________________________________________________________
"Some dreams remind you of what you've lost. Some touches remind you it's still worth hoping for. But between them lies the silence you never dared to break."
________________________________________________________
The scream never left her lips.
It died somewhere in her throat, choked by fear. But her body convulsed like a string had snapped in her chest. Her fingers clutched the bedsheet so tightly, her knuckles ached. Her breathing was uneven. Shallow. Each breath was like drowning.
The dream was too real.
She remembered the feel of chill sand between her bare toes.
The sound of waves crashing in the distance.
Her father's voice calling out her name.
Then
A gunshot.
Then
Nothing.
Her eyes flew open.
Darkness.
Only the muted orange glow of a wall sconce broke the quiet of the room. Her skin was damp with sweat, the silk camisole clinging to her back. Her heart pounded in her ears like a siren that refused to be silenced.
Beside her, something shifted.
A weight. A breath.
A presence.
Rayyan.
He'd rolled toward her, eyes already open. Watchful.
"Keira," he said low, gravelly with sleep but edged with concern.
She didn't respond.
Her body was too busy trembling. Her eyes too wet. She hated that.
She hated that she couldn't get herself under control.
Then suddenly, a hand his hand reached across the space between them. He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped.
She flinched. Not from fear.
But because no one had touched her like that in a long time.
Like she mattered.
Like she wasn't a transaction.
"It was a dream," he murmured. "You're safe."
Her lips trembled. "I saw him. My father. He—he died in front of me."
He didn't question it.
Didn't dismiss it.
He just moved closer, slow and deliberate, until the space between them barely existed. His body warm, his presence anchoring.
He just moved closer, slow and deliberate, until the space between them barely existed at all. His body warm, his presence stabilizing.
Keira looked up at him through tear-glassed lashes.
And something inside of her shattered.
She moved forward jerky, needy and wrapped her arms around his chest, burrowing her face into his collarbone.
It wasn't graceful.
It wasn't romantic.
It was raw.
But he didn't hesitate.
One arm circled her back. The other cradled the back of her head, fingers weaving into her hair with heartbreaking care.
His lips were close to her temple.
His heartbeat steady against her cheek.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I've got you. I'm here."
She didn't sob.
She just. exhaled. Like she'd been holding her breath for months.
The silk of his sleep shirt was smooth under her palms. She could smell his cologne subtle sandalwood, fresh linen, and something that always reminded her of midnight conversations that almost mattered.
His voice again, softly this time.
"Sleep, Keira."
"I don't want to close my eyes," she said shakily. "Not if he dies again."
He drew her closer. Just a little.
"Then don't. Just be here."
They lay there like that for a very long time.
The CEO and the girl with too many ghosts.
Blanketed in a silence that no longer seemed punishment.
Keira had no concept of how long they lay.
Her cheek buried in the back of his neck.
His hand absently smoothing her hair in slow, hypnotic cadences.
The room was warmer. Quieter. As if the nightmare had been swallowed up in the cadence of his breath.
But neither of them moved.
And neither of them slept.
She shifted slightly, just enough to speak without lifting her head.
"You're not sleeping either."
Rayyan didn't answer right away.
Then, low barely more than breath
"How could I?"
She tilted her face to look up at him, cheek still pressed to his chest.
His eyes were open, focused on the ceiling like it had secrets he couldn't solve.
"I'm fine now," she said quietly.
"I know."
"You don't have to stay here."
That lowered his eyes to hers.
"I'm not staying here because I have to, Keira."
She tensed.
The room came to a standstill with her.
"I'm staying here," he told her, brushing hair behind her ear, "because the idea of you waking up alone after dreaming about your father dyingsickens me."
She blinked once. Slowing.
"You don't even like me."
He didn't argue.
But the edge of his mouth curled up just slightly.
he whispered, "I don't think that's true anymore."
That was all he said.
But it felt like the most honest thing he'd ever said.
