages. With every line she read, her eyebrows lifted higher.
Finally, she tossed the folder onto the table with a sharp c***k.
"You must be joking," she said, voice rising. "No touching? No handshakes, no hugs, no nothing? How the hell are we supposed to look real?"
I sipped my water, unfazed. "I don’t intend to be touched. Do we have a problem?"
She gawked at me. "Yeah, a big one. How do you expect anyone to believe we’re a couple if we act like we are allergic to each other?"
I gave a thin smile. "You’ve already imagined touching me, haven’t you?" I said, voice low. "Don’t confuse your fantasies with reality."
Her mouth dropped open before she burst out laughing, loud and sharp, turning heads.
"Geez. You really think you’re something special, don’t you?"
"Touch isn’t necessary," I said calmly. "We will be seen together at carefully selected events. Enough to spark rumors. Nothing more."
"And the whole ‘we hate each other but we’re married’ vibe won’t be suspicious at all?" she muttered.
She opened her mouth to argue again—and then it happened.
Grrrrrrgle.
Her stomach growled, loud.
She froze mid-sentence, mortified.
I arched an eyebrow. "Starving, are we?" I said dryly. "Your stomach clearly has better judgment than your mouth."
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might pass out.
I gave the waiter a nod.
"Ready to order?"
Without thinking, we both answered:
"Steak."
We blinked at each other.
"Medium or well-done?" the waiter asked.
Again, in unison:
"Medium."
She shot me a look that could kill.
Awkward silence settled over the table.
"You know," she said, breaking it, "this no-touching rule is going to make us look like the world's most miserable married couple."
I adjusted my cufflink slowly.
"We won’t," I said. "You’ll learn to act."
"And you’ll learn to loosen up?" she retorted.
I almost replied—almost—but caught a flash of movement instead.
She reached across the table casually, grabbing the salt shaker... but her hand accidentally brushed mine.
Barely a graze.
But my whole body tensed, like a live wire had snapped inside me.
The reaction was instant.
I jerked my hand back like I had been burned, knocking over the small vase.
Water spilled everywhere.
Sienna gasped, grabbing napkins to clean it up, muttering something under her breath.
I sat frozen for a second, staring at my hand.
It was a live wire—but for once, it didn't feel like an attack. It wasn't panic. It wasn't disgust. It was something far more dangerous.
Something I couldn't place.
What's this confusion?
I clenched my jaw, furious at myself. Furious at her.
"Don't touch me," I said, sharper than I intended.
She froze, mid-wipe, blinking at me.
Without another word, I pushed back from the table, buttoned my jacket, and left.
Each step felt heavier than the last, like I was dragging something invisible behind me.
I told myself it didn’t mean anything.
Hell, maybe I needed to see a doctor.
Clearly, something was wrong with me.
- Writer
