The Aftermath

Clara’s POV~

The car door shut behind us with a soft thud that sounded way too final.

Silence filled the space, thick enough to choke on.

I stared out the tinted window as the Thorne estate disappeared behind us, its lights fading into the night. My pulse still hadn’t slowed since those words left his mouth.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to marry her sooner.”

They replayed in my head again and again like a broken record. Each time, my stomach flipped harder.

I turned to him finally. “You didn’t have to say that.”

Elias leaned back in the seat, jacket unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead. “It worked.”

“That’s not the point,” I said. “Your mother looked ready to start planning a wedding. Your father nearly fainted. I almost fainted!”

His lips twitched. “You handled yourself well.”

“Oh, wonderful. Glad to know I survived your family’s interrogation with my dignity slightly intact.”

“You did more than survive,” he said quietly. “You impressed them.”

I blinked. “Really?”

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “My mother smiled twice. That’s practically a standing ovation.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer effective.”

The driver turned onto the highway, city lights stretching in the distance. I folded my hands together to keep them from trembling. “They actually believe us?”

“They do now,” he said simply.

I let out a shaky breath. “So what happens next? You propose for real? We send out invitations?”

He finally looked at me, and the humor faded from his face. “Don’t joke about that.”

I swallowed. “Right. Sorry.”

The car hummed around us. For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind exhaustion—and something else I didn’t want to name.

“You were nervous tonight,” he said suddenly.

“Of course I was nervous,” I muttered. “Your father looked like he could buy the government.”

He almost smiled again, but his eyes softened. “You still managed to be honest. They liked that.”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t acting. I just said what I thought.”

“That’s what I mean.”

Our eyes met, and something unspoken passed between us—quiet, strange, dangerous. I looked away first.

We arrived at the hotel around midnight. He held the door open for me, his hand brushing the small of my back. The contact was brief but electric. I hated that it made me shiver.

Inside the suite, I dropped my clutch on the sofa and kicked off my heels with a sigh. “Remind me to never eat a seven-course dinner again.”

“You did fine,” he said, removing his jacket. “You didn’t spill wine, insult anyone, or faint. That’s progress.”

“Barely.”

I sank into the couch, tugging at the pins in my hair. My reflection in the window looked nothing like the girl who had walked into his office begging for a job.

“Clara,” he said quietly.

I looked up.

He was standing by the minibar, pouring two glasses of wine. “You said something tonight,” he continued, “about how I make people listen when I speak.”

I froze. “You remember that?”

“I don’t forget things that sound true.”

He crossed the room, handed me a glass, then sat across from me. The air between us felt different—warmer, heavier. I couldn’t meet his eyes for long.

“I meant it,” I said softly. “You have this… presence. It’s hard not to notice.”

He studied me, his expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t say things like that if you want to keep this arrangement simple.”

“Maybe I don’t know how to be simple.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he murmured.

We drank in silence for a while, the city glowing beyond the window. My heart wouldn’t calm down. Every inch of me was aware of him—the rolled-up sleeves, the quiet confidence, the steadiness that both scared and pulled me in.

“Elias,” I said, setting my glass down. “Why me?”

He looked genuinely taken aback. “What?”

“You could’ve picked anyone. Why choose me to play this role?”

He hesitated, then said slowly, “Because you’re the only one who wouldn’t try to make it real.”

I laughed softly. “That’s ironic.”

His eyes held mine, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It is.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It pulsed with something else—something fragile, dangerous.

He stood up, took a step closer. Then another.

He stopped inches away, his presence swallowing the air around me.

“Do you really think this is a lie?” he asked quietly.

I swallowed hard. “Isn’t it?”

He didn’t move at first. Just studied me like he was trying to memorize something—my face, my breath, maybe even my heartbeat. His eyes softened for a second, but the tension between us only grew tighter, pulling invisible strings I didn’t know existed.

“Maybe it started that way,” he murmured.

My chest rose and fell too fast. “And now?”

He exhaled slowly, gaze dropping to my lips before returning to my eyes. That single look sent a shiver through me, one I couldn’t hide.

“I don’t know what it is now,” he said, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it.

My lips parted to say something—anything—but the words tangled in my throat. His hand lifted almost hesitantly at first, brushing the side of my jaw with his fingers. The touch was light, barely there, but it set off sparks that raced down my spine.

I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve reminded him—and myself—that this was business. But I couldn’t.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his knuckles grazing my cheek.

“Clara,” he whispered, my name breaking apart in his voice.

The way he said it made my chest ache.

Then he leaned in—slowly, like he was giving me time to stop him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

My breath caught as his forehead brushed mine, our noses barely touching. His scent—clean, dark, familiar—filled every space between us.

And then, finally, his lips touched mine.

Soft. Careful. Almost questioning.

The first kiss wasn’t about hunger—it was about feeling. About crossing a line neither of us had the courage to admit existed.

But when I didn’t pull away, something shifted. His hand slid to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss, and all the restraint shattered.

The kiss grew desperate—like he’d been holding it in for too long. His thumb brushed against my jaw as his lips moved over mine again, and I melted into him before I could think.

The world outside disappeared. There was no lie, no deal, no contract—just his warmth, his breath, the quiet, broken sound that escaped his throat when I finally kissed him back.

When we finally pulled apart, my lips tingled, and my chest ached with something I couldn’t name.

Elias’s eyes were darker now, his breathing uneven. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said softly, almost to himself.

I tried to breathe. “Then why did you do it?”

He hesitated—just for a moment—then said, “Because I couldn’t stop myself.”

Silence filled the room, thick and dangerous.

I stepped back first, clutching my hands together to hide the way they trembled. “You should… you should get some rest,” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Clara.”

As I turned away, my heart still racing, I heard him murmur—low, almost regre

tful—

“This lie is getting too real.”

And deep down, I already knew he was right.