Keira's pulse thudded in her ears. Not loud, but unstoppable.
Her hand, resting on his chest, curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt.
"Is this allowed?" she whispered. "Us, like this?"
"Probably not," he answered.
"Will it spoil everything?"
He breathed lightly, eyes sliding shut for the very first time since he'd woken.
"Definitely."
"Should we give up?"
A long silence.
Then his voice, dry and light and tired:
"Keira. I'm trying."
"Trying what?"
He opened his eyes again. Looked at her.
"Trying not to fall."
Her breathing faltered.
And she didn't answer.
Because if she did, she might say she already had.
________________________________________________________
The Fifth Avenue shop didn't open its doors to everyone.
But today, it was shut to the rest of the world open only to one pair of people.
Keira entered first, her gaze sweeping the lines of gleaming gowns and starched tuxedos on racks. She was a vision in a crisp white top and streamlined trousers, but in here, she was still shaken by what went down last night.
Not that she'd ever say.
Rayyan walked in behind her, dressed in black, as usual tailored jacket, dark slacks, and that permanent air of authority like he owned every square inch of Manhattan.
The assistant greeted them with a smile too wide to be real.
"Mr. Alverdine, Miss Davenport. The gala look fitting is ready. We've prepared complementary styles as requested."
Keira's brow twitched.
"Complementary?"
"Staged," Rayyan described flatly, not looking her direction. "For the cameras."
She crossed her arms. "Yes. For the illusion."
Her assistant led them to a private suite velvet drapes, gold-trimmed mirrors, ice champagne. Keira sat down, crossed her legs, affectively oblivious to Rayyan standing on the other side of the room, watching her.
She tried not to think about his hand on her back last night. Or the way he'd held her as if she were a delicate, fragile thing.
Today was all business.
The first outfit they showed her was a silver dress backless, high slit, lovely but incredibly close to risqué.
She raised an eyebrow.
"You picked this?"
Rayyan looked at her once, then at the assistant.
"Gold. Do it in gold. She looks better in gold."
Keira blinked.
Then looked away too fast.
Minutes ticked by, and she stepped out in the second dress. Gold. Perfect. Clinging to her figure like it had been sewn onto her.
Rayyan turned to look and forgot to inhale.
For one entire second, he forgot what in the hell he was doing there in the first place.
She noticed.
And smiled.
"is this gala. a business choice?" she questioned, stepping into the light so it hit her shoulders.
"Certainly."
"Then stop staring at me," she stated.
He didn't.
"I'm looking," he said, walking closer, "because you're wearing a weapon."
"You make it sound lethal."
He leaned in just enough to make her heart jump.
"It is. On you."
The boutique on Fifth Avenue buzzed with quiet elegance. Keira stood on the fitting pedestal, the golden gown hugging her figure perfectly. The designer circled her, eyes gleaming with admiration.
"Mr. Alverdine, you are quite fortunate to have such a lovely wife. Mrs. Alverdine is simply elegant and stunning."
Rayyan, looking next to her, has his head looking away from the phone, eyes stretching Keira's way. A smirk stretched on his lips.
"Indeed, I am. She's the most interesting woman in any given room."
Keira's cheeks flushed, and she turned her head slightly, as if adjusting the top of the gown.
"Must you always pay compliments to me so freely?"
"It's a social courtesy. One can't just disregard one's good luck."
The designer smiled, sensing the playful tension between the couple.
"Well, your chemistry is undeniable. The people going to the gala will be green with envy."
Rayyan got up, walking over to Keira. He held out his hand, helping her down from the pedestal.
"Let them be. I have nothing to envy when I have you beside me."
Keira gazed up at him, her heart pounding. For one moment, everything outside the shop receded.
________________________________________________________
END OF CHAPTER 7
"And as the doors of the boutique closed behind them, she realized: the roles they played were stitched perfectly husband, wife, strangers, allies but the emotions beneath? Those were starting to unravel."
________________________________________________________