Just one night kiss

The Perfect Lie

Adrian Sinclair’s POV

My shoes echoed across the marble floor of the Sinclair estate, each step sounding more hollow than the last. The chandeliers glimmered like a thousand cold stars above my head, indifferent to the tension curling through my spine. Every corner of the house screamed prestige—expensive paintings, fresh-cut orchids, and silver trays that hadn’t been touched by human hands since the last time the press visited.

And tonight, they were here again.

I adjusted the lapel of my suit jacket as the house staff ushered photographers and socialites into the grand ballroom. Cameras flashed like lightning strikes, and the sound of artificial laughter filled the air. A perfect scene for the perfect family.

And then I saw her—Charlotte.

She glided through the crowd like she belonged in a royal court, all grace and tailored elegance. Her champagne-colored dress clung to her body in the way only wealth could buy, her honey-blonde hair curled into soft waves, makeup flawless. As if last night hadn’t happened. As if she hadn’t stood outside my door, asking questions she didn’t want the answers to.

“Adrian,” she greeted, slipping her arm around mine.

I flinched, just barely. But it was enough for her to notice.

Her red-painted lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. “Smile,” she whispered. “They’re watching.”

So I smiled. I always did what was expected of me.

The crowd clapped as my father entered, followed by my mother, wearing her trademark pearls and that distant, carefully measured expression. They waved like celebrities, drawing all eyes to the Sinclair legacy. My father’s hand landed on my shoulder with the force of ownership, not affection.

“Looking sharp,” he said. “That’s the image we need to project. The alliance must look strong.”

“The alliance,” I echoed, bitterly.

He glanced at Charlotte. “Beautiful as ever, dear.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair,” she said sweetly.

“Soon to be just Dad,” he replied, and everyone chuckled like we were part of some scripted sitcom.

I stood in the middle of them, playing my role like a good little heir.

But inside? I was unraveling.

Because last night, I hadn’t been the Sinclair heir. I’d been drunk and desperate. I’d been someone who finally tasted freedom—if only for a few hours—in Rowan’s arms.

I could still feel his touch on my skin.

Still hear his voice in the dark, asking for nothing but honesty.

And tonight, I was back in my cage.

“Adrian,” my mother said, pulling me from the spiral. “You’ve barely spoken. You know how important tonight is.”

“I know,” I said tightly.

She looked at me the way she always did—like I was a project. A reflection of her ambition. Not a son.

“Then try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Charlotte leaned in closer, her voice low. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I turned to her. “Why are you pretending like this doesn’t matter?”

“Because it doesn’t,” she said through clenched teeth. “This engagement is a press stunt and a merger. You get your father’s approval, and I get mine. We both win.”

“I don’t feel like I’m winning.”

“Neither do I,” she snapped, then caught herself and smoothed her expression. “But we play the game, Adrian. That’s what we were raised to do.”

She was right. I hated that she was right.

We moved through the ballroom like pawns on a chessboard, shaking hands, accepting compliments, posing for photographs. No one saw the cracks beneath the surface.

But Rowan would have.

He saw me, even when I didn’t want to be seen.

I stepped away for a breath of air and found myself outside on the balcony. The city lights blinked below, mocking me with their freedom. I leaned on the railing, letting the cool air clear my mind.

And then a voice broke the silence.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

I turned. My mother had followed me, her clutch purse pressed to her side like a shield.

“I didn’t realize the performance extended to the balcony,” I said.

“You could at least pretend to be grateful,” she said.

“For what?” I asked. “A future I didn’t choose? An engagement built on business deals and secrecy?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to complain, Adrian. You have everything—money, power, opportunity.”

“But not freedom,” I said quietly.

She stared at me. “What is this really about?”

I hesitated.

She stepped closer. “Is there someone else?”

My heart pounded. “What if there is?”

Her face paled, but she recovered quickly. “Then end it. Before it ruins everything.”

And just like that, I knew. She suspected. Maybe even knew. But as long as I played the part, she wouldn’t say it aloud. Wouldn’t confront the truth.

Because the truth wasn’t allowed in this family.

“Go back inside,” she said. “People are starting to talk.”

I stayed out there long after she left. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out.

A message from an unknown number:

“Next time, I won’t let you walk away.” – R

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening.

I wasn’t ready for what Rowan wanted from me.

But I wanted it anyway.