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Chapter 37
publish date:
2026-08-07 17:34:00Lydia’s POV
The sapphire glow from the triple-monitor array washed over the polished glass of the desk, turning the scattered paper ledgers a stark, pale blue.Inside the Citadel’s primary tech suite, the only sound was the rhythmic, muted clacking of Kian’s mechanical keyboard. Rows of green forensic data cascaded down his screens in an unyielding waterfall. A half-empty mug of black coffee sat frozen beside his mouse pad, the surface skin completely still.Across the r
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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
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 37
Lydia’s POVThe sapphire glow from the triple-monitor array washed over the polished glass of the desk, turning the scattered paper ledgers a stark, pale blue.Inside the Citadel’s primary tech suite, the only sound was the rhythmic, muted clacking of Kian’s mechanical keyboard. Rows of green forensic data cascaded down his screens in an unyielding waterfall. A half-empty mug of black coffee sat frozen beside his mouse pad, the surface skin completely still.Across the room, Cassian traced the edge of the Persian rug, his massive combat boots leaving faint, heavy impressions in the thick wool. His tuxedo jacket hung over the back of a nearby leather chair; his white dress shirt was already unbuttoned at the throat, the sleeves rolled tightly over the dense, corded muscle of his forearms. Every third pace, he paused, his jaw working a sliver of a toothpick between his teeth as he glared through the reinforced glass toward the dark perimeter wall."It’s
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 36
Lydia’s POVThe heavy scent of jasmine oil and dry silk filled the dressing room, thick enough to coat the throat. The floor-to-ceiling mirror reflected the sharp, clean lines of the mahogany vanity, but my eyes were locked on the pool of deep red fabric draped over the velvet chaise lounge. The crimson silk caught the low amber light of the chandeliers, gleaming like fresh arterial blood against the dark cushions. Zane stood by the velvet curtains, his massive shoulders stretching the seams of a tailored black tuxedo jacket. His bow tie hung loose around his unbuttoned collar, his large hands resting flat against the pockets of his trousers as he watched me step out from behind the changing screen. The dress was a weapon. The heavy silk clung tightly to the curve of my hips, the structured bodice molding against my ribs before dropping into a backless plunge that exposed every inch of skin from the nape of my neck to the small of my
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 35
Lydia’s POVThe heavy scent of heated beeswax drifted through the stillness of the study, sharp and dark. On the mahogany desk, a single white candle burned with a low, steady flame, its heat liquefying the solid stick of black paraffin held directly above it. A thick, dark droplet fell, hitting the crisp cream surface of a heavy cardstock envelope with a soft, heavy thud. I lowered the wax stick, picking up the heavy brass signet ring that had belonged to the Miller estate for three generations. I pressed the cold metal seal firmly into the center of the steaming black pool. The wax oozed out from beneath the edges, forming a stark, jagged border around the raised, gold-embossed lettering of the card underneath: THE ANNUAL SAPPHIRE CHARITY GALA. "She’s already booked the ballroom at the Grand Regency for the same night," Kian said from the leather armchair across the room. He didn't look up from his tablet, but his thumb made a sharp
His fake wife, their real obsession Chapter 34
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
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