Complex Feelings.

KANE'S POV

The strategy needed to be surgical now. Zane had made his move a sloppy, emotional, and public one. And that was exactly why it was going to cost him.

I sat at the edge of the dining table, tablet in front of me, sorting through media reports, engagement stats, and surveillance captures from the gala. Aria was on the couch, in her robe, legs folded under her like she hadn’t just been dragged through national humiliation 10 minutes ago. She was stronger than I gave her credit for.

Still, we couldn’t rely on resilience alone. I had to control the narrative now.

"We’re going to deepen the Callahan aesthetic..." I said, eyes still on the tablet.

"You'd need to look more permanent."

She glanced at me over her coffee, her expression skeptical. "Define 'deepen.' Are you dressing me like a widow?"

I didn’t respond to the sarcasm. I got up, walked to the closet, and returned with the first dress, a black, netting and elegant one.

She blinked. "That one says I lured my fourth husband to his death in the wine cellar"

"It’s elegant."

"It’s creepy" she said plainly.

I went back and pulled another.

She made a face. "Why does this one make me look like I’m running PTA meetings in Beverly Hills?"

Another.

"Too revealing."

Another.

"Too short damnit!"

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my forehead "You’re exhausting."

"And you’re fashion-blind."

Eventually, I held up the wine-colored one...it was structured, clean and had an understated power.

She paused, actually considering it. "Okay, this one doesn’t scream homicide or PTA...so progress."

I handed it to her. "It’ll work."

She took it, eyeing me over the rim of her mug.

A beat passed.

"So..." she said "how does this snapshot thing work?"

I pulled up the café layout on the tablet. "Café Thorne, a patio seating. You’ll sit to the right, I’ll face the street. The paparazzi already know, the lighting will catch your profile at the best angle. We act like we’re a happy couple."

She let out a breathy laugh. "That sounds a lot like a date."

"It’s not..." I said, voice like steel. "It’s positioning."

"Sure.."

I finally looked up from the screen and met her gaze. "Do you want revenge or not?"

She blinked, then nodded.

"Then dress like you belong in my world. Speak like you own half of it. And don’t flinch, no matter what headline comes next."

We retreated to our separate rooms.

I stood in front of the mirror, slowly buttoning my shirt like muscle memory was all I had left. The fabric felt stiff against my skin, the collar too high, like it always is before a performance. My fingers paused at the third button and I looked at myself.

This is what it’s come to.

Forming an alliance with Aria Whitmore—Zane’s ex-wife. The woman he cheated on. The woman I kissed on the forehead less than twenty-four hours ago. Not because I meant to, not because it was romantic, but because it felt necessary, like offering protection. She looked like she needed it, and I gave it. And I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I did.

I scoffed and looked away from the mirror.

This wasn’t supposed to be personal.

I adjusted the cuffs, reached for my watch, strapped it on. It was a silver one, minimalist and timeless. Just like the role I had to play. Steady and unshaken Kane Callahan—the cold, strategic half-brother who doesn’t flinch when the world burns. Especially not when Zane's holding the match.

I descended the stairs, my shoes silent against the floor, stopping at the center of the living room. And I waited.

Time seemed to pinch at my skin as I waited.

How long does it take to zip up a dress and paint on a face?

My jaw ticked. I checked the time again even though I hadn’t forgotten it. I was still waiting. Maybe she fell asleep in the makeup chair, or maybe she’s stalling on purpose to see if I’d lose composure. Wouldn’t be the first test she threw at me.

Then I heard it—heels clicking against the wood.

I looked up.

And there she was.

Descending like she was born for this kind of attention. Dress hugging her hips, that deep burgundy shade clinging to her like it owed her something. Hair tucked back, clean lines, elegance wrapped in steel. She looked expensive.

And yet all I could think was how much of her I’d seen stripped bare already...not physically, not like Zane—but her rage, her grief. Even though I hadn't exactly seen it all,but the little has told me everything.

I didn’t know how to separate that image from this one, maybe I wasn’t supposed to and maybe that was the point.

She got to the final step, her smile already in place.

Fake and perfect. Just like mine.

"The dress suits you.." I said, my voice leveled.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Thank you."

••

ARIA'S POV

I stared at the dress Kane picked for me like it had personally offended me. The burgundy silk clung to my body too well, the neckline was far too commanding, and the slit on the side screamed "hey look at me." I’d protested, of course. He didn’t even blink just handed it over and walked out.

In my suite, I applied my makeup with shaking hands. My brows arched just right, the red on my lips bold enough to silence questions. I didn't want to be soft today, no, I wanted to be steel. But somewhere under all that armor, my pulse throbbed in my throat. Maybe from the humiliation Zane had caused, maybe from the fact that Kane had stood next to me, for me, maybe because my world was unraveling, and I couldn’t tell where the performance ended and reality began.

I exhaled deeply, sprayed perfume behind my ears, and walked out like I was ready.

He was already downstairs, stoic as always, eyes flickering up at me with an expression I couldn’t read. He said the dress suited me.

My lips curved automatically mouthing a "Thank you."

Now here we were. In the limo, silence stretching like elastic between us. Reporters were already shouting questions before we even stepped out. Flashing lights blinded my peripheral vision. They were vultures with lenses.

But Kane didn’t even flinch.

His arm came around my waist, firm, like it was second nature to hold me like that. My heart skipped. It wasn’t the gesture...it was how… natural it felt. His hand was warm, steady and reassuring. I hated how I leaned into it and hated more that it helped.

We stepped out of the car and the world exploded.

Click. Click. Click.

Questions thrown like darts.

"Aria, are you back with Zane’s brother now?"

"Mr Kane, is this just damage control?"

"Is this all a game to one-up Zane Callahan?"

Kane didn’t respond, neither did I. He pulled me a little closer as we walked toward the cafe like we were made for each other, like all of this was real.

We sat at our reserved table, cameras still flashing through the glass windows, little coffee was poured and small plates placed. It was all for show.

But then something happened.

I moved a little closer to whisper something into Kane’s ear—just something playful, sarcastic, stupid. But our faces were already too close and time slowed. His breath fanned my lips, warm and steady. His eyes locked on mine, and for one second… one fragile, terrifying second I forgot this was all fake.

I felt something pull at my chest. Like a string tugging hard and deep inside me. I wasn’t supposed to feel this. Not towards him,not towards anyone.

And then—

He pulled away.

Like nothing happened.

His back straightened and his expression went blank.

Like I didn’t exist.

I blinked, bead sweats trickled down my back, I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and forced my mouth into a smile. My heart, however, didn’t get the memo, it throbbed against my ribs like it wanted to scream or break out.

I looked away, stared out the window at the mob of cameras, and told myself none of it mattered.

It was just for the cameras...just the performance. Just the contract.

Right?