The Dragon's Fake Fiancée

The Fine Print

---

I read the contract seven times that night.

Not because I was considering it.

Because I was looking for the loophole.

The trap.

The tiny, buried clause that would explain why Kael Draven—the most ruthless man in the northern territories—had chosen me, a disgraced nobody with a ruined name and a mother who'd sell her own organs for a better social standing.

There had to be something.

There was always something.

But by the third glass of wine and the seventh reread, all I'd found was a clause about "public displays of affection" that made my cheeks burn, a confidentiality agreement that would bankrupt me if I breathed a word, and a termination fee that was so astronomically high it might as well have been a life sentence.

No hidden murder clause.

No fine print about sacrificing my firstborn.

Just six months of pretending to be madly in love with the devil himself.

I set the contract down, pressed my palms to my eyes, and laughed.

It was the hysterical kind of laugh. The kind that bubbled up from somewhere dark and desperate and said well, this is your life now, congratulations.

---

The next morning, I showed up at his penthouse.

Because apparently, I had a death wish.

The building was obscene—all glass and steel and the kind of minimalist architecture that screamed I have more money than God and I'm not afraid to use it. The doorman didn't even blink when I gave my name. Just nodded like he'd been expecting me and gestured toward the private elevator.

Of course he had.

Kael Draven probably knew I was coming before I did.

The elevator ride took forever. Long enough for my palms to sweat, my heartbeat to accelerate, and my common sense to stage a very loud, very insistent protest. I ignored it. Ignored the little voice that said turn back, run, save yourself while you still can.

Because what was there to save?

My mother had already signed the preliminary papers with Ashford. I'd seen the email. She'd forwarded it to me by accident—or maybe on purpose, just to watch me squirm. The wedding was set for three months from now. Three months until I became wife number four.

Three months until I became corpse number four.

So yeah. I'd take my chances with the dragon.

---

The penthouse doors slid open, and I stepped into a cathedral of wealth.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city, all glittering skyline and distant mountains. The furniture was sleek, expensive, and looked like no one had ever actually sat on it. And there, in the center of it all, stood Kael Draven.

He was wearing a charcoal sweater that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that looked like they'd been carved by a very dedicated sculptor. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd been running his hands through it.

And he was holding a coffee cup.

Just standing there, drinking coffee, looking like a fallen angel who'd decided to grace the mortal realm with his presence.

"Elara." His voice was warm. Almost amused. "I was wondering when you'd show."

I stopped in the middle of his ridiculously expensive rug and crossed my arms. "You knew I'd come."

"I knew you'd read the contract seven times, panic for approximately four hours, sleep fitfully, and then show up at exactly 9:47 AM demanding answers." He took a sip of his coffee. "You're thirty seconds late, by the way. I'm impressed."

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"How—"

"I told you." He set down the cup and walked toward me, slow and predatory. "I know everything, little phoenix."

He stopped a foot away. Close enough that I could smell that same cedar-and-smoke cologne. Close enough that I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

Those ridiculous golden eyes.

"I have questions," I said.

"I assumed."

"Real questions. Not the kind you dodge with cryptic comments and—and bedroom eyes."

His lips twitched. "Bedroom eyes?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what you're doing."

"Oh, I absolutely know what I'm doing." He stepped even closer. "The question is, do you?"

My heart stuttered.

I hated him for that.

"I want to know about the clause," I said, forcing my voice steady. "The one about public appearances. It says we need to be 'convincing.' What exactly does that mean?"

Kael's smile widened. "It means exactly what it sounds like."

"Specifics, Draven."

"Fine." He circled around me, slow and deliberate, and I refused to turn and follow. Refused to give him that satisfaction. "We attend galas. Dinners. Charity events. We smile at each other. We hold hands. We look at each other like we can't wait to get home and—"

"Okay." I cut him off. "I get it."

