Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?
Warnings: physical abuse, yelling, smut (18+)
Chapter 12: Show A Little Loving
Christmas has always been one of my favorite holidays. Not because of the presents or anything material, but because of the feeling—the way the city transformed into something soft and glowing, the way cold air felt gentler when the lights were up. I guess it wasn’t just Christmas I loved—it was the entire season—the quiet magic of it.
The penthouse was ready.
Everything had been decorated to my liking—rich golds, deep reds, soft twinkling lights lining the windows and railings, candles flickering in corners. The tree stood tall in the living room, perfectly curated but still warm, like something out of a catalogue that still managed to feel like home.
It looked beautiful, and for the first time in a while, it felt like my home.
I was proud of how everything had come together. I had picked out every ornament, arranged every garland, chosen every scent—cinnamon and vanilla drifting faintly through the space.
Still… as I stood there alone, staring out the window at the city skyline dusted in frost, something inside me ached.
I still felt slightly guilty that Chris wasn’t fond of this idea where we host at our house. No matter where we stand, it was still technically his house first, so I should have respected his dislike of hosting.
However, I couldn’t say no to my parents either, they wouldn’t understand. To them, it's most proper for us to host as the newly engaged couple.
It was nearly 4 PM. The first guests would be arriving by six.
I adjusted one of the garlands draped across the console table, more out of nerves than necessity. Everything already looked perfect, but perfection didn’t feel like enough today.
Then, I heard the sound of the front door unlocking.
I didn’t turn around right away. I knew it was him. The low creak of the hinges, the muffled sound of his shoes on the marble floor—it was all familiar by now. Still, I kept my back to him for just a second longer, steadying my breath.
When I finally turned, Chris was stepping inside, dusted lightly in snow, dressed in his usual black. He looked around the room slowly, expression unreadable.
I stayed where I was, near the tree, hands tucked in the sleeves of my sweater.
His eyes met mine briefly, but he didn’t say anything at first.
“You changed the place,” he said finally, gaze sweeping over the lights and wreaths.
“I decorated for Christmas,” I said plainly, voice low.
He gave a short nod. “Right.”
Another pause. The air between us was stiff, like we were strangers again.
“You’re going through with this tonight?” he asked, eyes on the gold-rimmed glasses I’d set out earlier.
I crossed my arms, unsure if he meant the party or something else. “My parents already told everyone, and I didn’t hear you say otherwise.”
I swallowed hard. “Neither was I, really.”
He blinked at that but didn’t argue. Instead, he dropped his keys onto the side table a little harder than necessary and started toward the stairs.
I turned slightly, watching his retreating form.
“You don’t have to act like you hate this,” I said quietly.
He stopped halfway up the stairs, one hand on the banister. “I don’t hate the party.”
“I hate pretending,” he added after a beat, then kept walking.
I stayed in the living room, staring at the tree that suddenly didn’t feel so magical anymore.
I lingered by the tree for a few more seconds after Chris disappeared upstairs. The weight of his words sat heavily in my chest. I hate pretending.
So did I, but some days, it felt like that’s all we ever did—pretend we were okay, pretend we belonged in the same story.
By 4:30, I made my way upstairs to start getting ready. I didn’t want to rush, and I needed solitude.
The ensuite bathroom was already fogged with warmth from the shower I’d run earlier. I moved quietly, slipping out of my sweater, my jeans. The hot water felt like relief on my skin, but even there, I couldn't quite shake the ache in my chest.
After drying off, I wrapped myself in a robe and moved to the vanity. My dress hung neatly on the door, a deep forest green silk number I’d picked days ago—elegant, understated, classic. It reminded me of something my mother would approve of. Or something his mother might expect.
My makeup routine was quiet. Methodical. Concealer, blush, soft shimmer on my eyelids, a muted red lip. My hands moved automatically, but my thoughts wandered.
Was he getting ready too? Would he match me somehow, unintentionally?
I curled my hair loosely, letting it fall over my shoulders. I hadn’t worn it down much since the engagement. Lately, I didn’t feel like myself enough to bother.
But tonight... I wanted to look like myself. Or maybe just the version of myself I remembered before all of this—before the silence, before the fights, before the proposal that never felt like mine.
As I stepped into my dress and zipped it up, I caught my reflection in the mirror.
I looked polished. Composed. Like the daughter of Thomas Devereaux. Like the fiancée of Chris Sturniolo, but under all of that... I didn’t feel sure of anything.
A soft knock came at the bedroom door.
I turned my head slightly, tension coiling in my shoulders.
“Aurora?” It was Ana. “Do you need help with your shoes?”
I exhaled. “No, I’m okay.”
“You look beautiful, by the way,” she said from the other side, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat was tight.
Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and slowly buckled the heels around my ankles, telling myself to breathe, to smile, to show up and survive the night.
By the time I made it downstairs, everything was in place. Candles flickered softly, the music was low and warm, and the scent of cinnamon and vanilla lingered in the air like a memory. The penthouse didn’t just look beautiful — it felt like something I had created. Mine, in a way that very little ever had been.
