When Lucian kissed her, it wasn't gentle.
It was slow, intense—like he had been holding back for too long and finally let himself lose control.
Caliste's breath caught in her throat as his hand cupped her cheek, his lips moving against hers with a hunger she hadn't expected. Her hands found his chest, fingers tightening against the fabric of his shirt as if she didn't trust her own knees to hold her up.
For a moment, she forgot why they were doing any of this.
The marriage. The heir clause. The rules.
In that moment, it felt… real.
Too real.
She pulled away first.
Panting. Eyes wide. Lips trembling.
"W-What are we doing?" she whispered.
Lucian didn't move. His eyes, darker than usual, locked with hers. "You tell me."
She stepped back, trying to clear her head. "This wasn't part of the deal."
"You kissed me back."
"You kissed me first!"
He ran a hand through his hair, stepping away. "You're right. That was a mistake."
Her heart twisted. That word—mistake—it stung more than she wanted to admit.
"Good," she said quietly, even if it didn't feel good at all. "Let's not do that again."
"Agreed."
They stood in silence for a few seconds, both avoiding eye contact.
Then she turned and walked away.
---
The next morning, the kitchen was colder than usual. Or maybe it was just the awkwardness between them.
Lucian sat at the counter, scrolling through emails on his tablet, sipping black coffee.
Caliste entered in her usual silk robe, hair tied up, Monty trailing after her. She made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed a yogurt, and pretended he didn't exist.
Lucian didn't say anything either.
It was their new game: ignore and pretend.
But it didn't last long.
"About last night," he said suddenly.
She froze mid-bite. "What about it?"
"I think we should… lay down more rules."
She rolled her eyes. "More rules? What are we, roommates in a contract negotiation?"
"You said no falling in love."
"I meant it."
"Then maybe we should also say no kissing. No touching. No…"
"No…?" she asked, tilting her head.
He cleared his throat. "No sleeping together unless we're actually… trying."
She gave a dry laugh. "You make it sound so romantic."
"I'm being serious."
She turned to him then, arms crossed. "Do you really think we can fake everything and keep emotions out of it?"
"We have to."
"Then maybe you shouldn't kiss your wife like you mean it."
He looked at her for a long time.
But he didn't argue.
---
Two weeks passed.
The media caught wind that Caliste Winslow had moved in with her elusive husband. Paparazzi followed them. Articles exploded. "Power Couple Rekindles Romance," they said.
What a joke.
They held hands at charity events. Posed for photos. Smiled like newlyweds.
Behind closed doors, they barely spoke.
Most nights, Lucian worked late in his office. Caliste stayed in the guest room with Monty. The bed they were supposed to share remained untouched.
Until one night, when everything shifted again.
---
It was raining hard.
The kind of storm that made everything feel heavier.
Lucian stood by the tall window in the living room, staring out into the wet city lights, scotch in hand. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his tie hanging loose around his neck.
He looked tired. More than usual.
Caliste padded in barefoot, wearing a hoodie and shorts, hair damp from a shower.
She hesitated when she saw him.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
He didn't turn around. "Just thinking."
"About work?"
He took a sip. "About everything."
She joined him at the window, standing just a few feet away. The silence between them wasn't awkward this time. It was quiet. Comforting.
Then he said, "Did you ever wonder why our families are so obsessed with legacy?"
She glanced at him. "All the time."
"They treat us like pawns."
"We let them."
He looked at her now. "Did you ever want a kid? Outside of all this?"
The question surprised her.
She thought about it.
"Yeah," she said finally. "But not like this. Not as a contract."
He nodded. "Same."
Another pause.
Then she whispered, "Lucian… do you regret marrying me?"
His jaw tightened. "I regret the way it happened."
"Me too."
They looked at each other again.
And for the first time, there was no fire in their eyes. No sarcasm. No walls.
Just… them.
Raw. Honest.
Without thinking, Caliste reached for his hand.
He didn't pull away.
"I don't know how we're going to do this," she whispered.
"We figure it out," he said softly.
She stepped closer. His fingers curled around hers.
And suddenly, being near him didn't feel like an obligation.
It felt safe.