Rayden stood alone on the balcony, the city stretching infinitely before him—bright, unfeeling, constant. A stark contrast to the storm in his chest.
He remembered that night.
Blair in tears. Her voice shaking.
"I gave you everything. Why wasn't it enough?"
He hadn't answered then. Because he couldn't. Because even with everything she gave, she'd wanted more than he knew how to give. Love. Vulnerability. A version of him that didn't exist.
Just like he didn't have answers now.
Especially not after that kiss.
His fingers twitched at the memory—how naturally his hand had found her cheek, how warm she felt under his touch, how her breath had hitched just before their lips met.
How he'd kissed her back.
And how, for a fleeting second, he hadn't wanted to stop.
That scared him more than anything.
Inside, Anne walked across the living room. Her steps light. Her presence grounding.
She didn't ask questions. Didn't demand explanations. Didn't try to dissect him.
She didn't ask to be loved.
She just being her.
And maybe that was why he kept her close. Maybe that was why she slipped under his defenses so easily.
Because she wasn't trying to matter.
But somehow, she did.
She'd asked him once if he'd ever been in love.
He said no.
But now… he wasn't so sure.
That kiss—it shouldn't have meant anything.
It was for the cameras. For the image. For the lie.
And yet, standing there under the cold night air, all he could feel was the echo of her lips against his.
And the terrifying truth that maybe… just maybe… he wanted it to happen again.
———
Anne lay on her bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as the city lights danced through the half-closed blinds.
She had taken off the gown hours ago. Washed her face. Pulled her hair into a bun like she always did when she was tired and pretending she wasn't.
But the memory of that kiss—it refused to leave.
It wasn't supposed to feel like that.
It was the way his hand lingered against her cheek, warm and steady, like he meant it.
It was the way his brows pulled together right before their lips met, like he was fighting something—hesitation or desire, she couldn't tell.
And it was the way her heart had raced. Not from nerves. But from the way it felt… safe.
Like she could fall, and maybe this time, she wouldn't crash.
Anne turned onto her side, burying her face into the pillow.
"Stupid," she whispered to no one.
It was a fake kiss. A staged moment. A performance in a long list of charades.
But why had his touch made her skin burn?
Why had her body leaned into his, not just for the camera—but for comfort?
She should know better.
Rayden Lancaster didn't do emotions. Didn't let anyone close. He made that clear every single day with his clipped words and guarded eyes.
And yet… tonight, there had been something in his silence. Not distance, but confusion. A crack.
Was she the only one who felt it?
Anne sat up slowly, running a hand down her arm, as if to wipe off the electricity still buzzing through her skin.
"I'm not supposed to fall for you," she murmured. "This wasn't part of the deal."
———
Anne stood barefoot in the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee as the early sunlight poured through the tall windows. Her hair was still a bit tousled, and she wore one of Rayden's oversized shirts—borrowed purely out of convenience, of course.
She didn't expect him to be awake yet.
So when she turned and saw Rayden already seated at the kitchen island, shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and coffee in hand, she froze.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
Not at first.
"Morning," Anne said, keeping her voice light, like nothing had happened last night. Like they hadn't kissed like people trying to remember what it felt like to be wanted.
Rayden looked at her for a beat too long. "You used my shirt."
"I were out of clean ones," she replied quickly, avoiding his gaze.
"You have an entire wardrobe."
"Well… this one was in the wardrobe."
Rayden didn't respond, but the corner of his mouth tugged—almost like a smirk, if he hadn't looked so tired.
The silence returned, thick with everything unspoken.
Anne sipped her coffee. "You okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Because you kissed me like it mattered.
She didn't say it. She only nodded and turned back to the counter.
Rayden watched her. She moved like a secret—quiet, delicate, impossible not to notice.
He hated how much he wanted to kiss her again.
Especially with her in his outfit.
———
Kayla stood rigid in the Lancaster family lounge, her tone desperate but her expression icy.
"You know I've always been the one, Eleanor," she said, voice trembling with restrained emotion. "I've stayed. I've waited. I belong with Rayden."
Eleanor sipped her tea calmly, but her eyes narrowed with calculation.
"You belong with his last name, Kayla. That's all you've ever wanted."
"No," Kayla snapped. "I want him. I always have. And now you're letting that girl—that nobody—come in and ruin everything we've plan?"
Eleanor set down her cup. "You're assuming I've accepted her. I haven't."
"Then help me," Kayla stepped closer. "Let me remind Rayden who truly knows him. Who never left."
Eleanor's eyes turned cold. "Rayden doesn't respond to reminders. He responds to threats."
Kayla's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Then give Anne a reason to run."
———
Anne had just placed down her coffee when the elevator doors opened.
No one had buzzed in.
But Eleanor Lancaster never asked for permission.
"Good morning, Anne," she said, stepping inside the penthouse like she owned the place.
Anne stood, instinctively straightening her blouse. "Mrs. Lancaster. I wasn't expecting—"
"Obviously." Eleanor's smile was too sharp to be kind. She looked around, taking in the decor with faint disdain. "So this is where you've been nesting."
Anne kept her posture calm. "Can I get you something?"
"No," Eleanor replied curtly, her eyes already sweeping the room. "I came to talk. Alone."
Anne hesitated, but then nodded. "Alright."
Eleanor moved to the window, standing with the city behind her like a queen surveying her kingdom. "Rayden doesn't tell people things. You've noticed that by now."
Anne didn't respond.
Eleanor turned, eyes hard. "Especially not about Blair."
The name landed like a stone in the room.
Anne felt her heart thud. "I know… a little. That she's his ex."
"That's all you know?" Eleanor murmured. She turned her gaze to Anne. "But that's not the only truth."
Anne's spine straightened.
"She died right in front of him," Eleanor said flatly. "Seven years ago. In their house. Not this one—thank God. But close enough."
Anne's fingers gripped the edge of the kitchen island.
"Blair was a sweet girl. A fragile one. She loved Rayden far more than she should have. And he… well, he couldn't give her what she wanted."
Anne remained silent, but the ache in her chest was growing.
"One night," Eleanor continued coldly, "Blair found out about our plans to marry Rayden off to someone more… fitting."
"You mean Kayla," Anne said quietly.
Eleanor didn't flinch. "Yes. She's perfect for him. Blair couldn't accept that. She thought love should be enough to change things."
Anne didn't say it, but she understood that pain too well.
"She snapped," Eleanor went on. "Stabbed Rayden in a moment of madness. Then ended her own life before he could stop her. He was covered in her blood when he called Brian."
Anne's breath caught. She couldn't imagine it—Rayden, usually so composed, so cold—caught in that kind of nightmare.
"She bled out on the carpet." Eleanor's voice hardened. "Now tell me, Anne… do you really think you'll survive what Blair didn't?"
Anne met her eyes. "I'm not Blair."
"No," Eleanor said. "You're weaker. No connections. No fortune. No safety net."
Anne's voice was soft but firm. "Maybe that's why I don't expect love from him. But I know he love me."
For a moment, Eleanor studied her in silence.
Then she turned to leave.
But before stepping into the elevator, she left one final warning behind:
"Pray he never falls for you for real. Because if he does… you'll either destroy him—or he'll destroy you."
And just like that, she was gone.