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Chapter 30
publish date:
2026-07-31 17:43:00Lydia'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
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His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 42
Lydia’s PoV The heavy steel security door of the private exit slammed shut, the heavy brass bolt shooting home with a thick, definitive thud that cut off the distant roar of the ballroom like a knife slicing through canvas.The VIP green room behind the main stage was huge, bathed in a low, suffocating red glow from two velvet-shaded floor lamps. Deep crimson velvet lined the walls, absorbing every sound except the heavy, ragged cadence of four people breathing in the dim light.My back hit the polished mahogany of the closed doors. The cold wood bit into the bare skin of my spine, sending a violent shiver straight down through my hips. The adrenaline from the courtroom drop, the gala stage, and Clara’s collapsing body hadn't dissipated it had curdled in my blood, turning into a hot, thick, primal hunger that made my pulse hammer behind my ears.Before I could draw a full breath, Cassian filled my vision.His massive frame blocked out the res
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 43
Lydia’s POV The brass lock on the mahogany door rattled once from the outside, a muffled jiggle of a master key against the tumbler, but the heavy deadbolt held fast under the weight of our bodies. Outside in the corridor, a muffled voice called out, lost to the thick, soundproofed velvet lining the walls. Inside, the green room remained an inferno of copper, sweat, and heavy, suffocating heat. "Ignore the door," Kian commanded. His voice wasn't the smooth, analytical tone he used in the boardroom; it was low, raspy, and stripped of all corporate restraint. My back was pressed flat against the mahogany panels. The cool wood offered zero relief against the fever burning through my skin. I couldn't move. Cassian held both of my wrists gathered in one of his massive, calloused hands, pinning them high above my head against the doorframe. His knuckles dug into the wood, locking my arms in place while his chest h
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 41
Lydia’s POVThe high-pitched, rhythmic wail of an approaching siren pierced through the heavy double doors of the Regency, growing louder until the flashing red and blue strobe lights painted the ballroom’s high arched windows in a chaotic, bloody rhythm. Paramedics in dark blue uniforms swarmed the center floor, their heavy black boots thudding against the polished parquet. The crowd parted like a severed wave, wealthy socialites in tuxedos and silk gowns pressing themselves back against the linen-draped tables to avoid the rolling stretcher. Clara Miller lay motionless on the canvas gurney, her head tilted awkwardly back, the three strands of South Sea pearls crushed beneath her chin. An oxygen mask was strapped tightly over her mouth, fogging with every thin, shallow breath she managed to draw. Flashbulbs from the lingering press line exploded in a relentless, blinding tempest, illuminating the dark, sagging lines
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 40
Lydia’s POVThe silence in the ballroom became absolute, suffocating, and total. Every single head in the room slowly turned away from the stage, away from the screens, and snapped directly back toward the head table. I set my champagne glass down on the white linen, took my time picking up my linen napkin to gently dab the corner of my lips, and then slowly stood up. The crimson silk of my gown caught the blue glow of the screens, making me look like a figure carved out of fire and ice. I looked across the small expanse at Clara Miller, whose hands were now trembling so violently she dropped the microphone onto the floor with a loud, hollow thud. "You spoke of virtue and the law, Clara," I said, my voice carrying into every quiet corner of the frozen ballroom, smooth, deadly, and entirely unyielding. "So tell us... how much did virtue cost you in the Cayman Islands this week?" The sudden, unnatural silence in the grand
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 39
Lydia’s POV The heavy bulletproof door of the obsidian Maybach swung open into a wall of blinding white light. Flashbulbs popped in violent, overlapping strobes, illuminating the dark slick of asphalt outside the Grand Regency Hotel. The roar of the crowd beyond the velvet ropes was deafening a chaotic surge of shouting reporters, camera shutters clicking like thousands of cicadas, and the low, rumbling hum of high-society spectators straining for a view. Cassian stepped out first. His massive frame immediately absorbed the brunt of the media frenzy. Draped in his custom black tuxedo, he didn't blink against the blinding glare. He extended one heavy, calloused hand back into the leather-scented interior of the car, his palm resting steady as an iron beam. I placed my fingers in his grip, stepping out onto the plush crimson carpet. The silk of my backless gown whispered against my legs, the
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 38
Lydia’s POVThe metallic clatter of the morning delivery slot echoed through the marble foyer, a sharp, lonely sound that cut through the silence of the Citadel. A moment later, Zane entered the kitchen, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the polished concrete floor. He didn't say a word. He placed the fresh, thick bundle of the morning edition Chronicle flat onto the island counter, his thumb pressing down on the front page so hard the newsprint crinkled and tore beneath his knuckle. "Don't look at the screen, Lydia," Zane growled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated through the quiet room. "Look at this." I paused, the porcelain teacup hovering an inch from my lips. I set it down into the saucer with a soft, distinct clink. I stepped up to the counter, my silk robe whispering against my ankles, and looked down. The front-page photograph was massive, spanning the entire upper half of the fold. The image
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