Scarlett
Not a minute earlier.
Not a minute later.
The kind of timing that feels intentional.
Calculated.
My breath hitches as I finish fastening the diamond clasp of my bracelet—Noah’s gift from last Christmas. The one he says “looks better when you smile.” The one I only wear when I need to look like the kind of woman who isn’t coming apart at the seams.
I smooth my silk robe, force my shoulders back, and walk downstairs with slow, elegant steps—the kind my mother drilled into me growing up. “Money should look effortless, darling.”
My heart beats like a fist in my throat anyway.
Noah reaches the foyer first.
He’s in joggers and a fitted black T-shirt, still warm from a morning workout, hair damp and pushed back, jaw tight in that “I’m calm until I’m not” way.
Because the delivery man is holding something.
A black velvet box.
Not flowers.
Not a parcel.
A velvet box.
Big. Heavy. Luxurious.
Gift-wrapped in matte black paper with a blood-red ribbon tied in a knot instead of a bow.
My stomach drops.
That’s not Noah’s style.
That’s not my family’s style.
That’s not anyone’s style—Except Kai’s.
Oh God.
My pulse spikes so hard I nearly sway.
Noah signs for the package with a clipped, controlled motion.
His eyes flick to mine the moment he shuts the door.
“Expecting something?”
His tone is casual.
The muscle in his jaw says he’s already spiralling.
I force a soft, airy laugh—the one society girls always mastered before love ever became part of the equation.
“No… not that I can think of.” I tilt my head, smile sweetly. “Maybe one of the girls sent something early for the engagement party?”
The lie slides out like honey.
Noah doesn’t buy it.
He hands me the box.
The weight of it nearly knocks my breath out.
Not heavy like jewellery.
Heavy like metal.
Heavy like danger.
I push a perfect, practiced smile onto my lips.
“Oh—wow. It’s… beautiful wrapping.”
Noah leans against the console table, arms crossed, tattoos flexing as he studies the box like it might bite him.
Or like the person who sent it already did.
“Open it,” he says.
Not a suggestion.
A command.
My throat goes dry.
But I become her again—
The perfect fiancée.
The rich man’s dream.
Poised. Serene. Unbothered.
I glide toward the marble kitchen island, letting my robe swish around my legs like I don’t feel like I’m walking toward a bomb.
“Don’t look so tense,” I tease, voice light. “It’s probably something boring. Candles. Or champagne. Or…” I swallow. “…a wedding thing.”
Noah follows me into the kitchen.
His presence is a shadow pressed against my spine—warm, heavy, suspicious.
I slide a manicured finger beneath the red ribbon, undoing it with elegant finesse.
Inside, the velvet box gleams like a bruise under the lights.
I lift the lid.
My breath stops.
Inside is a single object:
A silver pocketknife.
Old.
Polished.
Sharp enough to catch the light like a blade of ice.
Engraved on the handle is one word:
LIAR.
My stomach flips.
My skin goes cold.
Every sound in the room dulls to a hum.
Kai.
Oh God, Kai.
Noah steps closer, his shadow merging with mine.
“The fuck is this?” he mutters.
I blink fast, swallowing the choke rising in my throat.
“I—I don’t know.”
Play innocent.
Play sweet.
Play safe.
I pick up the knife with steady fingers even though my pulse is a storm inside my veins.
“It’s… probably some weird joke gift.” My voice is soft, airy, practiced. “People send strange things when they hear you’re getting married.”
Noah bristles.
“Who the hell would send you a knife?” He steps closer, voice tightening. “That engraving—Scarlett, this isn’t a joke. Someone’s messing with you.”
The irony nearly makes me laugh.
Or cry.
Or collapse.
Someone isn’t messing with me.
Someone is reclaiming me.
I gently close the box and set it aside, letting out a delicate sigh as if overwhelmed by drama, not terror.
“Sweetheart, it’s fine.” I touch his arm, stroking softly. “This is just someone with terrible taste.”
His eyes narrow.
“You’re acting weird.”
I freeze.
He sees too much.
He always has.
I lift my chin, give him a flawless smile that could be printed in bridal magazines. “I’m acting like a woman who got a creepy gift before breakfast and doesn’t want to ruin the day.”
Noah studies me—blue eyes flicking from my mouth to my pulse point to the knife.
Jealousy coils under his skin like smoke.
Possessive.
Dark.
Almost feral.
He steps closer.
“So who sent it?”
I meet his stare with perfect serenity.
Even though inside, I swear I hear Kai’s voice whisper across my nerves:
You know.
You always fucking know.
I smile wider.
“I have no idea.”
Noah doesn’t move.
Not for a full five seconds.
