"Let me get this straight," Aurora said, arms crossed, standing in the center of Dominic's penthouse. "Your brilliant plan to handle my PR nightmare is… cohabitation?"
Dominic leaned casually against the edge of the sleek granite island in his open kitchen, his tie undone, the top buttons of his shirt loose. "Temporary cohabitation," he corrected. "The media needs to see a unified front. If your ex leaks that story, and we're living together during the supposed 'timeline,' it'll destroy his credibility."
Aurora gave a slow, sardonic laugh. "So your solution to a scandal is to give them something juicier?"
He smirked. "Exactly. If the press believes we're already entangled, no one will care about an old affair. Especially not one with a broke, bitter ex-boyfriend who reeks of desperation."
She turned away from him, pacing. Her heels clicked sharply on the marble floor. The city skyline glittered through the wall of glass behind her.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I'm not moving in with you."
"Already had your bags sent from the hotel," Dominic said, nonchalant. "You're sleeping in the guest suite."
She whipped around. "You sent for my things?"
"I anticipated your pride would fight me, but your logic would cave."
"Dominic—"
"You can leave tomorrow if you want," he added smoothly. "But just for tonight… stay. Let them see us together."
Her glare could've frozen lava. "You're enjoying this."
"I'm enjoying being in control of the narrative," he said. "But no, I'm not thrilled about turning my quiet home into a war zone."
She sighed. "One night."
He gave a slow nod. "One night."
---
Aurora hated how comfortable the place was.
Minimalist design. Masculine. Sleek. Yet the touches were personal—his books, his scotch, the faint scent of cedar and something darker that lingered in the air.
She sat on the oversized sectional, curled up with a glass of wine, trying to make sense of the insanity.
Dominic had disappeared into his office.
For a man who claimed to flirt his way through boardrooms, he was eerily cold at home. No hovering. No smug smirks. No fake intimacy.
Just… silence.
Until she found the photo.
Tucked inside a first edition on his bookshelf—barely visible unless you were nosy.
Which, of course, she was.
It was a photo of Dominic as a teenager. Barely fifteen, maybe sixteen. Arm wrapped protectively around a girl younger than him—same dark hair, same ice-blue eyes.
She looked sick.
Aurora's chest ached.
"Her name was Isla," Dominic's voice said behind her.
She jumped, turning to find him leaning against the wall, watching her.
"Your sister?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "She died when she was twelve."
"I'm… I'm sorry."
"Cancer," he said, matter-of-fact. "Doctors gave her six months. She made it eight."
Aurora set the book down gently. "I didn't know you had a sister."
"No one does," he replied. "I don't talk about her."
"Then why tell me?"
He came closer, his voice low. "Because you looked at that picture and didn't see a weakness to exploit. You saw her."
Silence stretched between them.
For once, she didn't have a sassy comeback.
"You're not who I thought you were," she admitted. "Not completely."
"And you're not just a pretty face with a poison tongue," he replied. "Even if that's the image you like to sell."
She smirked. "You like the poison."
"I like the fire," he murmured.
Her breath hitched.
She stood, brushing past him, their arms grazing.
"You really planning on sleeping out here?" she asked, voice lighter now.
"Guest suite is yours. I'm not a caveman."
"Could've fooled me," she teased, but the heat in her eyes lingered a moment longer before she disappeared down the hall.
---
The next morning brought chaos.
The headline: Power Couple or Business Bluff? Dominic Raine and Aurora Valentine Spotted Leaving Gala Together, Sources Say They're Living Together Now.
Aurora stood at the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, phone buzzing nonstop.
Dominic barely blinked as he flipped an omelet in the pan.
"You cook?" she asked, one brow raised.
He slid the food onto a plate with precision. "I like control in all things. Including breakfast."
She gave a dry laugh, then glanced at her phone. "The article's already gone viral."
"Good," he said. "Let the world see us as a unit. By tomorrow, your ex's story will look like cheap fiction."
Aurora stared at him for a moment. "You know this doesn't solve everything."
"I know," he said, setting a plate in front of her. "But it buys us time."
She looked down at the perfect omelet. "You really are full of surprises, Raine."
He leaned on the counter, watching her with that unreadable gaze. "You have no idea."
---
Later that afternoon, they faced their first real test.
A surprise visit from the board of Raine Global.
Twelve executives. All skeptical. All old-school. And all deeply invested in maintaining the company's spotless reputation.
Aurora stood beside Dominic in the living room, smiling like a damn queen, her posture perfect, her charm turned up to eleven.
"Mr. Raine," one director began. "Forgive the intrusion. We simply wanted… clarity."
"Clarity?" Aurora asked sweetly.
"About this arrangement," another said. "Are you… together?"
Dominic didn't even flinch.
"Yes."
Aurora blinked.
"We've chosen to keep it private until the merger was stable," he continued, voice cool but firm. "But yes, we're involved. Personally. And seriously."
The room murmured.
Aurora's jaw tightened.
He turned slightly toward her, as if expecting her to echo the lie.
And to her own surprise… she did.
"With all due respect," she said, smiling like a devil in Prada, "I'm not in the habit of discussing my personal life in boardrooms. But since you asked—yes. I care about Dominic deeply. And nothing about our relationship compromises our professionalism."
The air shifted.
Respect. Approval. Even a little awe.
The board left ten minutes later, seemingly appeased.
But the moment the door closed, Aurora turned to him.
"You said 'seriously.' What the hell was that?"
He didn't miss a beat. "It worked."
"You're enjoying this too much."
He stepped closer. "You didn't deny it."
"Because I had to back you up."
"Still," he said, voice lower now, "you didn't have to."
She rolled her eyes, but heat bloomed under her skin.
One kiss, she thought.
That's all it would take to cross the line.
And they were standing on it—teetering, trembling.
Neither ready to fall.
Yet.