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"Some kisses aren't sweet. They're statements too quiet to shout, too loud to ignore."
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The Grand Aurelius Hotel has been renovated.
The marble steps leading up to the skyscraper's chandeliers are all gleaming in golden light. Paparazzi roam the velvet ropes, flashes of light exploding like fireflies amidst flames. Luxury cars buzz down the circular driveway one by one, each carrying a person whose net worth could topple the market.
This is no ordinary party.
This is the Empire Summit Annual Gala, a black-tie business masquerade ball in the Northeast. A charity, really. No, really, a secret battleground tipped with diamonds. Billionaires, CEOs, heiresses, and secret enemies are wooed in designer masks and shiny shoes, as if nothing outside the party matters.
Tonight, they would pretend to do the same.
Keira stepped out of the black car first.
Her gold dress, newly made just hours earlier, clung to her like armor. Her hair was slicked back in neat curls at the nape of her neck, a few strands left loose on purpose. She was made up from head to toe, polished, and ready to be photographed and critiqued.
He heard whispers.
"Is that really Mrs. Alverdine?"
Then Rayyan stepped out behind him.
In a tuxedo. Perfect. Cool.
The same man who did her hair this morning without a word, who left before she could say thank you.
He offered his arm.
Silence.
Again.
He took it.
As they stepped out onto the red carpet, amidst the lights and whispers, Keira forced herself to take a breath. The cameras didn't blink. Neither did the audience.
"Smile," Rayyan murmured in his ear, his head bowed close.
"Why?" he whispered loudly, gritting his jaw.
"Because you're mine tonight," he said, his eyes looking straight ahead. " And the world is watching."
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The dance floor shone with gold and light.
Dripping crystal chandeliers illuminated the gleaming marble floors, champagne sparkled like liquid stars in each flute. Black and white waiters moved like clockwork, trays of disgusting canapés held high above their heads. An orchestra beat softly in the background, not loud enough to distract from the real music of the evening, money, inheritances, and unspoken threats buried in friendly smiles.
Rayyan guided Keira to the floor, his hand on her lower back. Not too tight, not too loose. Just enough to remind her and everyone else that she wasn't alone here.
She walked as if she had every right to walk. Her chin level, her spine straight, her golden silk dress catching every glimmer of light. She felt the eyes. The whispers. She didn't blink.
A familiar group of men and women stepped back as they approached him. People in power. CEOs, politicians, heirs to dynasties. People who smiled widely but rarely with sincerity.
Among them, one of the men, who was about sixty years old, had sharp blue eyes and a darker demeanor, raised his glass.
"Mr. Alverdine," he said, raising a toast. "We were beginning to think you wouldn't show up."
"You know, I never miss a battlefield," Rayyan replied calmly.
Then he moved to the side, his hand still guiding Keira forward.
"Let me introduce you to my wife Keira Alverdine. "
Keira stretched out her hand, smiling kindly.
"Nice to meet you all."
There was a moment of hesitation. Enough to respond to the shock.
A woman in a black dress with a cut-off sleeve then spoke. Her voice was like honey and steel.
"So this is the famous wife no one's seen until now. We were beginning to think you made her up"
"He still is," Keira replied softly. "But practicality has its charms."
There is genuine laughter, and there is also practiced laughter.
Rayyan's eyes glanced at him, a smile spreading on his lips.
"She's humble," he said. "Keira is not only brilliant, she's the only woman I've ever negotiated with who made me think twice about a deal."
Another man, clearly strong and half-busy, leaned over.
"Tell me, Mrs. Alverdine, do you enjoy parties like this?"
Keira tilted her head to one side.
"I love seeing people who think they're the smartest person in the room."
The audience laughed again, this time more in amazement.
Rayyan stared at him for a moment.
"Remember to never belittle yourself in a board meeting."
"Only if you ask me to do one thing," she said with a smile too sweet to be genuine.
He leaned closer, his voice low so only he could hear.
"You did well."
"Was there ever any doubt?" he whispered back.
His hands pressed a little tighter on her back.
"Not anymore."
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The lights in the ballroom dimmed, as if the orchestra had slowed down and become more rhythmic. The other couples around them pretended to close their hands, stare at each other, and lift their masks in a silent drama.
One of Rayyan's colleagues, a silver-haired tycoon with a wolfish smile, stood before them.
"Mr. Alverdine," he said with mock friendliness. "You will not deny us the pleasure of seeing you two dance. After all, everyone is waiting."
Rayyan did not react.
He turned to Keira and held out his hand.
"How about we?"
Keira hesitated for half a second. Not because she was afraid. But because the look in his eyes tonight was not like usual.
They are fire under the ice.
She put her hand on the man's hand.
"Try not to step on my dress," she whispered.
"Try not to kill me with your stare," he said, his voice flat.
They slid to the middle of the floor.
He pulled her closer. One hand was on her waist, the other was holding her hand. Their bodies were almost touching.
The music flowed around them, graceful and dramatic. They moved like trained dancers, but everything in their eyes showed control.
"You're pouting," he muttered.
"I'm dancing."
"You could have fooled me."