At exactly 5:58 p.m., the intercom buzzed.
I walked to the panel, my stomach coiling the way it always did before seeing my parents. I already knew it was them.
I let them up, adjusting the neckline of my dress and steadying my expression just as the elevator doors opened.
My mother stepped out first, elegant as always in her cream coat and red lipstick, already smiling. “Darling,” she said, pulling me into a kiss on both cheeks. “You look lovely.”
My father followed behind, with less warmth, more scrutiny. He looked me over, his eyes lingering a bit too long, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was holding something in.
“You did all this?” he asked, gaze drifting to the garland along the staircase, the tree lights glowing behind me.
He gave a short nod, something close to approval but too vague to hold onto. “Not bad.”
Mom stepped further inside, pulling off her gloves and looking around with quiet satisfaction. “You’ve done well. It’s tasteful.”
“Thank you,” I said again, fingers loosely laced in front of me.
“Where’s Christopher?” my father asked, stepping out of his shoes and eyeing the space like he was waiting for something to offend him.
He hummed, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “Let’s hope he doesn’t keep guests waiting.”
I didn’t respond to that. I just turned and gestured to the seating area. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Mom moved gracefully toward the velvet sofa, but Thomas stood still for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something else, or do something — maybe wander — but he didn’t. He finally followed my mother’s lead and sat beside her.
Chris stepped out from the hallway and into the main living space, dressed head to toe in black. The shirt was buttoned perfectly down his chest, sleeves pushed slightly up his forearms. He looked sharp, composed—almost cold, if you didn’t know him. A silver chain caught the light just beneath his collarbone, subtle but striking.
His eyes scanned the room quickly before landing on my parents near the entrance. He hesitated for half a second, then started toward them.
“Mr. Devereaux. Mrs. Devereaux,” he said smoothly, giving each of them a polite nod. “Glad you could make it.”
My mom immediately lit up at the sight of him, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Chris, dear, you look very handsome. And this place—it’s beautiful. You both did a wonderful job.”
Chris didn’t miss a beat. He glanced briefly in my direction, then back at her. “That was all Aurora,” he said. “She handled everything.”
My father let out a soft sound—something between a hum and a grunt—as his eyes swept over the space like he was evaluating a showroom. “Of course she did,” he said. “My daughter’s always had an eye for this sort of thing.” He paused, then added, “Good to see you're keeping the place presentable.”
The way he said it made my stomach twist. Casual to the untrained ear, but I knew him too well. That was a jab. Sharp and deliberate.
Chris smiled—barely. “I like to think we both keep it that way.”
I watched him carefully from across the room. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid in that way that told me he was holding something in. But he wouldn’t give my father the satisfaction. Not here. Not now.
Just as I finished showing my parents toward the sitting area, the elevator chimed again. The sound made my stomach tighten slightly—more guests.
The doors slid open to reveal Chris’s family stepping in: Matt and Nick, followed by a woman with soft eyes and a warm smile.
She looked nothing like Chris physically—she was softer around the edges, with honey-brown hair and a calming presence that instantly made the space feel a little lighter.
"Aurora," she said warmly, approaching me with open arms. I let her hug me, and to my surprise, it didn’t feel awkward. Her embrace reminded me of something I hadn't felt in a while—gentleness, real and unspoken.
“Merry Christmas,” I said quietly as we pulled away.
She gave my arms a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for having us, sweetheart. The place looks stunning—you did a wonderful job.”
I nodded, a small smile touching my lips. “Thank you. I’m glad you could come.”
Matt and Nick followed behind her, both casually dressed but clearly at ease. They greeted my parents politely, and even my father offered a smile, thin and restrained.
Chris appeared next to me a moment later. His usual aloofness softened when he saw his mother. A genuine warmth spread across his face as he stepped forward and pulled her into a tight, affectionate hug. "Hey, Mom," he said softly, his voice tinged with a rare tenderness.
Mary Lou smiled as she wrapped her arms around him, her voice soft with concern and love. "You look tired, sweetheart," she murmured, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "Make sure you take a moment for yourself tonight, okay? I don’t want you burning out." Her gaze was warm, full of the quiet care only a mother could give.
I couldn’t help but smile.
“You boys behave,” she teased, glancing between Chris and his brothers.
Nick grinned. “No promises.”
Everyone slowly started to settle, drinks were passed around, and the penthouse buzzed with soft conversation and the sound of clinking glasses. But I kept stealing glances at Mary Lou. She was kind. Gentle. And something about her made me wonder what Chris was like as a boy, before all the walls.
I remembered our conversation from the beach previously. I was starting to assume Chris’s father was almost like my dad—distant, controlling, and always pushing expectations onto Chris. The way Mary Lou looked at her son, with such care, made me think that maybe, just maybe, there had been a time when Chris was different. A time before the walls went up.
I’d been on my feet the entire night, but honestly, most of the credit belonged to the staff.
