Chapter 11
The car tore through the night, tires screeching as Aaron slammed on the brakes in the garage.
The sudden inertia threw Kinsley forward, a strangled gasp escaping her throat. The seatbelt bit into her shoulder, leaving a stinging ache.
She winced, ready to voice a complaint, but Aaron had already stormed out, slamming his door with a force that rattled the walls.
She quickly unbuckled, clutched the bouquet of roses, and followed him with small, hurried steps.
What happened? Everything was fine just a moment ago.
Did the reporters really sour his mood that much?
She trailed two steps behind him, a safe distance, turning the question over in her mind.
Aaron reached the bedroom and headed straight for the terrace.
He ripped his tie loose, chest heaving, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the cool night air washed over him.
Kinsley set the flowers down and watched him from across the room.
Did the reporters’ words trigger a bad memory?
Is he upset because his “fake marriage” was exposed?
If this had happened before dinner, she might have been curious.
But now? She didn’t want to know.
The closer she stood to the fire, the more it would burn.
She stood behind him for a long while before finally stepping to his side.
In the deep shadows of the night, his expression was unreadable, but the tension in his frame was absolute.
“Are you alright?” she asked softly.
It was business—the client was in a foul mood, and as his “wife,” it was part of her duty to check in.
He didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the distant lights of the city, not even sparing her a glance.
Kinsley racked her brain for something, anything, to say.
She forced a lilt of artificial cheer into her voice.
“The view… it’s really beautiful from here.”
He remained silent.
“Are you… upset about the reporters?”
Still nothing.
God, this is impossible.
She tugged gently on his arm.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let them see any cracks again.”
He turned slowly to look at her, and the look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat.
It wasn’t the arrogant self-assurance she was used to, nor the cool detachment he wore like armor.
It was something else—something raw, a mixture of rage and profound frustration.
Panic flared in her chest.
“Aaron, what’s wrong…?”
He stepped closer, invading her space until his breath ghosted across her face.
Her lashes fluttered, her breath hitching.
“What did you just say?”
His voice was a low, jagged rasp that made her spine go rigid.
She took a half-step back, distancing herself.
“I said… the fake marriage... I won’t let anyone find out. The six months will pass in the blink of an eye, and I’ll play the role perfectly…”
His eyes darkened into a tempest.
Six months.
She said it so easily, as if the relationship came with a pre-printed expiration date.
He reached out and gripped her chin, his hold firm.
“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”
His voice was harsh, and Kinsley felt a jolt of genuine fear.
She darted her eyes away, refusing to meet his gaze, desperately searching for a distraction.
“Can we not talk about that? Let me… let me help you with your clothes.”
With a steady hand, she reached out to undo the knot of his tie, her fingers working down the buttons of his shirt, one by one.
The blazer and vest were shed next, followed by the crisp fabric of the shirt itself.
He stood before her, his chest bare, his breathing growing ragged and heavy.
She, however, remained an embodiment of composure—a statue of professional duty as she draped his loungewear over his shoulders.
“Don’t think about anything unpleasant once you’re home. Today was a big day, wasn’t it?”
She moved to his belt, her fingers deftly working the buckle and his trousers.
His breathing hitched, his jaw so tight it looked ready to shatter.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
She forced a light, airy laugh, keeping the fake smile firmly in place.
“Of course. Just doing what a wife is supposed to do.”
The word “wife” slipped from her lips, effortless and chillingly hollow.
The moment his trousers hit the floor, his body seemed to go rigid for a second.
She tied the belt of his loungewear, gathered the discarded clothes, and intended to take them inside.
Suddenly, her arm was yanked, and she was spun around, the clothes spilling to the floor.
Aaron pulled her close.
“On a day worth celebrating, what is it that my wife should be doing?”
His voice was hoarse, his eyes burning with a mix of impatience and desire.
Kinsley’s heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively recoiled, but his hand clamped down, pinning her in place.
She struggled to keep a clear head.
If last time was about me wanting to possess him, then what is today?
She couldn’t afford to love him; she didn’t want to fall deeper.
Even though he had stated from the beginning that their “work” included sex, she clearly wasn’t mentally prepared for this right now.
Aaron’s breathing grew heavier, the desire in his eyes flaring higher.
There was no escaping this time. She drew a deep breath and shut her eyes.
The next second, his lips crushed against hers—urgent, chaotic, frantic.
She refused to think, letting him take total control.
His kisses were like a storm, raining from her lips to her earlobe, then trailing down the line of her neck.
His hardness pressed firmly against her stomach.
After that scene at dinner, her heart was as calm as a windless lake.
Mixing feelings into work was an irrational act,she told herself.
But to play the part, she let out a few timely moans.
Aaron’s body temperature soared; his breathing even trembled slightly.
He was fully engorged, desperate to push into her right then and there.
“Baby, say you want me.”
“I want you,” she said, her voice eerily calm.
But his body went rigid; he stopped kissing her.
Then, as if struggling to suppress the desire within him, he released his grip.
With his breath still ragged, the fire in his eyes dimmed in an instant.
“No, you don’t.”
His voice was low, laced with suppressed fury.
If she was merely fulfilling a duty, then all of this was meaningless.
Kinsley looked up, meeting his gaze with total composure.
“Whether I want it or not doesn’t matter; the point is that you do.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened, his words forced through gritted teeth.
“What do you mean?”
“My role is to be your wife. You paid for this, so it is only right that I satisfy your desires.”
She added, “It’s my job.”
Aaron’s gaze turned frigid.
“Work? Very well,” he sneered. “It seems I owe you a reward.”
He turned and strode into the bedroom.
Kinsley was left alone on the terrace.
The evening breeze caught her skirt, cool against her skin. She shivered, clutching herself.
Her gaze fixed on the distance, feeling lost and hollow.
That night, neither of them spoke again.
Kinsley no longer kept to the far edge of the bed; instead, she shifted slightly toward the center.
But Aaron acted as if she weren’t there at all.