"Do you?" He was behind me now. I could feel the heat of him, inches from my back. "Because the most important part—the part you're missing—is that we have to believe it. Every person in that room is a predator, Elara. They can smell lies the way sharks smell blood. If we're not convincing, if we're just going through the motions, they'll know. And then we're both done."

I turned to face him.

"So you're saying we have to actually—"

"I'm saying we have to sell it." His voice dropped. "Every touch. Every glance. Every kiss. It has to look real. Feel real. Or we lose everything."

The word kiss hung between us like a live wire.

"I can act," I said.

"So can I."

"Then what's the problem?"

Kael studied me for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in those golden eyes—something that looked almost like hunger.

"The problem," he said softly, "is that I'm not sure you're ready for what that means."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. It came out sharp and bitter and a little unhinged.

"Ready?" I stepped closer, chest to chest, and tilted my chin up defiantly. "I've survived three years of my mother's manipulation. I've watched my family's name burn to the ground. I've eaten dinner with people who smiled to my face and stabbed me in the back before the appetizers arrived. I've been ready, Draven. I've been ready my whole life."

His gaze flickered down to my lips. Then back up.

"Prove it," he said.

"Prove what?"

"That you can handle this." His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw. "That you can look at me like you want me and mean it. That you can pretend to be in love with a monster and not flinch."

I should have stepped back.

Should have laughed in his face.

Should have done literally anything except what I did next.

Instead, I reached up, grabbed the front of that obscenely expensive sweater, and pulled him down until our foreheads touched.

"Monsters don't scare me, Draven," I whispered. "I've been living with one my whole life."

And then I kissed him.

---

It was different from the opera.

Harder. Sharper. A challenge instead of a promise.

His hands found my waist, fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor himself. I felt the tension in his body, the barely leashed control, and for one dizzying moment, I wondered if I'd finally found the thing that could break him.

Then he pulled back.

Just an inch. Just enough to breathe.

"Not bad," he said, and his voice was rough. "But you're thinking too much."

"I'm always thinking."

"Exactly." His thumb traced my lower lip. "That's your problem. You're so busy calculating, so busy trying to outsmart everyone, that you forget to feel."

"And you're an expert on feeling?"

His smile was sharp. Dangerous. "I'm an expert on pretending. There's a difference."

I stepped back. Put space between us. Tried to remember why I'd come here in the first place.

"The contract," I said. "I need changes."

"Such as?"

"I'm not sleeping with you."

His eyebrows rose. "I didn't ask you to."

"The clause about 'intimate activities' is vague. I want it specified."

"Fine." He walked to a sleek desk, pulled out a pen, and scribbled something on the contract. "There. 'No s****l relations will be required or expected.' Satisfied?"

I took the contract, read the addition, and felt a tiny knot of tension ease.

"One more thing," I said. "I want to know the real reason you picked me."

Kael went still.

"The real reason," he repeated.

"Don't play dumb. There's something you're not telling me. I can feel it." I met his eyes. "So spill. Or I walk."

He stared at me for a long moment. The silence stretched, heavy and electric.

Then he set down the pen and said, quietly, "My father."

"What about him?"

"He didn't die in an accident, Elara." His voice was flat. Empty. "He was murdered. And the people who did it—they're the same ones who burned your family."

The world tilted.

"What?"

"The fire at Verath Manor wasn't an accident either." His eyes were dark now, ancient and cold. "Someone wanted both our families gone. And I think that someone is still out there."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Who?"

"I don't know yet." He stepped closer. "But I know one thing."

"What?"

"Whatever happened to us—it's connected. And if we're going to survive it, we need to stick together." His hand found mine, warm and steady. "So yes, I picked you because I need a fake fiancée. But I also picked you because you're the only person in this city who understands what it's like to lose everything."

I stared at our joined hands.

At the contract on the desk.

At the man who'd just turned my entire world upside down.

"Six months," I said finally.

"Six months."

"And you'll help me destroy Ashford?"

"Gladly."