Chapter Four

“Asher?!”

He’s in my bathtub relaxed and shirtless. His damp hair messy, skin glistening from the heat. He’s looking right at me like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Hey,” he says casually, raising an eyebrow. “You took longer than I expected.”

My mouth opens but no sound comes out. “What_how_what are you doing in my room?! In my bathtub?!”

He smirks. “I'm just resting”.

Resting an arm on the edge, he says. “Relax, Lila. It’s just water. Your water, technically.”

I blink. “This is not funny!”

He only chuckles, finding it funny.

I cross my arms, trying to sound firm even though my heart is racing like crazy. “You need to leave.”

Asher just leans back further into the tub, clearly amused. “Why? This is my father's house. I’m just… exploring.”

I blink at him, stunned. “Exploring? Seriously? You call breaking into a maid’s bathroom exploring?”

He laughs softly, the sound low and annoyingly charming. “Don’t be so dramatic, Lila. You act like I barged into your diary.”

I stare at him, baffled. He’s ridiculous and infuriating. And way too calm for someone naked in a stranger’s bathtub.

“What do you want from me, Asher?” I finally ask, my voice flat.

He smiles like I just asked what time it is. “Nothing serious. Just to flirt.”

I scoff. “Well, I don’t play those games.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing in mock curiosity. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” I glare at him, trying to ignore how annoyingly attractive he looks even when he’s being impossible. “So you can take your flirting somewhere else.”

He grins, slowly rising from the water, still half submerged, droplets running down his skin like a damn movie scene.

“You’re fun when you’re mad,” he says.

He rises from the bathtub only wearing a pair of boxers then grabs a towel like he owns the place. I turn around before I end up throwing something at him. Or worse… blushing.

Then I feel him behind me, too close.

He leans in, his breath brushing against my ear. “You say you don’t play games, Lila… but your eyes say otherwise.”

I freeze. My throat tightens, fists clenched at my sides. I’m not sure if I want to scream or melt into the floor.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes from the pile of clothes he dropped earlier. He sighs, steps away, and checks the screen.

“Photoshoot’s ready. The photographers are waiting in the sitting room ,” Elise informs through the phone.

“Elise,” he mutters, then gives me one last mischievous look. “ Photoshoot time.”

He tosses the towel over his shoulder and walks out of my room like nothing happened, leaving me speechless and more confused than ever.

***

The morning came with a dull ache in my chest. I hadn’t slept well, my mind still replaying the awkward encounter with Asher in my bathroom. I could still hear the smirk in his voice when he said he was “just exploring.” 

I didn’t have time to dwell on it. My task for the day was to clean the guest lounge and unfortunately, the one right next to Asher’s room. The house was quiet as I made my way there with a bucket and cleaning cloth in hand.

I had just begun dusting the ornate shelves when the door creaked open.

“Asher doesn’t usually let anyone clean around here,” came his voice.

I froze, almost sighing. What does he want from me?

Not turning around, I say. “I was assigned.”

I heard the door click shut. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, and before long, he was standing at the edge of the room, arms crossed, watching me with that same frustrating, expressionless look.

“I need to ask you something,” he said after a pause. “And don’t scream or faint, okay?”

I frowned, turning to him. “What?”

“Marry me”, he asks as if he's requesting a cup of water. “I need a wife. Temporarily.”

My heart skipped. “Excuse me?”

“A contract marriage,” he said calmly, like it was some normal chore. “It’ll help shut my father up, save my image, and get him off my back. Three months, maybe six. Nothing real.”

I stared at him, stunned. What's he saying?

“Why me?” I asked quietly.

He smirked, but there was something serious in his eyes. “Because you’re invisible enough for it not to get messy and interesting enough to pull it off.”

I clenched the rag in my hands, unsure whether to scream or throw it on his face.

“You’re out of your mind,” I muttered.

But I knew this wasn’t a joke and that terrified me more than anything.

“I'm being serious here”, he says 

I shook my head firmly , dropping the cloth into the bucket. No. I'm not doing this.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Why not?”

“Because it’s insane, Asher. Marriage isn’t a game. Not to me.” I turned, heading toward the door. “Find someone else to play pretend with.”

But just as my fingers touched the doorknob, his voice stopped me cold.

“What about your dreams, Lila?”

I froze.

“You wanted to be a writer, right?” he continued, stepping closer. “You wanted to be seen. A popular writer I guess.”

I turned slowly, heart racing. How did he know?

“I could give you that. The world would know your name. Lila,the girl who stole the prince's heart. Imagine the headlines. Imagine the platform.”

My lips parted, but couldn't speak.

He studied my expression. “You wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. You could write anything. Publish anything. I can make sure of it.”

I looked at him, his gaze intense but not mocking. He meant it.

Still, I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to trade my life for a lie.”

His voice lowered. “Then how about your dreams?.”

I stood there, breathing hard, but Asher didn’t move. He didn’t leave.

Instead, he stepped closer, voice quieter this time. “It’s just three months, Lila. That’s all.”

I stared at him, already mad. “Three months of pretending to be your wife?”

“Yes,” he said, unwavering. “No strings. No actual marriage. Just… an arrangement.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Why do you even think of asking me about this?.”

“My father,” he says simply. “ He wants me married. That’s all that matters to him right now. Involving Elise will make things worse.”

I get more annoyed. “So I’m just a solution to your family problem?.”

“You’d be helping yourself too,” he adds. “Three months. Then you walk away with your name known, money in your account, and connections any writer would kill for.”

I want to yell at him, throw the cloth at his face but my fingers curl tighter around it instead. My sister, Annie. She's still in a coma, lying helplessly like a vegetable.

Three months.

That’s short. Temporary.

But at what cost?

I frown. “Fine, just three months”.