Chapter 6: Scandal and Kiss

“Mr. Austen! Is it true your marriage is just a publicity stunt?”

The room erupted the second Duke and I stepped into the blinding storm of cameras and microphones. Flashes went off like lightning. Every reporter shouted over the other, a frenzy of questions stabbing through the air.

“Who’s the woman behind the leaks, Duke?”

“Mrs. Austen, did you know about Alexandra Harper?”

“Was this marriage even legal?”

My throat tightened. I wanted to disappear. I wasn’t ready for this—not the eyes, not the whispers, not the questions that cut straight into my insecurities.

“Keep your head up,” Duke muttered beside me, his hand pressing lightly on my back. His tone was calm, and commanding. “You’re my wife. Remember that.”

“I—I know,” I whispered, even though I didn’t.

We reached the podium, and the noise only grew louder. Duke raised one hand, and the room fell into an eerie hush—just like that. His presence alone could silence everything.

“Thank you for being here,” he began, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “There have been rumors regarding my marriage and my personal life. Let me clarify this once, and for all.”

He looked at me, his gray eyes met mine for a seconds, and then back at the crowd.

“My wife and I,” he said, emphasizing wife, “were married privately, for reasons of privacy and security. It was not for business, publicity, or convenience. It was for personal choice. And that’s all the public needs to know.”

A wave of murmurs filled the room.

“But Mr. Austen,” one reporter called, “Miss Harper claimed you were still engaged when you married her. That your so-called wife was just a cover. Are you denying you had any involvement with Alexandra Harper during your engagement?”

Duke’s jaw tightened. “Miss Harper and I ended our engagement months ago. Whatever she’s saying now is false, and driven by personal motives. I will not tolerate defamation.”

Then another question came—directed at Celine.

“Mrs. Austen, how do you respond to claims that your relationship is fake? That you were paid to pose as his wife?”

Her stomach dropped. The cameras zoomed in. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I—uh…”

Every word tangled on Celine's tongue. “That’s not—”

Duke suddenly leaned closer to the mic. “She doesn’t need to answer that.” His tone was sharp, cutting. “You’re all crossing a line.”

“Then prove it, Mr. Austen,” someone challenged. “Prove this marriage isn’t fake.”

For the first time, Duke’s stoic mask cracked into a smirk. Dangerous. Calculated. “You want proof?”

Before I could even breathe, his hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer. I felt the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne, clean, crisp, and intoxicating.

“Duke—” I whispered, panicked.

But he didn’t stop.

He tilted my chin up, his eyes locking with mine. “Then watch closely,” he murmured.

And before she could protest, his lips crashed onto her.

The room exploded. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but all she could feel was him.

His mouth was firm, deliberate—not rushed, not soft. It was a statement. A declaration. Celine's knees nearly gave out as the world spun around us.

When he finally pulled back, the silence in the room was deafening.

He looked down at her, voice low but audible to every mic in the room. “Does that answer your question?”

The crowd erupted again, chaotic, breathless, and stunned.

“Mr. Austen! Was that real?!”

“Mrs. Austen, did you know he was going to—”

“Is this part of the PR strategy?”

Duke raised a hand once more, his expression stone. “That’s all for today. Any further statements will come through my legal team.”

Security immediately moved in, guiding them through the wall of flashing lights. Her pulse was still racing, her lips tingling.

When they reached the back exit, she finally spoke, her voice trembling. “You… you didn’t have to do that. Y-You fucking stole my first kiss!"

He turned to me, eyes dark and surprised. “Didn’t I?”

I blinked. “You just, kissed me. In front of the entire press. That’s not something you can take back.”

“That was the point,” he said coolly, removing his tie and sliding into the car. “They wanted proof. I gave it to them.”

He followed, still reeling. “You could’ve said something. Warned me—”

“It wouldn’t have looked real if I warned you,” he interrupted. “And I don’t do fake.”

She laughed bitterly. “Funny, since that’s what they’re accusing you of.”

His gaze snapped to me. “As if you doesn't like it."

She folded my arms, trying to hide how shaky she felt. “So… what now? We just pretend nothing happened?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared out the tinted window as the city lights blurred by. His reflection looked almost haunted.

“That kiss,” she said quietly, “wasn’t just for them, was it?”

He turned to me, eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you implying?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Maybe I imagined it, but it felt… different.”

He leaned closer, his voice low, and dangerous. “You think I kissed you because I wanted to?”

My heart skipped. “Didn’t you?” she said, trying to sound like she's just joking. The air between us thickened.

Then, he leaned back. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I?” I asked softly. “Because it didn’t feel like acting or maybe you're just really a good kisser because of...how many woman you have. Maybe there's still other than Ms. Harper."

Duke’s hand flexed against his knee. “It was necessary. End of discussion.”

I bit my lip. “You can’t expect me to just erase what I felt up there.”

He finally looked at me then, really looked. “And what did you feel, Mrs. Austen?”

Heat rushed to my face. “I don’t know… confused. Shocked and...alive."

He smirked faintly. “Alive, huh?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “You made it sound like everything between us had to be business, yet the way you kissed me—”

“Stop,” he said, voice dropping. “Don’t make the mistake of romanticizing what happened. I don’t do love, and I don’t pretend to.”

“Then why defend me?” I snapped. “Why protect me in front of everyone if you feel nothing?”

His gaze hardened. “Because you’re under my name. And no one—no one—gets to humiliate what’s mine. I'll repeat this again, Celine Rose Larsen, it's all just a business."

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver through her. She didn’t know whether to feel anger or something more dangerous.

She exhaled shakily. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told,” he muttered.

Silence stretched, the tension thick enough to cut. She stared at the window, trying to make sense of the mess inside her chest.

Finally, she spoke again. “Do you regret it?”

He glanced over. “Regret what?”

“T-The kiss.”

His lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile. “Ask me that again next time.”

“Next time?” I repeated.

His gaze locked with mine. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Next time, I won’t kiss you just for show.”

My breath hitched. He turned away, giving no explanation, no smile, no hint of what he truly meant.

The car rolled into silence, leaving her clutching her trembling hands in her lap—her mind spinning with his last words.

Next time, I won’t kiss you just for show.

What did he mean by that?

Was it a threat, or a promise? A promise that can break his other rules?