Dinner had gone surprisingly well. I’d been a little worried that our families wouldn’t get along, but everything turned out fine. Afterward, everyone gathered in the living room.
Until my father, swirling his wine like he was bored, leaned forward and said, “So, Chris… When do you two plan on starting a family?”
My heart sank. I didn’t even flinch—I was used to this by now. But Chris went rigid beside me, his jaw tightening the way it did when he was holding back something sharp.
There was a beat of silence. He looked up at my father, expression cool. “I’m sorry?”
My dad smiled like it was nothing. “I’m just saying, the wedding is coming soon. You’ll want to secure the next generation, no? Keep the family line clean, ensure continuity. That sort of thing.”
I exhaled slowly and irritated.
“You love bringing up this conversation,” I said, my voice laced with dry sarcasm. “It’s like your favorite hobby.”
He raised his brows, pretending to be innocent. “I’m only looking ahead. Legacy matters, Aurora. And I assume your priorities will shift once you're married. Fashion school is sweet, but there are more… lasting responsibilities.”
Chris sat forward slightly, his voice low. “With all due respect, Mr. Devereaux, our future—including if or when we have kids—isn’t up for group discussion.”
Nick let out a dramatic cough, probably trying to kill the tension. “Soooo. Dessert round two? Or are we skipping straight to a family therapy session?”
I glanced over at Nick and offered him a small smile—just a quiet acknowledgment amid the noise. A moment later, I caught Chris doing the same, his expression softer than usual. Something about it made my chest feel strangely full.
The night had begun to wind down. Empty glasses sat on side tables, and the hum of conversation grew quieter, more relaxed. Eventually, Mary Lou stood and gently patted her son’s shoulder.
“We should get going, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “It’s getting late, and I know you’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
Chris nodded, rising from the couch. His brothers followed, stretching and groaning in that way boys always do when they’ve been sitting too long.
Mary Lou came over to me then, her eyes kind. She reached out and took my hands in hers, her touch gentle and warm.
“You were wonderful tonight, Aurora,” she said, giving my hands a soft squeeze. “Everything was perfect. Thank you for making us feel so welcome.”
My heart swelled. “Thank you for coming. It meant a lot to have you all here.”
She smiled, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “You’re going to be good for him,” she whispered. “He just needs someone who sees past the armor.”
I blinked, stunned for a second, but nodded, quietly touched.
Chris walked his family to the elevator, his hand lingering on the small of my back before he left—as if to say he’d be right back. I watched as the doors slid shut behind them, the sound of his mother’s soft laughter fading with the chime.
The living room felt oddly still after they were gone. My heels ached and my eyes felt heavy, but I didn’t sit. Something tugged at me—restless curiosity, maybe.
I glanced around and noticed my father was no longer in the room.
I frowned and turned toward my mother, who was curled up on the far end of the sofa, her eyes half-closed but still awake. “Hey,” I said quietly. “Have you seen Dad?”
She didn’t open her eyes. “I think he wandered off. Said something about looking around.”
“Looking around, where?” I asked, even though I already had a sinking feeling.
She shrugged faintly, too tired to care. “He didn’t say. Probably just looking around.”
I hesitated for a moment, then made my way down the hallway. I checked each room on my side of the house—quietly, carefully—but he was nowhere to be found.
Something itched at the back of my mind.
With a slow breath, I crossed over to Chris’s side of the penthouse, my steps softer now, more uncertain. The lighting grew dimmer down that hallway, quieter. I approached the office wing cautiously, not fully sure why I felt nervous—until I noticed the door to Chris’s office slightly ajar.
I crept closer and peeked inside.
He was inside Chris’s office, completely alone—his back to me as he moved around the room with quiet precision. I watched through the narrow crack of the door, my breath catching.
He was opening drawers. Looking through files. His eyes scanned the bookshelves, fingers trailing over ledgers and paperwork that definitely weren’t his. At one point, he even paused to look inside Chris’s desk drawer, rifling through its contents like he belonged there.
I didn’t think—I just pushed the door open.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice firmer than I expected.
My father straightened immediately, but he didn’t look startled. Just… caught.
“Aurora,” he said smoothly, like he hadn’t just been snooping through Chris’s private things. “Didn’t hear you coming.”
“Clearly,” I said, stepping fully into the room now, my arms crossed. “Why are you in here? This is Chris’s office.”
He glanced toward the door, then back at me. “I was just looking around. No harm in getting familiar with the place my daughter will be living in permanently.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That doesn’t involve going through his desk.”
He gave a small, dismissive shrug. “Relax. It’s just paperwork. I wasn’t damaging anything.”
“That’s not the point,” I shot back. “You didn’t ask. You don’t have the right to dig through his stuff.”
His eyes narrowed, sharp and cold. “You’re getting comfortable, aren’t you?” he said, voice low and biting. “Already forgetting where you come from.”
His words echoed behind me, but something snapped in my chest. I turned around before I even realized it, the fury boiling over.
