Checkmate

Alessandro’s POV

The silence was deafening.

Sarah stood there, arms folded, eyebrows raised. Her expression unreadable, like a storm waiting to decide whether to rain or not.

I could not breathe. I expected shouting. Accusations. A slap maybe.

But she just tilted her head and smiled slightly. “You two are bonding. That is nice.”

What?

My throat went dry. “I… uh… yeah, just… just talking.”

My voice cracked, betraying every ounce of my panic.

“Good. I was worried you two will not like each other,” she said coolly, then gave Micah a brief nod and walked away, her heels tapping against the marble like punctuation marks.

My jaw dropped. Did she not hear what I said? Did she not see us practically chest to chest? Or… did she see everything and decide to pretend?

That was worse. That was so much worse.

Micah, of course, was not fazed. He stood there looking smug, like he had just won a game I did not know we were playing.

He even had the audacity to smooth his shirt like it was just another Tuesday.

“What the hell was that?” I hissed, barely keeping my voice down.

“Maybe she did not hear,” he shrugged, like this was no big deal, “or maybe she did. Who knows?” He leaned closer, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You will never really know with Sarah.”

Great. More mysteries. More mind games. And apparently, I had just walked right into one. Unarmed. And blindfolded.

“Are you seriously enjoying this?” I asked, half whisper, half growl.

He cocked his head. “I do not enjoy watching you squirm, Alessandro. I enjoy watching you be real. That moment, before she walked in… you were finally honest. I liked that.”

I hated how my chest warmed at his words.

Before I could say anything else, footsteps interrupted us again.

“Alessandro! There you are,” boomed Mr. Duvall, he and his damn wrong timing. He approached with the presence of a hurricane, followed closely by Sarah, who now had a polite smile pasted on like wallpaper.

“Sir,” I greeted, swallowing whatever remained of my dignity.

“Tonight, there will be a private dinner for both families. To celebrate your engagement, of course.” He clapped me on the shoulder like we were old drinking buddies. “And your birthday too. Did not think we would forget, did you?”

My stomach flipped. A private dinner. With Micah. And Sarah. In the same room.

“Of course not,” I forced a smile. “That is… thoughtful sir.”

“Seven sharp. Suit up.” He walked off with Sarah trailing him, casting a glance over her shoulder. Not a sweet one. Not a dangerous one either. Just… unreadable.

I turned to Micah, who was sipping something from a crystal glass. Probably poison.

“Well,” I muttered, “this day keeps getting better.”

He smirked. “You will survive.”

“You have no idea how close I am to a meltdown.”

“I have seen worse. Last night, for example.”

I gave him a death glare.

Micah chuckled and took another sip.

But it was not funny anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked suddenly, the words escaping before I could stop them. “Pushing me. Cornering me. Confusing me.”

His eyes darkened, Just a little. “Because I want to know if what I felt was real. Or if it was just one night for you.”

“Of course it was real,” I whispered, before I could stop myself. “But it can’t mean anything. You are her brother. I am getting married to her.

“To someone who does not love you,” he said quietly. “And you do not love her either.”

“That is not the point!”

“Then what is?”

I clenched my fists. “The point is, this marriage… keeps everything from falling apart. My father. The business. The entire Romano legacy. You think I want it? You think I enjoy pretending every day? But I do not have the luxury to walk away.”

"You are right,” Micah said, stepping closer. “You do not have that luxury. But you still have a choice. You just have not figured that out yet.”

His closeness made it hard to breathe.

“You think you know everything,” I said, biting down the lump in my throat.

“I know fear,” he replied. “And I know love when I see it.”

A breeze blew between us, but it did nothing to cool the heat crawling up my neck.

“Don’t,” I warned.

Micah leaned closer, his voice low. “I am not going to kiss you, Alessandro Romano.

I hated how disappointed I felt.

“I am just reminding you,” he continued, “that even pawns get promoted when they move forward.”

With that, he walked away.

Leaving me there, standing in the middle of the garden, heart beating like a drum solo, fists trembling, head screaming.

Later that night, I stood in front of the mirror, tugging on my tie like it was strangling me. I looked polished. Presentable. Completely fake.

The knock on the door jolted me.

“Dinner in five,” a butler said.

“Thanks,” I replied without emotion.

Dinner. With everyone. I could do this.

Maybe.

The dining hall was enormous; glass chandeliers, white roses, golden cutlery. And at the head of the table sat Mr. Duvall and my father, chatting like they had been friends for decades. My mother sat beside him, smiling nervously.

Sarah took the seat next to me, her perfume like lavender and secrets. Micah sat across from us, calm, collected, watching me.

I tried to eat. The food was good. I barely tasted any of it.

Small talk buzzed around the table, but my focus was gone. All I could think about was Micah. His words. His stare. The possibility that Sarah had heard everything. That tonight, this room was a powder keg, and I was holding the match.

My phone buzzed quietly in my lap. A message.

From an unknown number.

I froze.

The message read:

"You are a beautiful liar, Alessandro. But even the best masks crack.”

Attached was a blurry image.

Me. In the hotel room. Shirtless. With Micah.