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Chapter 27
publish date:
2026-07-28 17:31:00Lydia's POV
The heavy mahogany door clicked shut with a dull, final thud, instantly slicing through the high-pitched, hysterical shrieks of Vanessa Elsworth as she was hauled down the private corridor in steel cuffs. For several seconds, her muffled, desperate curses continued to vibrate through the solid wood, a pathetic, dying echo of a woman who had spent three years building an empire of stolen wealth only to watch it collapse into the dirt in a single, deva
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Lydia’s POVThe glow from the triple-monitor setup at the corner of the room cast a cool, sapphire light over the glass desk. On screen, endless columns of forensic financial data scrolled down in a steady, unyielding green waterfall. Kian’s fingers moved across the mechanical keyboard with a rhythmic, muted clacking, his face drawn in a hard line of absolute concentration. A half-empty cup of black coffee sat beside his mouse, the surface skin completely still. Across the room, Cassian paced the length of the Persian rug, his massive boots making no sound against the thick wool. His jacket was gone, his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows to reveal the dense, corded muscle of his forearms. Every few paces, he stopped to glare out the darkened window toward the perimeter wall, his jaw working a piece of wood-shaved toothpick between his teeth. "It’s not an estate preservation fund," Kian said, his voice cutting through the
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 33
Lydia’s POVThe tires of two black sedans crunched heavily over the wet gravel outside the perimeter wall, the sound cutting through the quiet morning air of the Citadel. Inside the main courtyard, the wind caught the high leaves of the oak trees, sending a shower of cold droplets onto the hood of Zane’s truck. I stood near the floor-to-ceiling glass doors of the main pavilion, a warm mug of tea pressed between my palms, watching the dark vehicles approach the iron gates. They didn't have the markings of delivery vans, nor the sleek, low profiles of the cars Kian or Cassian favored. They were plain, unwashed, and official. From the sunlit playroom down the hall, the sharp, plastic click of building blocks echoed against the marble. Leo was humming a nonsensical tune, his small voice completely light and unburdened as he tried to construct a garage for his toy fire truck. The security monitors on the wal
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 32
Lydia’s POVThe rain had turned the limestone facade of the Diamond Hearth Club into a dark, weeping fortress. I stepped out of the back of the town car, the cold wind immediately catching the hem of my camel-hair coat and whipping it against my calves. I didn’t wait for the driver to hold the umbrella. I took it from his hand, my fingers gripping the curved silver handle so hard the metal bit into my palm. Ahead of me, the double iron-gated doors of the city's most exclusive private club stood closed. To anyone else, they were a symbol of generational wealth, a barrier designed to keep the unwashed masses of the city at bay. To me, today, they were a lifeline. Arthur Pendleton was inside. He was the only board member of Miller Logistics who hadn't immediately turned off his phone when Clara's press conference aired. He owed my father a debt, and more importantly, his bank held the liquidity I needed to bypass the frozen domesti
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 31
The platinum-trimmed fountain pen felt heavy between my fingers, a cold anchor against the suffocating tension vibrating through the glass-walled boardroom. At the far end of the long mahogany table, Harrison, the Chief Financial Officer, cleared his throat. It was a dry, scraping sound that instantly drew twenty pairs of anxious eyes away from me and toward his end of the room. He didn’t look up from his screen. His fingers rapped a frantic, irregular rhythm against his tablet. "We need the final authorization token for the maritime insurance wire, Lydia," Harrison said, his voice tightly wound, bare of the usual deferential warmth he offered the CEO’s chair. "The Rotterdam freighter won't clear dock without the clearance code attached to the corporate black account. The port authority gave us a hard deadline of noon." "I am aware of the clock, Harrison." My voice cut through the low murmur of the room, steady and cool, though the back of my neck burned beneath the collar of
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 30
Lydia's POV The cold red glow of the tactical alert on Kian’s wrist began to fade, but the chill it left behind in the room remained, thick and absolute.I sat on the edge of the velvet bar, my bare skin suddenly goose-pimpled, the warm, wet afterglow of our passion evaporating into the freezing air of the suite. Cassian was already moving, his heavy combat boots hitting the floor as he snatched his gray trousers and threw them on, his face hardened into a mask of pure, lethal concentration. Kian stood by the marble table, his chest bare, his knuckles white as he gripped the edges of the tactical tablet."Cast it to the main screen," Zane commanded. His voice was a low, guttural vibration that carried the weight of a military order. He was already buttoning his dark shirt, his eyes never leaving the tablet.Kian’s thumb swiped across the glass.In the corner of the VIP suite, the massive, eighty-inch flat screen mounted to the dark-
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 29
Lydia's POV The echo of Kian’s tablet chiming in the corner was entirely drowned out by the thunderous pulse of my own heartbeat. We didn't look at the screen. The air in the VIP suite was too thick, too heavily saturated with the scent of cedarwood, leather, and the raw, intoxicating heat of our bodies. The victory over Julian and Vanessa had unlocked something feral in us, a dark, demanding hunger that couldn't be satisfied by a single climax. The adrenaline was a drug, running hot and violent through my veins, and I wanted more. I wanted to be consumed. Cassian didn't give me a chance to breathe. His large, tattooed hands clamped around my waist, his grip so firm and possessive it left burning imprints on my bare skin. With one effortless, powerful lift, he hoisted me off the plush velvet sofa. My breath hitched as the world tilted, my heels dragging against the dark cushions before he set me down
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