Chapter 6 ○○

I woke up to a thrumming headache, dull and persistent, a reminder of the long night before. The party had ended well-smiles, champagne, and too many congratulations from strangers pretending to know me. Since that brief, charged moment with him, we hadn't spoken again, but we kept stealing glances across rooms like secrets we weren't supposed to share.

Joe, his elderly butler with kind eyes and a calm voice, had shown me to my room, where all my belongings had been mysteriously unpacked. The room was breathtaking-Persian influences in its architecture, rich patterns, and a dashing shade of blue that made it feel royal, yet oddly intimate. I was relieved, almost embarrassingly so, that we weren't sharing a room. We had only spoken, what-four times? Including that incident? Sleeping beside him would've been too much. Thankfully, separate rooms had been arranged.

I hadn't eaten any dinner. I'd been too tired, my feet aching beyond recognition, the kind of exhaustion that sinks into your bones. So I showered, letting the warm water rinse away the sweat, oils, and the weight of the evening. But as I stood there, steam curling around me, I couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked at me.

There was something in his eyes yesterday... a hint of longing, maybe? Or maybe I was delusional, romanticizing a flicker that meant nothing. But if it was nothing, why couldn't I shake it?

Still famished, I pulled on a beautiful white summer dress that stopped just above my knees and paired it with blue Jimmy Choos that gave a soft click with each step. I didn't fuss over my hair-my long black curls fell freely, brushing just above my waist. A few sprays of perfume later, I headed downstairs.

The dining room was warm with morning light. And there he was-my lovely fiancée (said with a generous pour of sarcasm), sitting casually, scrolling on his phone while shoving forkfuls of pancakes into his maddeningly perfect mouth.

"Good morning," I chirped, masking the chaos in my chest as I poured myself some juice and filled my plate with breakfast-pancakes, fruit, and sausages.

"You look like you slept well," he said, finally lifting his gaze. And when his eyes met mine, they didn't just glance-they lingered. Traced my face like it was something worth memorizing.

I felt the blood creep up my neck, warm and obvious. Was I blushing?

And worse-did he notice?

I let out a small cough to cover up my weird behavior, hoping to shake off the heat rising to my cheeks.

"Yes, I did sleep well," I said, trying to sound composed. "I was too tired, as I said."

I focused on my plate, chewing slowly and savoring the taste-it really was good. Warm, buttery, comforting. Surprisingly, he wasn't awful. We even had a small talk. And he was... kind of nice?

Don't judge a book by people's words, I told myself.

He sat there in his usual armor-a crisply tailored charcoal black suit, white shirt beneath, looking every bit the man people whispered about. My eyes betrayed me before I could stop them. I let them drag across his frame, slow and shameless. The way the fabric hugged his shoulders, the way his sleeves rested just above those forearms... God, his hands.

Strong. Veined. Clean.

Madly attractive.

No. No no no. This is wrong. I shouldn't be doing this.

"Take a picture. It lasts longer," he said, not even bothering to hide the smug curl of his lips as he raised his face to catch me in the act.

Shit.

I wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face.

"I wasn't looking at you, you narcissistic man," I shot back, crossing my legs under the table and lifting my chin. "I was looking at the watch. It looks... authentic," I added with a nonchalant tone, hoping to salvage whatever dignity I had left.

But the way his eyes glimmered-amused, knowing-I knew he wasn't buying it. And the worst part? A small, wicked part of me didn't really care.