28. Mission Accomplished
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
LIAM
I was happy. The happiest I have ever felt in my life… besides that one time I won gold during the Olympics.
I felt as if I were floating.
The past few days had been a blur of laughter and love and Deepika.
I had whispered, ‘I love you,’ like a broken record, the words bleeding out of me with every thrust of my hips the entire time we had sex after returning from Napa Valley.
I’d rasped it against the sweat-damp curve of her neck, murmured it into the silk of her dark hair, and groaned it against her swollen lips while she gasped my name like a prayer.
I hadn’t stopped even after we’d gotten back to LA, to my place (our place now).
She had finally rolled her eyes, pinning me with those dark, dilated eyes, and told me to stop acting like a ‘clingy puppy dog’ who’d just discovered his first chew toy.
But in return, I had leaned over her, looked her dead in the eye, and let out a ridiculous bark.
Deepika laughed so hard she snorted and it made my heart do a backflip.
I seized the opportunity to tackle her back onto the rumpled sheets, the mattress groaning under our weight.
I spent the next five minutes ‘eating’ her by nipping at her ribs, growling against the soft swell of her stomach, and blowing raspberries against her skin until she was giggling so hard she couldn't breathe, her legs kicking weakly against mine.
Then, the playfulness shifted into something much more predatory.
I spread her legs wide, the sight of her dark curls and her pink, dripping pussy making my mouth water.
I dived between her thighs and ate her out with a ruthless, rhythmic devotion.
I swirled my tongue around her clit, sucking the sensitive nub into my mouth until she was arching off the bed, her fingers tangling in my hair and pulling me closer.
The room smelled of salt, jasmine, and the heavy, musky scent of our shared climax.
We had finally dragged our sweaty, tangled bodies to the shower.
The bathroom was a wall of steam that smelled like the three different, overpriced hair masques she insisted I apply.
I washed her hair with the focus of a man defusing a bomb, using every specific product she pointed at with a bossy finger.
Afterward, I sat her on the marble counter with her curvy body wrapped in a plush white towel that barely covered the tops of her thighs and diffused her hair gently.
The heat from the dryer puffed out the dark, silken strands while she directed me like I was her personal stylist, her dark eyes tracking my every move in the mirror.
I even braided her hair before bed last night, my clumsy athlete's fingers working carefully to weave the thick, dark tresses into a neat plait. She talked animatedly the entire time about her upcoming role, her hands gesturing wildly, her brown eyes bright with an excitement that was more addictive than any drug I’d ever tried.
I’m so far gone for this woman, it’s not even funny.
But I didn’t care.
Now she was off for a meeting, and I was in my home gym, blasting Indian cooking videos on YouTube between sets. Maybe I’d try to make something for dinner and surprise her. Probably burn the house down in the process, but the thought counted, right?
My phone rang, and it was Xavier.
I hit the speaker, continuing my reps. “Yeah?”
“So, the engagement worked very well for us,” Xavier said, his voice filling the gym. “A lot of sponsors have renewed contracts, and your image has cleaned up well.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, switching to bicep curls.
“Are you ready to end it after the Indian wedding, like we planned?”
I paused mid-rep. “Yeah. Mission accomplished.”
The words felt wrong in my mouth because this wasn’t a mission anymore. This was my life and my future with the woman I loved.
“And Deepika?”
I set down the weights. “What about her?”
“Come on, man. Don’t tell me you actually fell for her. This was always just business.”
I laughed bitterly and rolled my eyes, answering him. “Relax, Xavier. I know exactly what this is.”
And I knew I loved her and that I was going to marry her. For real and not at all for cameras or sponsors or PR.
“Good. Because you can’t afford another scandal, so keep it clean until after San Diego, and then you’re free.”
“I said I know what I’m doing,” I snapped.
Free? As if Deepika was a prison sentence. I had thought of this agreement as before, but now I didn’t.
I hung up before he could respond and then sighed. I knew he was just doing his job, but Xavier didn’t get it. He couldn’t understand that what started as fake had become the most real thing in my life.
I grabbed my water bottle, planning my speech. Tonight, over dinner (burned or not) I’d tell Deepika I wanted to make this permanent and make it a proper engagement.
The thought made me smile.
Deepika
The meeting had ended early, so I’d driven home, planning to surprise Liam.
Home. The word felt right now. Our place with my vintage teacups on the shelves and my clothes mixed with his in the closet.
I walked in, expecting to find him in the living room or upstairs, but the house was quiet except for muffled sounds coming from the basement. He must be in his home gym.
I headed down the stairs, smiling, and already imagining jumping him mid-workout. He looked ridiculously hot when he was sweaty.
Then I heard voices.
I paused on the stairs.
Xavier’s voice, tinny through the phone speaker, said, “You can end it after the Indian wedding like we planned.”
My hand gripped the railing.
“Yeah. Mission accomplished,” Liam replied, his voice casual.
My throat tightened.
“And the girl? Deepika?”
He took a long pause to reply while I held my breath, “What about her?”
Each of his words felt like a knife between my ribs.
“Come on. Don’t tell me you caught feelings. This was always business.”
I leaned closer to hear his reply, but after a pause, Liam laughed.
I froze, hearing his laugh.
“Relax, Xavier. I know what this is.”
I couldn’t breathe.
The world tilted sideways, everything going sharp and painful. My ears were ringing and my hands felt numb. The smell of his cologne from the jacket made me nauseous.
Everything he had said. The ‘I love you’s’ whispered against my skin and the way he had braided my hair last night while I talked about my dreams.
All of it was a lie.
For his benefit, his sponsors, and for his fucking image.
I had been there before with Yash. The man who used me, manipulated me, and destroyed me for his own gain.
And I fell for it again.
I was right to be cautious, as hysteria bubbled in my chest. I let myself believe in a fairytale, and reality came crashing down.
I’m always the consolation prize, never the choice.
My vision blurred, and I blinked, tears spilling over.
I wouldn’t give him the chance to drop me or throw me away. I would leave first and end it before he could destroy me the way Yash had.
I turned and ran up the stairs as quietly as possible, my heart hammering so loud I thought he might hear it.
I grabbed my duffel bag from the closet and started throwing things in without overthinking. I grabbed my clothes, a few toiletries, my laptop, and chargers. My hands shook so badly I could barely zip it closed.
I was reaching for my grandmother’s ring when I saw the receipt.
The ring sat in a small velvet box in his dresser drawer because I had taken it off earlier to shower.
Next to it was a jeweler’s receipt.
Ring resizing and authenticity certification - $7,000
I stared at it.
Why would he spend seven thousand dollars on a fake engagement ring?
The receipt was old, and my hands trembled as I picked it up, reading it again, trying to make sense of—
No.
I couldn’t think about this now and let myself hope or question or doubt.
I had heard it from his own mouth.
Mission accomplished.
I know what this is.
I shoved the ring into my bag, grabbed my keys, and left.
The house that had felt like home thirty minutes ago now felt like a cage.
My chest felt tight as I called my parents, who lived in San Diego. Tears streamed down my face, but I forced myself to sound happy on the call.
I glanced over my shoulder one last time at his place and drove away.