“You know what?” I spat, my voice cracking. “Every single fight we’ve had in the past year has been about this engagement. Every time we talk—it turns into this!”
Thomas crossed his arms, his expression darkening. “Because you keep pushing back on what’s already been decided.”
“No, because you decided it without me!” I shouted. “You never asked what I wanted. You didn’t care. You just handed my life away like it was part of some merger.”
“Watch your tone,” he warned again, but I didn’t care anymore.
“No!” I yelled. “You ruined everything! I had a future, I had dreams—and now all I do is try to survive in a world you built for me. A cage dressed in gold. And the worst part is, you still think you’re helping me.”
He took a step closer, face twisted in rage. “You’re acting like a spoiled child.”
“No, I’m acting like someone who’s finally realizing what you are,” I said, my voice trembling. “You control, manipulate, lie—and you call it love.”
Thomas’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I did what I had to. I made sure you had a future with someone powerful. Someone capable of taking care of you.”
“I don’t want someone to take care of me!” I screamed. “I wanted a choice. I wanted my life. Not your deal. Not your legacy. Mine.”
His face was stone, but his eyes blazed. “You’ll thank me one day.”
“No,” I said, voice low and furious. “I’ll never thank you for putting you into this situation.”
He didn’t speak. Just stared. Like, he couldn’t believe I’d said it.
But I didn’t regret it. Not a word.
His eyes blazed, chest heaving with restrained fury. “You ungrateful—” he hissed, and before I could react—
The slap came out of nowhere. My head snapped to the side, a sting blooming across my cheek like fire. For a moment, the world went quiet. Just my breath, sharp and shaky, filling the silence.
The sting bloomed across my cheek instantly, familiar and awful. I stumbled a little, but I didn’t cry. I never did anymore. I just stood there, letting the heat burn into my skin, swallowing the lump in my throat.
He’d done it before. He always did it when the control slipped, when my voice got too loud, when I pushed back too far. I used to be shocked. Now… Now I just hated how unsurprised I was.
But this time, we weren’t alone.
Chris’s voice cut through the air, sharp and disbelieving.
I turned my head slightly and saw him frozen in the doorway, keys still dangling from his hand. His gaze dropped to the red blooming across my cheek, then slowly—lethally—to my father.
I turned slowly, vision swimming, hand still pressed to my face.
He was standing in the doorway, keys hanging loosely from his fingers, his entire body frozen—except his eyes. They were locked on my father. And they were blazing.
Chris dropped the keys. They hit the floor with a metallic clang.
In a flash, he crossed the room, grabbed my father by the front of his jacket, and slammed him so violently into the bookshelf that half the contents crashed to the ground.
“You think you can just fucking touch her? In my house?” he roared.
My father shoved back, but he wasn’t stronger. Not right now. Not against whatever storm Chris had just unleashed.
“You’ve hit her before, haven’t you?” Chris growled, spit flying from his lips. “You’ve done this for years while pretending to be some perfect fucking father. You think money gives you the right to put your hands on her?”
I’d never seen Chris so mad before, and it almost made me feel alert. Not scared of him—but scared of what he might do. Of how far this could go.
Chris didn’t let go. He shoved harder, his knuckles white where he gripped my father’s coat.
My father was about to open his mouth, but Chris didn’t let him.
“No. You don’t get to speak”.
“Chris—” I tugged at his arm, my voice shaking, panic flaring in my chest. “It’s enough!”
He didn’t hear me. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. His body was tight, every muscle wound with fury. His breathing was ragged, and I could feel it—he was about to explode.
Suddenly, my father shoved him back.
Chris stumbled a step but caught himself, teeth gritted, eyes blazing. “You’re done,” he growled, pointing at my father. “I’m done doing business with you. Don’t show your face at my company again. Don’t call. Don’t try to fix it. You’re out.”
Thomas straightened his coat, scoffing, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not fear. Calculation.
“You think it’s that simple?” he said, voice cool now, laced with venom. “You believe you can just walk away?”
Chris didn’t answer. His jaw clenched.
Thomas took a step forward, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with maddening calm. “If you pull out of the deal,” he said smoothly, “I’ll make sure certain details about your company’s acquisition last year reach the press. Financial irregularities. Unfiled disclosures. All tied to your name.”
“And if that’s not enough,” he continued, his smile cutting, “I’ll make it clear that this so-called love story of yours was never real. That it was a business transaction from the start. How do you think your board, your investors, or the press will react when they find out the perfect engagement was just a cover-up? That you lied to everyone—risked public trust, manipulated a girl’s image, all to protect your empire?”
Chris didn’t flinch. Not visibly. But I saw the way his jaw tightened, how his fingers curled again like he was holding himself back by the edge of a thread.
“You’d burn down both of us just to win?” he said, voice low and cold. “You’d ruin your own daughter?”
My father didn’t blink. “You think this is about you? This is about survival. About keeping power where it belongs. You two were never going to have a choice.”
My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to step forward, my voice barely holding steady. “Dad… why are you doing this?”
