The Perfect Heiress

Absolutely Faithful

Vivienne's POV

I snapped back to reality, finding Chuck sitting in front of me, his intense gaze locking onto mine, filling my entire vision.

For a moment, it was as if nothing else existed—no room for thoughts of anyone or anything but him.

Chuck Knight had strikingly beautiful eyes. But when such deep, affectionate eyes remained void of expression, they carried a weight that was almost oppressive.

"What won’t happen?" he asked again, his patience evident.

I met his gaze, my voice steady. "There will be no personal entanglements between me and him anymore, nor will our marriage alliance be affected. You and your family can rest assured—you have nothing to worry about. That is my promise."

Chuck remained silent for a moment before finally speaking. "Of course. I understand."

He reached for my glass and refilled it, his movements smooth and deliberate. "I’m surprised that Miss Sinclair is willing to say these things to me. It seems you’ve already made up your mind about our engagement."

Why did he sound so... indifferent?

I ran my fingers lightly over the soft tablecloth, pushing aside my initial hesitation. If Chuck was this easy to talk to, then there was no need for pretense. My demeanor sharpened into something colder, purely businesslike. "My request is simple—you need to play the role of a good husband in public. As for what happens in private…"

I smiled—a dazzling yet hollow expression. I was a businesswoman, and trading even myself was second nature.

Most marriages in our world worked this way. Even my own parents.

Harmonious in public. Cold and distant in private.

"In private, we’ll live our own lives. I won’t interfere with you, as long as… you don’t go too far."

Chuck said nothing at first, merely reaching for the bottle of Hennessy chilling in the ice bucket. He poured himself half a glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. Then, in an almost lazy tone, he asked, "And what exactly is ‘too far’?"

I held my smile, but my voice was crisp. "As long as you don’t flaunt your lovers in front of me, don’t let my friends or family find out, and handle the media well, I won’t interfere. All I want is a marriage that appears prestigious and glamorous enough."

The implication was clear—I was giving him free rein outside our marriage.

For the first time, Chuck looked genuinely taken aback. His fingers tightened around his glass, but he didn’t immediately respond.

Was I coming on too strong? Had I seemed even more ruthless than he expected?

Chuck took a deep sip of his drink, his Adam’s apple moving as if swallowing an ice-cold fire. Then, after a beat, he curled his lips into a smile. "Alright, Miss Sinclair."

He agreed.

My smile turned brighter, more relaxed. "So, you accept?"

Chuck leaned back slightly, his smirk deepening. "Why wouldn’t I?" His voice was rough from the alcohol, his gaze unreadable. "Having such a generous wife like Miss Sinclair is my honor. I should be grateful. A woman willing to share her husband—how eye-opening."

His tone dripped with mockery. My smile faltered.

For a moment, my mind went blank. Engaging in such a blatant transaction with a man I barely knew was humiliating enough. And now, instead of appreciating my openness, he sneered at me—like I was the one who was corrupt.

He was the playboy. I was simply giving him convenience.

After all, this engagement was nothing more than a business arrangement.

So why shouldn’t I be willing to share him? As long as he played the role of a husband in public, why should it matter?

I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain composed. "Why must you be so sarcastic? If you don’t appreciate my kindness, then forget it. But don’t go too far—I’m not—"

I stopped myself. My fingers clenched against my palm, a silent reminder not to act impulsively. If I couldn’t strike a deal with the Knights, provoking Chuck would be a grave mistake.

No one in New York wanted to be on the Knights' bad side.

But still, I felt humiliated. Aggrieved. Even… a little sad.

Who wouldn’t want a real marriage? If I had a choice, I would never have made such a disgraceful deal.

Chuck’s gaze darkened, his tone turning icy. "Not what?"

I let out a quiet laugh, turning my face away. "Not like I have no other options. There are plenty of choices. If Mr. Knight finds this arrangement distasteful, then let’s call it off."

I reached for my purse, intending to leave.

But before I could take another step, Chuck stood up as well. His long legs carried him across the room effortlessly, cutting me off before I could reach the door.

He loomed over me like a wall, his broad frame blocking out the light.

I didn’t like being looked down on. I didn’t like being treated as prey.

I took a step back, straightening my posture, refusing to show weakness. "Move." I enunciated every word clearly.

Chuck watched me, his lips curving slightly. "Miss Sinclair has such a strong temper. And yet, you say you can tolerate your own husband keeping mistresses?"

I glared at him. "Don’t twist my words."

His voice was slow, deliberate. "Isn’t that exactly what you mean? You want me to marry you, keep mistresses, and even help me cover it up. Tell me, —" His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "Is that because if I can do it, then you can, too? Is that your plan?"

Something dark flickered in his gaze.

"Vivienne—who do you plan to take as your lover after marriage?"

I felt as if I had been plunged into ice. Yet, at the same time, I burned under the weight of his oppressive presence.

We stood there in a suffocating silence until—

Chuck sighed. Then, suddenly, he leaned in. His warm breath brushed against my ear.

I stiffened. The scent of bitter tobacco mixed with something more complex—something distinctly him.

His voice was almost a whisper. "I know you don’t want to see me. This dinner was prepared for you. If anyone should leave, it’s me."

Before I could react, a knock sounded at the door. "Mr. Knight, should we serve the food?"

Chuck straightened, turning away. "Come in."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My face burned—not from anger, but from the sheer closeness of him.

Was this how he was with all women? Whispering in their ears, playing with their emotions like a seasoned lover?

I quickly composed myself, smoothing my expression into polite indifference.

Chuck picked up the suit draped over the back of the chair, then walked to the dining table, retrieving his cigarette case and lighter. As he brushed past me, he suddenly stopped. Tilting his head slightly, he cast me a sidelong glance.

"I will give you a grand wedding and a perfect marriage," he said, his voice measured. "And I will be absolutely faithful to you, Miss Sinclair. You can count on that."

I blinked, caught off guard. "...?"

For the first time, Chuck didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he turned slightly away, his long fingers tightening impatiently around his lighter.

"But I will not tolerate a fickle wife," he continued, his tone cooling. "Miss Sinclair, you’d do well to abandon any illusions about having a lover outside our marriage."

The meal was extravagant, I forced myself to sit down, picking up my knife and fork. But my mind wasn’t on the food. It was on Chuck’s last words.

"I will be absolutely faithful to you, Miss Sinclair. You can count on that."

It had sounded like a promise. But why? Why would he make such a promise to me?

And why did I feel like I believed him? After everything Adrian had done to me, I should have built walls around my heart, refusing to trust another man's words.

And this was only our first date. Chuck Knight was already becoming more and more difficult to read.

I had assumed he was just another rich man who wanted the freedom to indulge. But now… now it seemed like he wanted something else entirely.

Had I misjudged him?