By morning, things are tense between us, heavy like smoke from a fire.
He sits across the table in a crisp white shirt, sipping his espresso as if nothing happened last night. But I notice it in the tightness in his jaw and the thick silence hanging in the air.
My toast sits untouched, and the tea tastes like water.
"If this is how the next six months will be," I say quietly, "I'd rather be done with it now."
Kairo doesn't look up. He just flips through the financial section of the newspaper and talks like he's giving orders.
"We've got a business dinner tonight. Dress in red. The investors like bold women."
Just like that. No reply to my jab. No acknowledgment of the knot in my chest.
"Anything else I need to remember before I go on stage?" I ask flatly.
He finally meets my gaze, and it's intense.
"You know the script, Zara. Just stick to it."
With that, he gets up and walks away. Always leaving before I can fire back, always deciding what gets addressed and what doesn't.
I wear red.
Not because he told me to, but to remind him of what he's trying to ignore.
The dress is velvet, hugging my curves just right. Off-shoulder, with a high slit to create a distraction.
As I step out of the bedroom, Kairo waits by the front door, dressed in a sharp suit, his watch catching the light.
He glances over me.
He doesn't say a word, but I catch the brief clench of his jaw and the way his fingers tense at his side.
Good. Let him feel something.
The dinner takes place at one of those high-end rooftop spots meant for the wealthy and bored. Glass ceilings, skyline views, and too much awkward silence.
Kairo plays his role perfectly. The stoic CEO. The driven visionary. The man who doesn't need anyone, not even me.
And I'm just the arm candy.
I flash smiles, laugh, and charm every investor at the table like it's second nature.
Kairo's plan for Asia is brilliant, right?
We believe in playing the long game. Kairo doesn't follow trends; he starts them.
Kairo this, Kairo that. I mention his name like it's the best perfume.
He looks at me with something I can't quite place. It's not pride, it's not a joke, it's... possessive. Almost primal.
When one of the French investors leans in to kiss my hand, I can feel Kairo's arm shift behind me, his hand resting firmly on my waist.
Claiming me without saying a word.
Dessert comes, and someone cracks a joke about newlyweds and long nights. I laugh, my eyes sparkling. Kairo, though? He stays serious.
His hand moves to my thigh under the table.
I freeze.
Everyone else keeps talking, but my breath catches.
His fingers flex once. A silent message only I hear.
Mine.
By the time we get home, the act is wearing thin.
I toss my clutch on the sofa and rub my aching feet.
"So?" I ask. "Did I do a good job?"
He shrugs off his blazer. "You were... charming."
I roll my eyes. "That sounds suspicious."
"Almost too charming."
There it is again, that sharp edge, that flicker of something he won't say.
Before I can press him, the elevator dings. A hotel staff member steps out, holding a huge bouquet of white lilies and one red rose.
He smiles. "For Mrs.Thorne."
I blink. "Me?"
Kairo gets there first.
He grabs the card from the bouquet like it offends him.
He reads it silently, then reads it again. His expression darkens.
I reach for it, but he holds it out, locking eyes with me like he expects a lie.
The card says:
You still look at the world like it hasn't broken you. I miss that.
– N
I barely breathe. My throat feels dry.
Noah.
Kairo's tone drops. "You've been talking to him."
"No—" I shake my head. "I didn't respond. He just showed up. Once."
Kairo stays quiet. He walks to the trash can, opens it, and throws the flowers away like they're trash.
The petals land with a soft thud.
"That's how easily I get rid of things that don't belong."
I swallow hard. "It's not what you think. He doesn't matter."
"Doesn't he?" His voice is too calm.
I step closer. "I didn't ask for the flowers. I didn't want him to show up."
"But you didn't tell me either."
His eyes are cold now, void of the tension from earlier. No hand on my thigh, no possessive energy. Just ice.
I hate that he makes me feel guilty for things outside my control. I want to explain myself even when I shouldn't have to.
"Do you think I'm cheating on you?" I ask, crossing my arms.
"No. But I think you're lying to yourself."
I flinch.
Kairo walks past me into the study, stopping in the doorway.
"You played your part well tonight. Just remember who you're married to when the show's done."
Then he's gone.
The apartment feels colder without him.
I stand in the kitchen, staring at the trash can, watching as the red rose starts to droop.
And for the first time, I wonder...
What if I don't want to keep playing a part?