If anyone had told me I would ever be in this position, standing in front of this monstrosity of a mansion, I would've told them they were lying.
This is not my home. This is not my marital home. This is my sister's house.
And I'm here to act as a wife to a man I've only seen once, at her engagement party, and in a few photos she sent over the years, while I was living on the other side of Europe, working and pretending I didn't belong to the same bloodline.
Like they say—blood is thicker than water. And if not for the love I have for my sister… and the desperate need to escape my exhausting job and claim a little vacation for myself, I would never, in a million years, agree to this ridiculous impersonation.
She was out there—God knows where, with God knows who, doing God knows what—leaving me here to dance to the drums of her mess.
I couldn't believe the lengths I was going to in the name of sisterhood. This is a crime—a big one. And hopefully, Selena comes back to her senses before everything blows up.
Yes, I have my reasons for doing this. But that doesn't stop me from worrying about her. No matter how reckless she is, she's still my sister… and I can't help but look out for her.
If someone told me a week ago that I'd be pretending to be the wife of one of the most powerful men in America, I would've laughed… then pinched myself awake.
And the cherry on top? I have to emulate my sister's bratty, snobby attitude—like I'm some spoiled trophy wife who thinks the world revolves around her. My God, this sounds exhausting already.
"Hey, baby. Why's your face pulled into a frown?"
A deep voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I turned my head in the direction of the voice...
"My husband's not hard to spot," Selena's voice echoed in my head. "He wears a suit like it's his second skin."
And there he was.
Killian Reign.
Dressed in a sharp, charcoal two-piece suit that looked like it cost more than my yearly salary. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, tailored to precision, the crisp white shirt beneath it just barely undone at the collar, enough to show he didn't need a tie to command a room.
His features were impossibly sculpted—strong jaw, high cheekbones, and those cold, unreadable grey eyes that seemed to look straight through me.
Not handsome in the boyish, charming kind of way. No.
He was the kind of man who looked like he owned buildings. Cities. People.
And now… he was looking at me like I was one of them.
"Killian…" I started, pausing—waiting for any flicker of suspicion on his face.
Instead, he gave me a smooth smile and said, "Yes, my queen. I'm listening."
I nearly sighed out loud. This was going to be harder than I thought.
"I was thinking of going for a mani-pedi to treat myself," I scoffed, channeling every ounce of Selena's bratty tone. "Until you interrupted me."
"Well, my apologies, my queen," he said smoothly. "I'm sorry for disrupting your little moment—but I have a meeting in an hour, so I have to leave."
Then he leaned in.
A whisper against my ear. A kiss on my cheek. And then… a soft, breathy kiss on my lips.
I closed my eyes, desperately forcing myself to think safe, neutral thoughts.
This is my sister's husband.
This is my sister's husband.
I repeated it like a prayer, like a threat.
I couldn't afford to have wanton thoughts about him—not when I'm already toeing the line of something so wrong.
But God… this is so going to be hard.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.
He knows. He knows. He fucking knows.
I'm going to kill Selena.
"Are you still angry with me?"
He moved closer, positioning himself right in front of me and lifting my chin so I had no choice but to meet his eyes.
False alarm. I repeat: false alarm.
"No, nothing. I'm fine. And I'm no longer angry," I said quickly, placing my hands on his chest like some kind of method actor in a drama I didn't audition for.
"Then why aren't you kissing me back?"
The words dropped like a bomb—so casually, like he hadn't just scared the shit out of me. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me in, closer than before.
I looked up to the sky, silently begging for something—anything—to fall and save me. Nothing did.
"I'm just... not in the mood," I said, hoping that would be enough.
"Kiss me," he said again, this time with less patience.
So I did.
I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a quick, almost nonexistent kiss to his lips.
And that was it.
The fireworks of guilt exploded inside of me.
Oh my fucking God.
I just kissed my sister's husband.
Okay, it wasn't a kiss-kiss...
But I still kissed him.
And worse... I might've liked it.
I couldn't stop the internal freak-out spiraling inside me—and apparently, I'd gone out of character.
"Selena… Selena."
He called my name more than once, but I didn't respond. For a second, I forgot where I was… who I was pretending to be.
It wasn't until he tapped me that I jumped, yanked back into reality.
"Selena—" he began again.
"Yes!" I blurted. "Sorry, I... dazed off."
I flashed the fakest smile I could, hoping it would be enough to mask the breakdown going on behind my eyes.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, voice a little softer now, concern slipping into his tone as he glanced over at his chauffeur and bodyguard—both standing near a sleek black luxury car, pretending not to hear a thing.
"Why do you keep asking? I said I'm fine," I snapped—half dismissive, half panicked.
He paused. Studied my face.
"Nothing," he finally said. "You just seem… different."
Fuck.