He finally looked at me—his gaze distant, as if he wasn’t even seeing me. “Don’t waste your time asking questions, Aurora. You know exactly what this is about. It’s not for you to understand. It’s not for you to question. You’re part of this whether you like it or not, just accept it.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I couldn’t even bring myself to cry. What was left to cry for? The man who raised me had disappeared long ago, replaced by someone who only saw me as a tool, a means to an end. And in that moment, I realized the truth: I had never really known him at all.
Chris moved like he might say something, or hit something, but I slipped in front of him, placing a hand gently on his chest. I could feel his heart pounding, his breath shallow and furious.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t let him pull you into this.”
But it was already too late. I could feel it—everything had shifted.
Thomas adjusted his cufflinks with a final glance toward Chris. “I suggest you get used to playing your part. Both of you. Otherwise, I will start talking.”
He turned and walked out, leaving a silence so dense it felt like it was pressing down on my ribs.
Chris stepped forward, his mouth opening like he was about to say something—anything—to break the heavy air between us. But I couldn’t bear to hear it. I couldn’t stand there, trapped in the suffocating weight of it all, not anymore.
Without a word, I rushed down the long hallway, my footsteps echoing off the marble floors. The penthouse felt like a maze in that moment, its vastness amplifying the emptiness I felt inside. I didn’t care if Chris followed. I didn’t care about anything except escaping the suffocating reality.
I reached my room, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it with a quick twist of the handle. The silence hit me harder than any of the pain, my makeup smudging down my cheeks as I cried.
The tears didn’t stop. They kept coming, overwhelming and raw, as I curled into myself, wiping at my eyes, only to smear the mascara and eyeliner even more. I barely noticed as my fingers trembled, trying to remove the makeup, but it only seemed to make everything worse, the tears mixing with the remnants of the makeup on my face. So, I wiped the whole thing off.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. My father’s words echoed in my mind—his coldness, his lack of remorse. I had always known he was distant, but I never imagined he could be so cruel. What kind of father was he? How could he stand there and do that to me?
I wiped my face again, trying to find some semblance of control, but it was useless. The weight of everything—his betrayal, the distance, the suffocating air in this penthouse—pressed down on me. It felt like I was drowning.
Then, I heard the soft knock at the door. I didn’t have the energy to react, but the door creaked open anyway.
Chris stepped into the room, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid. The door shut behind him with a heavy thud that made me flinch. He had a box in his hand, but it barely registered. His eyes locked on mine, sharp and stormy, and I knew something inside him had snapped.
“How long,” he said, his voice low, trembling with restrained fury, “has he been hitting you?”
My chest tightened. The air in the room felt too thick. I looked away, hoping he’d drop it, hoping he’d just sit beside me and not ask things I wasn’t ready to say out loud.
But Chris didn’t move. “Aurora,” he said again, firmer this time. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t shut me out. I need to know.”
I shook my head slowly. “Please don’t—”
“How long?” His voice cracked the air like a whip. I jerked my head up. His eyes were blazing now, his nostrils flared. The hand holding the box trembled slightly.
“Chris,” I whispered, “I can’t—”
“I need you to tell me,” he barked. “Because if it’s been going on for as long as I think it has, I swear to God—” He cut himself off, pacing now, dragging a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep himself from exploding.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, but the words sounded pathetic even to me.
The word hung between us, sharp and awful. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly freezing.
“I don’t get why you care so much,” I snapped, arms crossed, still facing the door. “You’re the one who wanted space. You’re the one who said this was just a deal.”
Chris’s voice cut through the silence, low but sharp. “Don’t start with that.”
“Why not?” I whipped around to face him. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? You made it perfectly clear from the beginning—this was nothing more than business. So why the hell are you acting like this now?”
His jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. “Because I didn’t think he was hurting you.”
I scoffed, my voice bitter. “Oh, now it matters? Suddenly, I’m worth defending?”
Chris took a step forward. “You were always worth defending.”
I laughed, angry and bitter. “Funny. You didn’t act like it.”
“I didn’t know!” he shouted. “I didn’t know it was this bad, Aurora!”
“You didn’t want to know,” I snapped back. “You kept your distance and played cold like it was some game. And now you’re pissed because it’s not convenient anymore?”
“I’m pissed because he hit you, and you didn’t even tell me!”
“You’re not entitled to that part of me!” I yelled. “You gave up that right the moment you called this fake!”
“God, would you just shut up for a second and listen?” he exploded, stepping closer. “Yeah, I said it was fake. I said it was nothing. I lied. I fucking lied. Because I thought it’d be easier to just push you away than admit I—”
He stopped himself, chest heaving, hands shaking.
I blinked. “Then admit what?”
His voice cracked as he shouted, “That I give a damn about you! That it’s been killing me—living in the same place and barely speaking! Weeks, Aurora. We live in the same goddamn house and it’s like you’re not here. I hate it. I hate walking past your door and not knowing if you’re okay. I hate pretending this doesn’t affect me when it does. And watching you get hurt? It drives me insane.”
