“Catherine? Are you awake?” I stood in the doorway, hand still resting on the frame. It was late, almost midnight, but after the dinner, I couldn’t go to sleep. Not without checking on her.
“Yeah. Come in.”
I stepped into the room. It was dark, quiet. She looked like a painting in low light shoulders hunched under a blanket, shadows caught in the lines of her face.
“It’s so dark in here,” I said instinctively, trying to ease the tension I felt rising in my throat. She didn’t answer. Just turned on the lamp by the bed. Even then, I saw it—her face still flushed from crying, eyes slightly red-rimmed. She looked at me with a calmness I didn’t believe.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, sitting beside the bed.
“A little better.”
“You were crying, huh?” She froze, and I knew I’d hit the truth. I reached over to the nightstand, picking up the ring, the one I had picked out this morning in a rush. I studied it under the light. Beautiful. Elegant. Empty.
“Can you tell me why?” Her silence told me everything.
“I don’t think I want this arranged marriage,” she said finally. Her voice was soft but sure. “You and I… we won’t be happy. Don’t you think?” It caught me off guard. Not because I disagreed, but because hearing it from her made it real.
“But it was your idea in the first place,” I said, more defensive than I meant to sound.
“I thought everything would be okay.” The silence stretched between us like a bridge we both refused to cross.
“So you don’t want to try this?” I asked. Her eyes met mine, and something flickered there, doubt, hesitation… maybe even regret. And then something else: wanting. Not for me. But for something we were both losing, control, clarity, maybe even hope.
“We can back off,” I said quietly. “It’s not too late. The invitations aren’t out yet.”
“I know. I’m still thinking about it,” she replied, voice tight. “I do believe in love. And I think this marriage might stop us from reaching the things we’re both chasing.” She reached up and touched my cheek. It was such a small gesture. But it undid me. I wrapped my fingers around hers, holding her hand there, letting the silence speak for us. I leaned in until our foreheads touched, breathing in sync.
“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered.
My breath hitched. I nodded, brushing her lips gently with mine.
And then… the dam broke.
The kiss deepened. Her fingers tore at my tie. Mine found her waist. Fabric hit the floor. Her hoodie slipped off, revealing skin I’d never imagined this way—not when she was my assistant, not even in the heat of frustration.
Now? It was real. Honest. Unspoken. And dangerous. I turned off the light. I needed the darkness. We both did. Because in the dark, we didn’t have to be fiancés or strangers or business heirs. We didn’t have to question love or fate or fake weddings. We were just us—two broken people trying to hold on to something that felt good. Even if it wasn’t forever.
Her lips found my neck, nibbling and sucking, leaving trails of heat as she worked her way down. My hands roamed her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, pulling her closer. Her moans vibrated against my earlobe, punctuated by her sharp breaths. Her back arched under me, breasts pressed to my chest as I entered her, slowly at first, our bodies becoming one.
She begged me not to stop, and I couldn’t bear the thought of doing so. She was velvet and wildfire. And I needed to burn.
I asked her again, twice, if she wanted to stop.
“No,” she whispered. So we didn't.
We went back to it again and again. No words. Just hands and mouths exploring each other's bodies; our tongues intertwined, dancing with fervor like two flames entangled in the night sky; sweat-drenched sheets tangled around our legs as we moved together in a desperate rhythm neither of us could explain.
She gasped my name between pants, nails digging into my shoulders while I thrust harder and deeper inside her, feeling every inch of me surrounded by her warmth. I cursed into her skin as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me, my teeth grazing the soft flesh of her breast as I tried to steady myself against the tidal wave building within.
As our passion finally crested and crashed down upon us both, our bodies trembled together; every nerve alight and glistening with sweat in the dim glow of the moonlight piercing through the curtains, we had but one thought—a desperate need for each other that transcended all else.
She whispered, “Oh God, Jacob,” and I felt it like an echo deep in my chest.
I’d had flings. Affairs. Nights that meant nothing. But this? This wasn’t that. I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t empty. Even in the dark, I couldn’t stop looking for her—her breath, her touch, her sound.
I didn’t care if it was love or lust or insanity. I just didn’t want to let go.
When we finally slowed, she lay against me, bare and warm, tracing circles on my chest. I held her tighter than I should’ve. And said the one thing I probably shouldn’t.
“I don’t think I can let you go after this.” She didn’t respond. She just laid her head on my chest and fell asleep. And I lay there awake for a long, long time… knowing that nothing would be the same when the sun came up.
Not our wedding. Not our deal. Not us.