"Then stop looking at my mouth."
His heart was beating fast.
"No," he lied.
He spun it once, then caught it again with a grip that lasted half a second longer.
"Everyone thinks we're perfect," she said. "Elegant. Untouchable."
"Yes, that's right," he whispered.
"We are fake."
"We used to."
His breath hitched.
He looked up. His gaze did not waver.
Something inside them cracked. Not broken, but shifted. No longer pure strategy. No longer safe.
Their rhythm slowed, the world spun around them. Only the music remained. And the knowledge that their hands had stopped pretending.
"This is a mistake," he said.
"So why does this feel like the first thing we're not pretending to do?"
The last few notes revolve around them.
And just before the music stops
Rayyan leaned his body.
No hesitation. No drama.
He kissed her.
Firm. Unforgiving. Dangerous in the truest sense.
It's not soft.
It's not messy.
It was the kind of kiss that said: If we do this, there's no going back.
And when he pulled away, there was barely a breath between them, he didn't say a word.
Because the silence between them spoke too loudly.
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Keira left the ballroom as if nothing had happened.
Her steps were graceful. Her chin was held high.
But her fingers still tingled where he held them, and her lips still remembered.
He barely heard the murmurs as he walked through the glittering halls.
"Mrs. Alverdine."
"She is very beautiful."
He didn't stop. He didn't smile.
It wasn't until she stepped into the marble hallway and the gilded doors that she ran to the women's bathroom, the sound of her heels lost on the velvet carpet.
The room was very luxurious, lots of mirrors, white orchids, and gleaming marble sinks.
But all that doesn't matter.
Not when his heart was trying to escape his ribcage.
Keira went to the mirror, put her hands on either side of the basin, and stared into it.
The woman in the mirror is perfect.
But her eyes?
A disaster.
He spoke softly, as if talking to himself.
"He was faking it. He had to be."
He laughed softly and without humor.
"Oh my God, he's half as good as half a Hollywood star."
The image of his lips on hers would never be erased. Not just the kiss, but the way he kissed her. As if she was gentle. As if she was considered.
And that's scarier than anything.
"It's for the people. For the image."
He nodded slightly, trying to believe his own deception.
"He's manipulative. Cold. Controlled. That's what he does. That's who he is."
But why did her heart beat so fast when he touched her?
Why were her knees still weak?
He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes.
"It's not real. He doesn't care. He's faking it. And I'm not going to fall for it."
He straightened up, forcing himself to breathe.
Because if he doesn't believe in it then
he won't be able to survive in whatever game he's playing.
The soft creaking of the bathroom door echoed rather loudly in the great hall.
Keira stepped out, her heels clicking on the marble floor as if nothing had happened, but the storm brewing behind her eyes betrayed her actions. She wished she could take a short walk alone. To get some fresh air.
But there he was.
Rayyan.
Leaning casually against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass half-filled with something golden and sharp.
His eyes were fixed on her immediately. No smile. No grin.
Just looking.
And said
"You were gone long enough for someone to doubt our marriage."
Keira stood still, her spine shaking violently.
"I need fresh air. And silence."
Rayyan stepped closer, each movement careful and slow, until the space between them felt suffocating.
"Did the mirror tell you it wasn't real?"
He frowned.
"Did you practice that kiss?"
Before he could answer, her soft, unreadable, female voice shattered the tension like glass hitting the floor.
"Rayyan? Oh my god, it's you!"
They both turned around together.
A woman in her fifties, radiant in dark blue silk and draped with pearls, advanced with a man who was too pathetic to be here voluntarily.
Rayyan sighed, almost like a sigh.
"Bibi Cecilia."
"Darling," the woman said, hugging him gently, then quickly turning to Keira. "So this is the elusive Mrs. Alverdine. I was starting to believe you'd married a ghost."
Keira smiled politely, her hands clasped tightly in front of her dress.
"My name is Keira. Nice to meet you."
Cecilia didn't hesitate. She leaned forward, speaking in a low, cheerful voice.
"So tell me, honey... when are you two going to have a baby?"
Silence immediately fell. Keira blinked once.
Rayyan choked on his drink a little.
"Excuse me?" Keira asked, surprised but trying not to look surprised.
Cecilia smiled.
"Oh, come on. You've been married for three months? The press is speculating. The board of directors is gossiping. You know how this works."
Rayyan finally spoke up.
"We're not going to talk about babies at the gala, Auntie."
"Why not?" Cecilia replied with a grin. "Your grandfather just asked about an heir last week. He's getting old. He wants to see the Alverdine next generation of Aber before hedies."
Keira stiffened, a warm feeling spreading down her spine.
"We'll call you when we're ready for the press release," he said smoothly.
Rayyan's lips curved, half warning, half proud.
"Let's continue," he said, his strong hand on her waist again. "We're going to dance. Again. I guess so."
They let their aunt do it, but the question rose like smoke between them.
"You did well," he whispered.
"You owe me a drink," he replied.
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END OF CHAPTER 8
"And as the music faded behind them, he wasn't sure what scared him more , how well he was pretending, or how much he wished he wasn't."
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