Silence crashed down between us, thick and pulsing.
My breath caught. His shoulders rose and fell like he was barely holding himself together.
Neither of us moved. Neither of us knew what to do with everything that had just been thrown into the air.
I stared at him, chest rising and falling, the weight of his words pressing into me—but I shook my head.
“I’m not doing this again,” I said quietly, backing a step away.
Chris’s brows furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“This,” I snapped, gesturing between us. “You getting worked up, saying all this like you care, and then tomorrow pretending like none of it happened.”
He stepped forward. “So what? You’re just gonna go back to pretending, too?”
“No,” I said sharply. “I’m going back to reality. The one where this—us—was never supposed to mean anything.”
Chris let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable.”
“What? It’s the truth,” I said, hating how my voice cracked.
His voice was low, rough now. “You think I want to act like I don’t care? You think it’s easy for me to pretend you don’t mean something when you’re the only thing I can’t stop thinking about?”
I turned away because it was too much. All of it.
But then his hand caught my arm—not rough, not forcing—just there.
“You really think I never cared?” he said, his voice quieter, but trembling with restraint. “Because if you do… then you haven’t been paying attention.”
I stared at him, his words echoing through the silence between us like a heartbeat I couldn’t ignore. But I forced myself to speak.
“I don’t doubt you care,” I said quietly. “Maybe you even mean every word you’re saying right now. But none of it changes what this is.”
Chris’s eyes narrowed, his chest still heaving slightly. “And what is this to you?”
“An expiration date,” I said flatly. “We both know the wedding’s going to happen. My father will make sure of it. But after that... I want a divorce.”
“I just—” I swallowed hard. “I can’t live my life pretending this marriage is something it’s not. I’ll play the part, I’ll smile in public, I’ll do what’s expected. But when it’s all done, I want out.”
Chris didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at me like he didn’t recognize me. Like I’d just gutted him without using a knife.
And then, slowly, he stepped back.
“You really think I’d let that happen?” he said, voice low. Dangerous.
My throat tightened. I took in his words, trying to stay steady, but the way he looked at me made it hard to breathe.
Chris stepped toward me again, slower this time, but his presence felt like a wall closing in. “I said I doubt I’ll be divorcing you.”
I froze. My heart thudded, sharp and unsteady.
He tilted his head, voice dark and unwavering. “You think I’m just going to let you walk away after everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? No, Aurora. You’re mine.”
“Chris…” I whispered, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.
He shook his head once, firm. “You can say what you want. Pretend this is all an act, a deal, a sentence. But you’re not leaving. I won’t let you.”
I opened my mouth—but nothing came out. Because I couldn’t lie. Not when his eyes were locked on mine like that. Not when every part of me was burning just from his nearness.
“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, before his hand moved to my waist and he pulled me into him—hard.
His mouth crashed onto mine.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.
It was desperate, angry, starving—weeks of silence and tension pouring into every kiss. His hands tangled in my hair while mine fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer like I couldn’t get enough.
Chris backed us toward the bed, the weight of his gaze never leaving mine. My heart hammered as we reached the edge, and I felt the bed press against my legs, forcing me to stop.
He pulled away just enough to slide his hands down the sides of my dress, his fingers grazing the fabric as he tugged at the zipper. His eyes flickered up to mine, and in that moment, there was no pretending—hiding.
“Can I take it off?” His voice was a low, gravelly whisper.
My breath hitched, and despite the storm of emotions raging inside me, I nodded, almost imperceptibly.
He hesitated for a split second before easing the zipper down, the fabric slipping away from my shoulders like a whispered promise. The dress fell to the floor, pooling around my feet, leaving me in nothing but a delicate white lace set.
Chris’s gaze darkened as he took in the sight of me, his breath faltering for a brief second.
I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I couldn’t quite explain—my chest and bottom barely covered by the lace, every inch of me on display in a way I wasn’t used to.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger, almost reverent.
Before I could process the weight of his words, he gently pushed me back onto the bed. My hair fanned out around me as I lay there, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the intensity of the moment. Chris hovered above me, his eyes dark and intent, studying every inch of me as though he were taking in something he couldn't let go of.
He leaned in, his lips trailing down my chest as he kissed me, soft but urgent.
Just as he reached the curve of my collarbone, he paused, his breath warm against my skin. He lifted his head slightly, locking eyes with me. His voice dropped, barely a whisper.
“Have you ever been touched, ma?”
Heat bloomed across my cheeks as I gave a small shake of my head.
I caught the faint twitch at the corner of Chris’s mouth, something between a smirk and something softer.
“Do you want to be?” he asked, his hands gliding slowly over my waist.
My breath hitched. Maybe it was the moment, maybe it was the ache building between my legs—so I nodded.
I watched as Chris stilled. His voice was low, but firm.
“I need to hear you say it, Aurora.”
I let out a shaky breath before whispering, “Yes.”
