Chapter 4
1487 Words
Chapter 4: Shadows of Doubt
Florence's POV
The next morning, sunlight cuts through the thin curtains of my cabin like a blade. I squint against it, groaning as I pull the pillow over my head. My body feels heavy, like I ran a marathon in my sleep. Not that I did sleep much. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts I couldn’t control — George, revenge, and... him.
Conan.
I sit up with a sharp breath, rubbing my face. Focus, Florence. Today is about the plan. Nothing more. I’m here to make George squirm, to remind him exactly what he threw away. Nothing else matters.
I throw on a casual white sundress, slip on my sandals, and pull my hair into a loose bun. The mirror catches my reflection as I move, and for a second, I pause. I look... different. There’s something in my eyes, a sharpness I don’t recognize.
“Don’t overthink it,” I mutter to myself, smoothing the front of my dress.
A knock sounds at the door, short and firm. My heart jumps, but I force myself to stay calm. It’s probably room service or one of the cruise staff. I pad to the door, open it, and freeze.
“Morning, sunshine,” Conan says, leaning against the doorframe like he owns it. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and gray pants, simple but somehow still sharp. His eyes do that thing where they lock on you like you’re the only person in the world.
“You knock like the police,” I say, folding my arms.
“Only when I know someone’s trying to avoid me,” he replies smoothly. His gaze flicks over me, slow and deliberate. “Nice dress.”
“Flattery isn’t part of the deal,” I say, stepping back to let him in.
“No, but it’s fun,” he says, stepping inside. He moves with the kind of ease that only comes from being completely sure of yourself. He glances around my cabin like he’s inspecting it, eyes lingering on my small suitcase in the corner. “You pack light.”
“Unlike some people, I don’t need ten suitcases for a week-long cruise,” I reply, shutting the door behind him. “What do you want, Conan?”
“Straight to business,” he says, turning to face me. “I like that.”
He walks toward me, slow but steady, like he’s testing how close he can get before I flinch. I don’t move. I won’t move.
“We need to up the stakes,” he says, stopping just a foot away. “Last night was a good start. But if you really want George to feel it, we have to make it unforgettable.”
I narrow my eyes. “Unforgettable how?”
“Public affection,” Conan says, his voice low and smooth. “The kind that leaves no doubt in his mind that you’re mine now.”
My heart does a stupid little flip, and I hate it. “Yours?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, wolf boy. This is an act, not a love story.”
“Then play your role,” he says, leaning in so close I feel the warmth of his breath. “Unless you’re too scared to sell it.”
I tilt my head, refusing to back down. “You want a show?” I ask, eyes locked on his. “Fine. But if you cross the line, you’ll regret it.”
His grin is slow, dangerous. “Deal.”
---
The ship’s deck is crowded with people enjoying the sun. The pool sparkles under the clear blue sky, and the scent of sunscreen and saltwater fills the air. I spot George near one of the lounge chairs, wearing sunglasses and scrolling through his phone. Perfect.
Conan and I stroll in together, and I make sure to laugh at something he says — not because it’s funny, but because I know George will hear it. I can practically feel his attention shift.
“See him?” Conan mutters under his breath, his eyes on the pool.
“Yup,” I reply, my eyes flicking to George and then away like he’s not even worth my attention.
“Then let’s give him something to watch,” Conan says.
Before I can respond, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward one of the sun loungers. He sits first, leaning back like he’s on top of the world, then tugs me down with him. Right onto his lap.
“Conan—” I start, eyes wide.
“Relax,” he says, his voice low but firm. His hands settle on my waist, holding me in place like I belong there. “Smile.”
I glance around quickly, heart pounding in my chest. People are definitely looking. A few women are whispering behind their sunglasses, and I can feel George’s eyes burning into my back like twin lasers.
“Breathe,” Conan says, his voice calm in my ear. “You’re doing great.”
I let out a slow breath, then I do it. I smile. Not a fake one, not a nervous one. A real, sharp, I’m-so-happy-I-forgot-you-existed smile.
Conan chuckles softly. “Now you’re getting it.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I mutter, keeping the smile on my face.
He shifts under me, leaning his head close to mine. His lips are so close to my ear I feel the warmth of them.
“George is staring,” Conan says, his voice a deep, quiet rumble. “He just took off his sunglasses.”
I fight the urge to turn and look. Instead, I tilt my head, laughing softly like Conan just told me the funniest joke I’ve ever heard. His hands on my waist tighten slightly, steadying me.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
Don’t react. Don’t react.
I twist just enough to glance at George out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, he’s staring. His face is tight, his jaw clenched like he just bit into something sour. His phone is still in his hand, but he’s not looking at it anymore.
Got you.
“Time to finish him off,” Conan says, his fingers tapping lightly on my waist.
“How?” I ask, my breath hitching slightly.
“Like this,” he replies, and before I can stop him, he tilts his head, his lips brushing against my jaw in a slow, deliberate move. It’s not a kiss. Not really. But it’s close enough that every nerve in my body lights up like a Christmas tree.
“Conan,” I whisper, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.
“Act, Florence,” he murmurs, his lips still too close to my skin. “You wanted unforgettable.”
I clench my fists, my heart pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else. I twist just a little, facing him, and the look in his eyes nearly stops me cold.
He’s watching me like he’s daring me to run. Like he already knows I won’t.
Play your role.
So I do.
I tilt my head toward him, and with one last glance toward George, I press my lips softly against Conan’s cheek. His eyes flicker with something I don’t recognize, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand moves to the back of my neck, fingers warm, firm, and suddenly it’s not so clear who's acting anymore.
When I pull back, I glance toward George. He’s gone.
“Guess you won,” Conan says, his eyes on me like he’s searching for something.
“Yeah,” I say, still catching my breath. “Guess I did.”
But if that’s true, then why does it feel like I’m the one who lost something?
---
Later that night, I’m sitting on my bed, replaying everything in my head. The dance. The kiss. The look in Conan’s eyes.
It’s all part of the plan, I tell myself. Nothing more.
A knock sounds at the door. I freeze, my heart jumping into my throat. Slowly, I get up and peek through the peephole.
It’s George.
My breath catches. Why is he here?
I don’t move. My fingers grip the edge of the door, heart pounding in my ears. Another knock, harder this time.
“Florence,” George says, his voice muffled but firm. “I know you’re in there.”
I step back, my pulse racing.
“Come on, baby,” he says, his tone smooth but sharp at the edges. “I just want to talk.”
I glance at the door, my breath shaky. No, George. You don’t get to ‘talk’ anymore.
“Go away,” I whisper, even though I know he can’t hear me.
The knocking stops.
But I don’t feel safe. Not at all.
- Writer
