Adrian seized Emily's wrist on instinct. "Don't touch anything." His voice was steel, but she felt the tremor in his grip. Footsteps pounded down the hall, voices rising, urgent…
"SURPRISE!"
The couple couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on, becoming more confused when the 'corpse' sat up.
Eleanor Liam blinked, her clouded gaze sharpening into mischief as she plucked the plastic "knife" from her ribs. "Oh, do relax, darlings," she drawled, tossing the prop aside. "It's tradition here — the newlyweds always get a midnight scare. Consider it… initiation." Behind her, the youngest Liam son and his giggling fiancée emerged from the closet, holding a camcorder. "You should've seen your faces!" the fiancée crowed.
Adrian's jaw twitched while Emily's relief was almost palpable. But the room erupted with applause as staff wheeled in champagne, the "murder" was revealed as an elaborate prank. Eleanor smirked, pristine again, and pressed the merger contract into Adrian's hands. "Now we'll talk terms. You've earned it." Eleanor was set for this act from the very beginning, that's why she was present at a retreat meant just for couples. The Liam and Sinclair families would make billions from this deal. With the added media buzz; 'Two business giants close another momentous deal as heirs finally meet with their significant others'. At this point the real reason for coming to the retreat was met, but there was more to be done.
The crowd dispersed, buzzing with laughter. Adrian closed the door, his composure returning. "I wasn't expecting that."
Emily leaned against the headboard, fingers tracing the fake bloodstain. "Well, the great Adrian Sinclair can still be caught lacking afterall."
He stared at her as he crossed the room, caging her against the wood. "You're enjoying this."
"Aren't you?" Her pulse fluttered. "We survived their game. Practically closed the deal. And…"
"Soon," he murmured, "they'll expect us to be…." His thumb brushed her collarbone, smearing a fleck of stage blood. "Closer."
She swallowed. "What do you have in mind?"
"You'll find out."
The days blurred into a fever dream of kayaking, bonfires, and strategic flirtation. Adrian's hand never left Emily's waist. His laughter, low and warm, became her constant soundtrack. While her gaze was locked on him and no one else. At a masquerade paddle boat race, he tugged her onto his lap, steering with one hand while the other slipped under her sundress to trace her thigh. "The Blackwoods are watching," "Look enchanted."
She did. So convincingly that when his lips grazed her ear, her shudder wasn't entirely pretense.
That night, during a Truth-or-Dare under the stars, the Liam heir, Carl, dared Adrian to kiss his wife "like the tabloids claim you do." The firelight caught Emily's panic — this wasn't part of their play, but Adrian cupped her face, his gaze holding hers, and slowly closed the distance. His lips were softer than she'd imagined. Hesitant. Then his tongue swept her lower lip, and the world tilted. Someone whooped. Emily forgot to pretend to melt; she simply did.
They broke apart, breathless. Adrian's thumb lingered on her supple lips. "Satisfied?" he asked the crowd, voice rough. Carl couldn't help but have a heart to heart with Adrian about married life and how he keeps Emily so mesmerised all the time, noticing how she looks at Adrian. To which Adrian's only reply was "Just be yourself, do what you can for her, make her feel loved and she'll do the same. Marriage is much like business." Little did Carl know he meant that literally…. Adrian thought he did too.
By the retreat's final night, the line between performance and desire frayed. Adrian didn't want to admit it, but he was falling too. At the closing gala, Emily wore Adrian's blazer over her sequined slip dress, his scent clinging as they slow-danced. "The Blackwoods want us to invest in their Maldives resort," he murmured, palm scorching through the silk at her back.
"Say yes," she said, dizzy from his closeness. "The more the merrier."
His nose skimmed her temple. "Ready?"
The simple question made her flutter, everything she ever fantasized had come to be. Then the music crescendoed, and he dipped her low, his mouth a hair's breadth from hers. For a heartbeat, she thought — hoped — he'd close the gap. Instead, he pulled her upright, eyes… not dark, but curious. "Let's go."
Maybe they had gulped one too many martinis, but something about the proximity in that moment felt real. Moving with hurried strides to their suite. Adrian slammed her against the door. "Stop. Thinking."
She froze. His chest heaved against hers. Then he was kissing her, no pretense, no audience, just heat and hunger and years of suppressed want. Her back hit the wall as his hands found her zipper, the dress pooling at her feet. "Adrian," she gasped, clutching his hair. "We can't—"
"We can." He nipped her jaw, steering her toward the bed. "Unless you want me to stop."
She didn't. She couldn't. Giving in to all her desires.
They became one, inseparable as they made love, all passion and raw craving. Clothes felt like armour, stripped off till nothing was left.
Tangled in sweat-damp sheets, Emily traced the scar on his shoulder, a relic from his reckless racing days. Adrian watched her, silent. Dawn bled through the curtains when he finally spoke. "Hey, wife."
Her hand stilled. "Hello, husband."
He caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm. "This changes everything."
She didn't utter a word, just locking onto his piercing blue gaze, searching for a hint of reluctance in his eyes. She still failed to read them, so she let it be. Knowing how much he truly loved her — if at all — could wait. She slept like a newborn babe, their last night at the retreat, she felt wistful. By morning sunlight woke Emily. The bed was empty. She reached for Adrian's pillow….and froze.
There, propped against the headboard, sat a single red rose. Its stem coiled around a flash card. Perfectly placed with intent.
It read;