Caliste stood in front of the mirror in a flowy white sundress, one hand on her hip. A breeze came through the balcony doors, lifting the edge of the skirt. It was simple, sweet—and perfect for exactly what she planned.
She smiled to herself.
Lucian was in for a little surprise.
Down by the beach café, Jace was already waiting, sunglasses on, shirt loose and open like every model on a travel magazine cover. She walked up, hips swaying, pretending not to see Lucian lounging on a nearby sunbed with a book he wasn't reading.
Jace stood and grinned. "Wow. You look…"
"Like someone who didn't get ditched for prom this time?" she said with a wink.
He laughed. "I deserved that. I was an idiot."
"You still might be," she teased, sitting down. "But I'm giving you five minutes to convince me otherwise."
Meanwhile, Lucian's jaw clenched behind his book. He didn't hear a word on the page. He only saw Caliste laughing—really laughing—with that guy. Her smile wasn't polite. It was genuine. And that stung more than it should have.
Jace leaned in, voice low. "I always had a thing for you, you know. But you were too good for me."
"I still am," Caliste replied, smirking.
Lucian snapped his book shut and stood. Enough.
He walked over, cool and calm, but with fire in his eyes.
"Hello again," he said smoothly. "Mind if I steal my wife for a second?"
Caliste looked up. "Actually—"
"It's important," he said, tone firm.
Jace raised an eyebrow. "Sure. We'll catch up later, Caliste."
Lucian didn't wait. He took her hand and led her a few steps away.
"Lucian!" she said, laughing in disbelief. "You really just dragged me away?"
"You're done flirting with that guy."
"Who said I was flirting?"
"I saw your eyes. And I don't like it."
She folded her arms. "Too bad. I like making you uncomfortable."
He took a step closer. "Why are you doing this?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe because for once, I want you to feel what I felt when I thought I wasn't enough for you."
His expression flickered. That one hit deeper than he expected.
He stared at her for a moment—then without warning, reached out and pulled her into him.
"Lucian—"
He cut her off with a kiss.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't careful. It was desperate and wild and possessive. The kind of kiss that burned with jealousy and longing and confusion. The kind that made everything else disappear.
Her hands pressed against his chest, but she didn't push him away.
His hands were on her waist, holding her like he couldn't let go. The world vanished. Just waves and heartbeats and heat.
When he finally pulled away, breathless, he stared at her.
"You drive me insane," he said hoarsely.
She blinked up at him. "Well. That's… mutual."
Neither moved.
Then she whispered, "Do it again."
And he did.
Caliste couldn't sleep.
She lay in the enormous bed staring at the ceiling fan, her mind spinning faster than the blades. She could still feel Lucian's kiss on her lips. Not the heat of it—no, that had faded. But the meaning behind it? That haunted her.
Why had he kissed her like that?
Why had she kissed him back?
It was supposed to be fake. Convenient. Political. They didn't even like each other most days. And yet… when his lips met hers, nothing about it had felt fake.
In fact, it felt dangerously real.
She turned to the empty side of the bed.
Lucian hadn't returned to the room after dinner. Typical. Avoid the mess. Ignore the feelings. Classic Lucian.
But he couldn't hide forever.
---
The Next Morning
Caliste walked into the dining hall late, wearing a loose robe and messy bun—intentional, yet effortlessly pretty. She was prepared for him.
Lucian was already at the table, reading his phone, a cup of espresso half-finished in front of him. His eyes flicked up briefly when she walked in. No smile. No warmth.
"Morning," he said flatly.
"Really?" she said, sitting down. "That's it?"
He didn't look at her. "Would you prefer a song and dance?"
"I'd prefer an explanation."
Lucian set his phone down and folded his arms. "About what?"
"You kissed me."
"And you kissed me back."
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is the point, Caliste?" he snapped, finally looking at her. "You flirted with your old crush to make me jealous, and it worked. Congratulations."
She stared at him. "I wasn't trying to—"
"Yes, you were. And it worked. I got jealous. I lost control. And I kissed you. I regret the timing, not the kiss."
Her breath caught. "What does that mean?"
He stood, running a hand through his hair. "It means I don't know what the hell we're doing anymore."
"Then talk to me, Lucian!"
"You said this marriage was fake," he said, voice low. "But when I kissed you, it didn't feel fake. That's the problem."
Silence.
She stood too, arms crossed tightly. "So what now? You just avoid me like nothing happened?"
"It's easier that way."
"For who?"
"For both of us," he muttered, walking out.
She didn't follow.