Chapter 2

                                                    {Mirabel}

You see, life does not play a fair game because life itself has never been fair.

I learned that early in my life, and I'd used it to my advantage.

So, whenever someone plays nice, you don't just easily assume that they're naturally nice or don't want something in return.

Of course, I don't know what this man wants in return for helping me, but whatever it is, I can't give him. 

Because we're not exactly playing a fair game here.

With subtle awkwardness, one hand sneaked beneath the edge of my top as discreetly as I could manage, fishing out the crumpled bills one by one.

I straightened them out without counting them, then shoved it inside my back pocket.

I know. The polite thing to do would be to at least buy him a drink to thank him, and the sensible thing would be to just thank him and walk away

But I am Mirabel, politeness has only gotten me so far in life. And being sensible in this situation was not going to work in my favor.

Because when I lifted my gaze, I found his eyes on me again.

This time, something flickered in them: a hint of amusement, and a subtle hint of something I couldn't discern.

"I..." I cleared my throat, trying to maintain eye contact with him. "For helping me out."

His eyebrows twitched, and his eyes flicked down to my chest, staying there for a second before they travelled back to my face.

"I couldn't possibly stand by while he harassed you, can I? After all, I am your husband."

"I mean...yeah. Thank you for playing along with that too. I guess."

"Was I?" He cocked one of his brows.

"Were you what?"

"Playing along?"

I wanted to scream of course. But there's something about this man that is highly disturbing. Something that made the word lodged in my throat.

Perhaps, it was the way his deep blue eyes seemed to be searing into my soul. Or it was the effortless way his long fingers curled around his liquor glass as he swirled it around as if his evening hadn't been abruptly disrupted by...me.

I shifted on my seat, trying to hide my twitching fingers, and stop the blush that was already threatening to climb my neck like an angry volcano.

I realized now. This man was not here to drown his sorrow in bottles of expensive liquor. Nor was he a heartbroken man who wanted to forget about an ex. Because this man was too composed...a man who did not want to be bothered...and as uncharacteristically as it was for me, he was a little too hot too.

My eyes trailed down his arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his tight fitted black shirt, rolled up just to the forearm, showcasing tight cord of veins.

His buttoned down shirt was loose just at the top where a tiny ink peeked up beneath the collar.

I wanted to see how much of his skin was inked...tainted, but I doubt that this man was just going to whip off his shirt and show me. So, I moved away, my eyes darting up his neck, his protruding Adam apple and to his sharp jawline framed by dark stubble.

I bit back a mewl when my gaze collided with his full lips, pink, well-shaped and set tightly in a straight line I wonder if they ever once stretched in a smile.

Of course, the devil doesn't smile. At least, not without a reason.

This was all just a shade of wrong, and I could picture the twelve-year-old Mirabel telling me to get the fuck of here. Away from this mystery man wrapped in beautiful temptation.

I shifted on my seat again. It was suddenly hot in here as if the air conditioner was blowing hot.

I should probably go...run away from this blue eyes demon.

"H..." Abruptly, I stood from the stool with as much grace as I could muster. This was already going haywire. "I should probably go."

My fake husband cocked his brows, "why?" His gaze flicked behind me, probably to the stool I'd pulled out before he narrowed his gaze at me. "You pulled out a stool. Aren't you planning on drinking?"

Am I? Why did I even pull out the stool? Well...I was planning on seeing if there's anything I could wring out of this man. I mean, while I did make some conceivable amount on the dance floor, I couldn't really say no to another money.

But this man, unlike any other of my victims, was too hard a person to discern. And his entire demeanor just rubbed me the wrong way.

He had a way of making my stomach lurch. Not in pleasure, but in nervousness; something I'd not felt in maybe seven years.

"I am not." I managed to say. "I mean, I probably shouldn't."

"Shouldn't?"

I felt a warmth on my face, and I'm certain that a slight flush had tinted my cheeks.

"Yes." I mumbled. "I have a nursing baby."

See. I told you. The words simply barrel out of my mouth the moment they take form in my mind: without so much as a second thought.

And now, I am a nursing mother.

"Ah...mm!" My fake husband hummed, blinking up at me as if he'd just realized that his fake wife was apparently a nursing mother.

Well...

Even I was beginning to wonder how I kept getting myself into these situations.

Deeper.

The lie was endless. It was like a vicious cycle. 

But this was hurting no one in any particular way.  Harmless and totally innocent.

I felt his eyes leave my face, and his gaze travelled up and down my body before they settled on my chest... Especially my boobs, encased in this tiny bra top.

"A nursing baby..." He mumbled, his gaze still fixed on my chest. Then his lips turned up in a smirk; the first emotional reaction I'd seen from him all night. "You must be a good mother then."

Was that a jab? Or was he being sarcastic?

I shifted on my feet, looking anywhere but at him. I mean, there's no way he'd know I don't exactly have a nursing baby. No. Nursing mothers don't have a distinctive feature, do they? Though I probably should backpedal. This was getting really out of hand. But I can't take back a lie. No. I don't take back a lie.

So, I dived back in, flitting my gaze away from the golden wristwatch that lay beautifully on the table beside his wine, my eyes found his again, and I let my lips spread into a wide smile.

"Course I am." I replied. "And I probably should buy you a drink for saving me earlier, but it's almost time for the nanny to sign out for the day. But..."

I leaned in, and immediately, my nose was assaulted by his delicious scent, mixed with expensive cologne, warm skin, and a faint woody undertone that made absolutely no sense.

Except that it smelled fucking delicious, and heady, I almost sniff him like a dog.

But I am no dog, or a dog on a mission maybe. So, with much restraint, I composed myself, flicking a finger on his shirt to dust away an imaginary speck of dust.

"I hope you know I appreciate it, and you'd forgive my manner."

With that, I straightened up, flashing the devil one big smile. But before I could turn around, a hand landed on my exposed waist skin. Not too tight, just barely there. But his touch was so cold I almost jumped out of my body.

"Would you at least tell me your name?"

Oh. The devil wants to mark his prey. But I am no prey. I might not be big, but I've hunted prey bigger than I am.

So, with another smile, I mumbled, "Sophia." And without another glance, I walked away from the devil.

Clasped tightly in my palm, was the beautiful golden wristwatch that was laying dormant on the table.

I told you, I might not be big, but I know how to hunt.

"Wifey."

My steps halted. 

A sudden thump in my chest on hearing the familiar voice of the devil.

With bated breath, I whipped my head around just in time to catch a small tilt of his lips.

"Don't be a stranger."