My heart thundered as Chris gently parted my legs, the sudden vulnerability making heat rise to my face. Embarrassment crept in, and I instinctively tried to close them again.
But he stopped me, his hands firm as he spread them back apart. He shook his head slowly, voice low but steady.
“Don’t hide from me, ma.”
He pressed a final kiss to my lips before trailing downward, settling between my thighs.
The reality of it all began to sink in—my arranged fiancé, now kneeling between my legs, his face mere inches away from the most vulnerable part of me.
When his nose brushed against my clothed core, my body jolted involuntarily at the unfamiliar contact.
I nodded, and he looked back down.
His nose slowly brushed up and down my core through my panties.
I couldn’t help but let out a few moans, and saw that that only made Chris brush his face against me faster. My stomach started to flutter violently.
His name left my mouth before I could think.
“Chris…”, it came out whimpering, while my thighs trembled in his grip.
I watched his gaze shoot up, a knowing, sly grin on his face. “Yeah?”
“Please,” I whisper, feeling breathless and desperate.
I shake, shifting against his hold, panting and overwhelmed.
“I—I-I need more.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, heat rushing to my face the second they did.
Chris’s eyes snapped up to mine, and a slow, amused smile curved across his lips.
“Well, well…” he murmured, voice low. “And here I thought you were this sweet, innocent girl. Look at you practically begging, ma”.
I didn’t say anything, but the heat on my cheeks spoke volumes.
Chris didn’t press further. Instead, he looked at me, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“What do you need, princess? Hm?”
To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I needed. All I knew was that I craved something—anything—to break the tension inside me, to feel something in this moment.
I glanced down at the evident outline of him through his clothes, my breath catching.
Chris noticed, his eyes flicking down briefly before meeting mine, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I-I’m not ready for that...right now,” I said quickly, my voice shaky as I tried to steady myself.
Chris’s expression softened immediately. He reached out, cupping my cheek with a tenderness that caught me off guard.
“Hey,” he said, his tone calm and reassuring, “It’s okay. I don’t want to rush you, ma.”
I immediately calmed down and started breathing again.
Chris brought his face back down for a moment before looking back up at me.
I took a deep breath, feeling the tension ease from my body as my breathing returned to normal.
Chris lowered his face for a moment, then paused, lifting his gaze back to mine.
“Would it be okay if I took these off?” he asked gently, his voice soft, almost hesitant as he referred to my panties. “I want to take care of you properly”.
I nodded, anticipation fluttering in my chest.
Chris shifted slightly, his fingers hooking gently at the edge of my underwear. His eyes never left mine, searching—asking again without words.
As the fabric slid down, I felt vulnerability settle over me like a second skin. My chest was still covered, but the contrast between us hit me. I was nearly bare, while Chris remained fully dressed—just a few buttons undone at the top of his shirt.
The imbalance made me feel even more exposed, but his gaze wasn’t cruel or mocking. It was focused.
When they were off, Chris had a full view of my bare pussy–the folds soaked and wet.
My legs instinctively closed again. He pulled them apart again.
“So pretty,” he muttered. “So, so pretty”.
He properly settled between my legs, but this time he grabbed my thighs and pulled me. My legs hooked around his shoulders, and his face was only inches away from me.
“I want to taste you,” he said, kissing the insides of my thighs. “I want to feel you cum on my tongue”.
I nodded, and with that, his mouth hit my core.
I automatically bucked my hips with the feeling hitting me.
My head tilts back, my breathing becoming uneven. My body trembling beneath him, beneath his tongue, and beneath his pace. Fast. Brutal.
I heard Chris chuckles against my clit, low and satisfied. The sound was vibrating against me, sending a wave of warmth rolling. He doesn’t stop, sucking. If anything, he got better, quicker, sloppier–almost like he was making out with my clit. His tongue flicked, stroking, pressing.
“Chris–” I gasped, my fingers pulling and tugging on his arms.
His hands shifted, gripping me tighter, pulling me closer—refusing to let me pull away or let me escape what he was giving me.
“Take it,” he growled at me, voice low and rough, not lifting his mouth. The heat of his breath made my entire body surrender beneath him.
A wave of sensation started building inside me, stronger than anything I’d felt before, and I could tell Chris noticed too.
“Chris—I feel…” I gasped, my voice unsteady. “I feel like—”
I couldn’t form the right words.
Chris got the hint and he hums against me, pleased.
“You gonna cum for me, ma?” he murmurs against me, his breath hot. It drove me crazy.
I nodded frantically, and he started to fasten his pace.
I felt the tension in my body crest, a wave swelling until it finally broke, a soft but sharp cry slipping from my lips. Chris didn’t pull away—he simply slowed, his movements more deliberate now, and his eyes never left mine, watching me like he didn’t want to miss a single moment.
My breath started to slow down, and I was starting to relax.
Chris was still intently licking my folds, like he was cleaning me up.
I turned my face into the pillow, my breathing still uneven as I felt Chris finally move away from me. From the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for a few tissues from the nightstand. His touch was gentle, careful, as he wiped between my thighs—quiet, respectful, and saying more than words could.