He just stands there, jaw ticking, eyes flicking between my face and the velvet box like he’s trying to decide whether to pull me close or interrogate me until I crack.
The air feels tight—thick—crowded with something simmering.
Possessiveness.
He steps closer.
I feel it before I see it—the shift in him, the weight of his body cut sharper by anger, the heat rolling off him in dense waves.
He plants both palms on the marble island, caging the box in, caging me in.
“Scarlett,” he says, voice low, threaded with something dark, “tell me who sent it.”
My heart kicks once, too hard.
I smile like a woman who’s never lied a day in her life.
“I don’t know.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check and not doing a very good job of it.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend this isn’t serious.”
He gestures at the knife—sharp, gleaming, sitting there like an accusation.
“Someone mailed you a weapon. With an insult on it.”
I tilt my head. “Insult is a strong word.”
He stares.
Not amused.
Not charmed.
Not convinced.
“Scarlett, the knife says liar.”
I let out a soft, nervous laugh—too high-pitched, too bright—as if that could mask the way the room feels suddenly smaller.
“Noah, it’s fine. People send strange things when—”
He cuts me off, voice dropping.
“When what?”
I swallow.
“When you’re in the public eye. When they see the engagement online. When they—”
“Bullshit.”
My spine stiffens.
He reaches for the box, snaps it shut, and holds it up between us like the world’s most pointed question.
“Someone knows you,” he says, quieter, but not gentler. “Knows you well enough to send this. So tell me—who?”
His jealousy isn’t loud.
It’s focused.
Bright.
Burning behind his eyes like he’s trying to carve the truth out of me with his stare.
Inside my chest, panic scrapes its nails down my ribs.
Kai’s name sits on the tip of my tongue.
Sharp.
Heavy.
Locked behind my teeth.
But I swallow it.
Hard.
“No one,” I breathe. “It’s no one.”
Noah straightens slowly, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lowers the box with a controlled, ominous calm.
“Don’t lie to me.”
My pulse falters.
I force a soft smile—the kind I’d use at charity galas with champagne in my hand and cameras flashing.
“I’m not lying.”
“You are.”
He steps closer again.
My back gently hits the marble counter.
He places the box down beside me.
Then braces one hand beside my hip, leaning in—not touching, but close enough my breath stutters.
Noah isn’t loud.
He isn’t violent.
He doesn’t need to be.
His possessiveness is colder.
Sharper.
Polished like the knife.
“Scarlett,” he murmurs, “you disappeared last night. You were shaking in the bathroom this morning. And now a knife shows up at my door addressed to you.”
His breath warms my cheek.
His voice drops lower:
“Tell me what’s going on.”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because I don’t know how to say:
Kai was in our bedroom.
Kai put this on the counter.
Kai watches me breathe.
Kai is the ghost in all my walls.
So I press my lips together.
Noah studies me—eyes scanning every inch of my face, like I’m a puzzle he refuses to leave unsolved.
His jealousy thickens the air.
It isn’t about the knife.
It’s about the idea that someone touched me.
Thought about me.
Sent something to me.
Marked me with a word Noah doesn’t get to decode.
He steps even closer, his voice a low warning.
“You’re hiding something.”
My inhale trembles.
“I’m not.”
His jaw flexes.
“You’re lying.”
I flinch—small, involuntary.
And that’s when his eyes darken.
He sees it.
He sees too much.
In a slow, deliberate motion, Noah lifts a hand and places two fingers beneath my chin, tilting my face up toward his.
“Look at me.”
I do.
Because I have to.
Because if I don’t, he’ll know I’m breaking.
His voice is quiet, lethal.
“I’m your fiancé. I protect what’s mine. So if there’s a threat, if there’s someone trying to get close to you—” His fingers press just enough to hold me still. “—I will handle it.”
My breath catches.
Not in fear.
In something colder.
I whisper, barely audible, “There’s no one.”
He studies me for another long, suffocating second, then releases my chin—not gently, not harshly. Simply… claiming.
He steps back, the tension in his shoulders refusing to leave.
“Fine.” His voice is tight. “But I’m keeping this.”
He picks up the velvet box.
Every instinct inside me screams.
No. No. No—
But my face doesn’t show it.
He tucks the box under his arm like he’s decided the issue is his now, not mine.
Then he leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead—soft, sweet, proprietary.
“Go get dressed,” he murmurs. “We’re going to the club today. You need a distraction.”
I smile.
Perfectly.
Calmly.
Utterly hollow.
“Of course.”
And as he turns away, knife in hand—I swear I feel the walls pulse.
Like the house is whispering:
He took what Kai left for you.
He won’t like that.