All Chapters of I was his stand-in wife until he wanted me for real: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Ethan was standing by the black Mercedes-Benz, but the moment Maya stepped out of the house, he stopped breathing. His mouth refused to close as she walked toward the car. The black gown didn't just fit; it hugged every curve of her body like it was painted on. The deep V-cut of the dress exposed her plump, firm breasts, which looked fuller than he remembered. All he could think about, the only thing screaming in his head was weighing them in his palms, feeling the heavy, soft pressure of her against his skin. With every step she took, the gown's high slit flared open, exposing her thighs. Her skin glistened under the lights, and Ethan found himself nearly drooling. He was losing his mind. As she stepped closer, the seductive scent of vanilla and that raw, feminine heat hit him, driving him to the point of insanity. Maya stopped in front of him, and she was just as intoxicated. The dark, heavy scent of his oud was everywhere, pulling at her. He looked lethal in the tuxedo, the fit

The Mercedes was silent, but the air inside was heavy. Ethan’s hands were clamped onto the wheel at ten and two, his knuckles looking like they were about to burst through the skin. He wasn't looking at the mirrors. He was driving, the speedometer climbing in the dark as they left the gala behind. Maya sat in the passenger seat, staring at the blurred lights of the city. She felt the cold, tacky reality of the dress against her skin. A $20,000 piece of silk turned into a rag because he couldn’t wait to get her home. Her heart was still hammering, but the adrenaline was turning into a sharp edge. "Is she the one who tells you when to stop, Ethan?" Ethan didn’t move. His jaw was hard. "Not now, Maya." "Then when? When the contract is over? Or when she decides she’s tired of watching me walk through your front door?" Maya shifted, the sound of her skin dragging against the leather loud in the quiet car. "I saw your face. The second Camille touched me, you turned into a statue. Yo

Ethan didn’t stay in the kitchen. After the cryptic exchange with Camille, he had vanished into his study. The heavy oak door clicked shut with a finality that felt like a slap. He didn’t ask for Maya. He didn’t even look toward the stairs. He just retreated into his work, leaving the two women alone in the silence of the estate. Maya stood at the top of the landing, her hand gripping the railing. She had heard his voice, sharp, cold, and full of that familiar edge. He was back to being the Titan, the man who handled people like objects. She started to head down, but Camille was already there, meeting her halfway on the stairs. Camille looked concerned, her brow furrowed in a way that seemed genuinely pained. “He’s in one of his moods,” Camille whispered, reaching out to squeeze Maya’s hand. Her touch was soft. “I tried to tell him we were just bonding, but he’s so paranoid. He thinks every conversation in this house is a conspiracy against him.” “What did you tell him?” Maya

The library was the only room in the Blake estate that didn’t feel like a museum. It smelled of old paper, expensive tobacco, and the ghost of Ethan’s presence. It was his fortress, the one place the staff knew never to enter without a direct summons. Tonight, the fortress had been breached. A single lamp burned low on the side table, casting long, amber shadows over the leather-bound books. Maya sat on the plush velvet rug, a half-empty bottle of red wine between her and Camille. The formality of the day had stripped away, replaced by the heavy, hushed intimacy of two people sharing secrets in the dark. "He used to hide in here when his father was drinking," Camille whispered, swirling the dark liquid in her glass. She was leaning against the bottom shelf, looking smaller than Maya had ever seen her. "Old man Blake didn't believe in books. He thought Ethan was weak for wanting to read." Maya leaned back against the sofa, the wine buzzing in her veins. "Ethan? Weak? I can’t even i

The interior of the car was a vacuum. Maya sat pressed against the passenger door, her shoulder aching from the tension of holding herself away from the center of the seat. She kept her eyes fixed on the window, watching the passing streetlights. Across the wide leather bench, Ethan was a dark, rigid shape. He hadn't moved a muscle since they pulled out of his grandmother’s driveway. He didn't look at her. He didn't even breathe loud enough to be heard over the hum of the tires on the asphalt. "It didn't go the way I thought it would," Maya said. Her voice was thin. It sounded like it belonged to someone else. Ethan didn't turn his head. His jaw remained locked tight, the muscles corded under his skin. "You thought you were holding a gun, Maya. You didn't realize it was a flare. All you did was show my mother exactly where to aim." "I was defending myself," Maya snapped. She felt the heat rising in her chest, a mix of shame and the leftovers of the adrenaline from the brunch. "Sila