“How do you feel, ma?” he finally spoke.
I shyly turned to him, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. Chris noticed immediately, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched me.
“Don’t get all shy on me now,” he teased, his voice light but laced with amusement.
I let out a small giggle, trying to hide my flustered expression, but my eyes couldn’t help but wander to the noticeable bulge in his pants. The blush on my face deepened, and I quickly looked away, embarrassed.
Chris caught me glancing again, his eyes dark with a mix of amusement and something else I couldn’t quite read. He chuckled softly, his voice low and reassuring.
“Don’t worry about me, ma,” he said, his tone playful but warm. “I’ll be fine.”
“But tell me,” he murmured as he shifted beside me, lying down so that both our cheeks rested against the same pillow. “How do you feel?”
His voice was soft, but there was something eager behind it. He reached for my hand, gently taking my pinky and absentmindedly playing with it while waiting for my answer.
“It was good,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, after a beat, I added with a shy smile, “Really good.”
Chris’s lips twitched into a small grin. “Yeah?”
Chris’s smile lingered for only a second before it faded, his brows knitting together. He let out a slow breath, still fidgeting with my pinky.
“I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Aurora,” he said quietly, his voice rough with leftover frustration and something softer underneath.
I looked at him, and my heart was pounding,
“I don’t want to fight either”, I said.
“I’m tired,” he continued. “Tired of pretending like this is all still just some arrangement.”
I turned my head toward him, my voice steady but low. “Then stop pretending you don’t care.”
He glanced at me, letting out a quiet laugh—dry, almost disbelieving. “Maybe I’m just bad at not pretending.”
I rolled my eyes and gave a small smirk. “Clearly.”
He reached over and flicked my forehead lightly. “You’re mouthy for someone who was just begging—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks again.
Chris laughed—really laughed—and I hated how much I liked the sound of it. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep tonight, princess.”
Then, as if remembering something, he reached toward the edge of the bed where he’d left it earlier and picked up a small black box.
“Almost forgot,” he said, holding it out to me.
I blinked, caught off guard. “You got me something?”
He shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah. I know we weren’t exactly talking, but…I still felt like I should.”
I sat up, still stunned, and slowly peeled the lid off the box. Inside was a velvet necklace box. I glanced up at him again, eyes wide.
“Open it,” he said, voice lower now.
When I did, my breath caught.
A deep red ruby, carved into the shape of a rose, shimmered against the gold chain.
Chris cleared his throat. “It looked like something you’d wear. Simple but stunning.”
I looked at him, heart swelling, and quickly threw my arms around him in a brief hug before pulling back.
“This is so beautiful, Chris. Thank you,” I said, smiling. Then I held out the necklace, a little shy. “Will you put it on me?”
“Turn around,” he said quietly, and I did, sweeping my hair to one side.
I felt the cool metal of the chain against my skin as he gently fastened it around my neck. His fingers lingered for a moment at the clasp, then trailed down lightly to the pendant resting just above my collarbone.
“It suits you,” he murmured, his voice low behind me.
I turned back to face him, his eyes already on mine.
“It’s perfect,” I said softly. “Really.”
I felt his gaze sweep over me, taking in the sight of my lower half hidden beneath the blanket, while my top was only covered by my bra and the necklace. My hair cascading down my shoulders.
Chris gave me a soft, almost tender look. "It's been a long day," he said, his voice quieter now. "You should get some sleep."
Chris sat down gently on the edge of the bed next to me, his eyes softening as he looked at me. He let out a quiet breath, as if trying to keep his composure.
“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying a weight of sincerity. “Not with my words, my actions, or in any way.”
His hand moved slowly, deliberately, until it cupped my cheek. For a moment, his expression hardened, a quiet intensity in his eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, either.”
It hit me then—he was talking about my father. His thumb traced the delicate skin on the cheek my father had struck earlier, the touch surprisingly gentle, but the tension in his gaze unmistakable.
He leaned down, his lips pressing softly against my cheek three times, each kiss a quiet reassurance. Then, he kissed my forehead tenderly before placing a gentle peck on my lips.
He carefully adjusted the blanket around me, making sure it wrapped me.
“Rest, ma,” he murmured softly, his voice almost a whisper in the dim room.
His hand, still warm from holding me earlier, lingered on my cheek, brushing gently across my skin. For a fleeting second, I felt a quiet reassurance in his touch, something that felt like protection, like he would never let anything hurt me again.
He hesitated, his eyes softening for just a moment, before he finally looked away. Standing up, he gave me one last glance and turned off my light, and left.
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[a/n: that was really something. more problems are coming though. Ya'll though I was gonna make let the rest be happy? nahhh hahah. Thanks for everyone who supports my fic and reads. mwah] –ceyana
tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @cherryystemm @mattsfrenchtoast
(I want to add a lot of people to this tag list, so comment! Don't be shy. kisses <3
