Chapter 5
1400 Words
One week has passed since their they always get under each other skin
Isabella Cruz wasn’t used to waking up in luxury.
She was used to control, chaos, caffeine, and crisis. Not cotton sheets and a fresh breakfast tray delivered by staff she didn’t know. Yet here she was—trapped in a marriage with a man who made her blood boil… and pulse race when he got too close.
She stepped into the kitchen gracefully in a navy wrap dress and heels that clicked like a warning. Alexander was already at the table, tie half-done, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Effortlessly infuriating.
She ignored the silver breakfast tray in front of her—identical to his—until she noticed something.
Two cups of tea. One mug. One china cup.
His.
Hers.
Suspiciously reversed.
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you switch our drinks?”
He didn’t look up from his tablet. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re petty. And because this week I may have adjusted to your psychotic behavior .”
He finally glanced up. “That explains the snowstorm in my bedroom.”
She sipped the tea anyway, wincing.
Chamomile.
I hated chamomile.
His smirk deepened. “Peace offering.”
“Liar.”
He shrugged. “Or a trap. You decide.”
She glared at him as a thought popped on her head
Later that morning, they attended a charity brunch together—a public obligation they both loathed.
But image was everything. And so Isabella smiled. Alexander offered his arm. Cameras flashed. Whispers circled.
To everyone watching, they looked like the city’s golden couple.
That was, until a well-meaning socialite approached with her phone out.
“Let’s get a photo of the happy newlyweds!”
Alex hesitated. So did she.
And then a thought popped in her head
“ all for the image.”
“She throw her heels away
Pretending it slipped out,”
Darling my shoes put it on for me “ she smiled wickedly”
Alex glared at her and smiled “sure I will baby”
He picked the shoe and bent down to put the shoe for me
Cameras flashed
They look good together ‘whispers increasing”
While Alex and Bella are glaring at each other
Smile for the camera darling I said and whispered to Alex that's for the stunt you pulled this morning
“Give her a kiss,” the woman urged playfully. “You two are so photogenic.”
Alex gave me a sideways glance. “Care to shock the tabloids?”
She was about to roll her eyes, but something in his tone—dry, daring—challenged her.
She took a step closer. “Go ahead. Let’s give them what they want.”
Then, before either of them could back out, their lips met.
It was supposed to be a press kiss.
Polite. Quick.
Instead, it was quiet chaos.
Because the second Alex lips touched hers, the war paused.
There was no camera. No crowd. Just heat.
His hand grazed her waist. Her breath caught. And for one dizzying second, we both forgot this was supposed to be fake.
We pulled apart too slowly.
Applause rippled around them.
She blinked up at him. He looked… surprised.
Not by her.
But by himself.
Back in the limo, silence reigned.
Finally, she said, “That was unnecessary.”
“You initiated it.”
“I finished it.”
A beat.
He looked out the window. “You kissed me like you meant it.”
She turned to him, defensive. “You didn’t pull away.”
“I didn’t want to.”
Silence again. Thick and loud.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Alex,” she said finally, quieter now.
“So are you,” he replied, voice low and steady. “And you’re better at it than I thought.”
Her heartbeat betrayed her, thumping faster as she looked away. “It was just a kiss.”
“Maybe.”
She scoffed. “What, you think I’m falling for you?”
“No,” he said smoothly. “But I think… we’re both forgetting what we promised ourselves: No feelings.”
She turned her head, staring out the window, fingers curled tightly in her lap.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even trust.
But it wasn’t nothing anymore.
And that was the problem.
That night, Alex stood outside her bedroom door.
Inside, Isabella stared at the windows, heart restless
The penthouse was quiet.
Too quiet.
She stood up and went to the balcony barefoot, wrapped in a red robe and holding a glass of red wine she hadn’t touched. The night lights glowed beneath her, but her thoughts were occupied with what is all going on
She hated this. Hated the silence. Hated the kiss that wouldn’t leave my mind.
Hated that Alex had started to feel less like an enemy and more like... a question she didn’t want to answer.
Behind her, she heard the sliding door open.
“Couldn't sleep?” he asked.
She didn’t turn. “Didn't feel like sleeping, just came out to enjoy the air.”
Alex joined her, wearing dark lounge pants and a black shirt that clung a little too well. Dark hair making him look more handsome . Casual. Dangerous.
He offered her a second glass.
She didn’t take it.
“You’ve been quiet since the brunch,” he said.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
She looked at him finally. “What happens if we stop pretending?”
A pause.
Then his voice, soft but firm. “We made rules.”
“And we’re breaking them one by one.”
He stared at how the breeze blew her red hair making her look so f*****g beautiful . He paused “It was just a kiss.”
“Then why does it feel like a mistake we’re about to make again?”
He turned to face her. “Do you want it to be a mistake?”
She hated how her throat tightened. How her silence said more than any answer could.
He stepped closer, close enough for me to feel the warmth of him. “Isabella... tell me to walk away.”
He could inhale her body scent it was good so f*****g good that he want to bury his nose on her neck.
She stared at him. Defiant. Breathless.
Then she whispered, “I don’t know if I want to.”
The tension between them snapped tight.
He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her face. Slow. Careful.
His voice dropped. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“It never is.”
She didn’t pull away when his fingers trailed down her cheek. She didn’t stop him when his hand rested gently at her waist. And when he kissed her—soft, slow, real—she let him.
This time, it wasn’t for the cameras.
It wasn’t for anyone.
It was for them.
And it burned.
They didn’t sleep together that night. Not physically.
But emotionally? Emotionally, they crossed the line they both swore they wouldn’t.
They stayed on the couch, side by side, quiet, breathing the same air. Not talking about business. Not fighting. Not scheming.
Just... existing.
But morning came fast. And with it, a return to reality.
The war resumed, subtle but real.
Alexander was already dressed when Isabella entered the kitchen, hair tied up, wearing that guarded look again.
“You’re back to business mode,” she said, pouring coffee.
He didn’t look up. “We agreed it meant nothing.”
“Right,” she replied coldly. “It was a lapse in judgment.”
He looked at her finally. “Is that what you want to call it?”
She held his stare. “Is there a better word?”
He didn’t answer.
Because the truth was clear in both of them:
Something had shifted.
And pretending it hadn’t would only make the fall harder when it came.
That day, she stared at the contract again. The terms. The rules. The boundaries.
They were all stil
l there.
But somewhere in the margins, she imagined writing something new:
“What if we stopped pretending?”
But she didn’t write it
A message popped on her phone “ an invitation to the Shawn estate”
Trouble in paradise “she thought”
- Writer
