~~ LIACH POV ~~
I expect to be summoned. After all, it's not every day you beat a mafia prince's favorite slut into the ground in front of his entire security wing.
What I didn't expect is the silence.
I didn't receive any reprimand. Nor a warning from anyone.
Every one was quiet, everything was just... stillness. Even Marek doesn't mention it, and he always has something to say.
That tells me one thing, Sinveer saw it. And he lets it happen.
I was at my desk the next morning reviewing shipment manifests when the call comes through the intercom.
"Liach come over here. The voice is clipped, an a little bit cold.
I smooth my skirt, tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and walk into the lion's den.
When I got inside, Sinveer was standing by the window, back turned, staring out over the city like he owns it. Maybe he actually does. And maybe that's the problem.
He doesn't turn as I step in.
"Close the door."
I did. The silence stretches. I remained there wait for him to speak.
Finally, he speaks.
"Marla has a fractured wrist, three bruised ribs, and a concussion."
Is he going to get angry at me, for touching his doll, how am I going to calm this down. Wait. what am I thinking? If he was going to be angry, it would have been yesterday. so this is just for formality.
"She walked in. She talked. I responded." I said in a leveled voice
He place his palms over his face. As if he is concealing his expression.
He turns now, slowly, like a king deciding whether to kill or crown his subject. "And what kind of response was that, Liach? Military-grade assault?"
"She got in my face. I put her back in her place." I said, trying to hide that I'm now tired of this conversation.
He watches me. His face unreadable. Then—he smiles.
A smile that says, you are amusing Liach.
"You really don't give a fuck, do you?"
"No sir. I never have."
He chuckles, fascinated by my response.
"You can go back to your desk."
Huh? He let me go just like that?
"Yes sir, thank you."
*
Later that day, I hear it happen.The conversation I wasn't supposed to hear.
Marek and Sinveer are talking in his office. I'm at my desk, quiet, working—listening.
"The Kastro engagement gala is in four days," Marek says. "If you show up alone again, it'll look weak. Or worse—like you're unbalanced."
"I'm not bringing Marla."
"Didn't ask you to. I said bring someone. Someone decent."
"Who can I bring? I don't have any lady to take along."
There was a pause.
Then, "What about the assistant?"
My fingers freeze over the keyboard as I was mentioned.
"She's polished. Knows how to act. Smart enough to stay quiet, and also has the looks."
"Liach?" Sinveer says.
He sounds.... surprised.
"And besides she's already on the payroll," Marek continues. "And you don't have a real girlfriend. No one. Seriously. She's the best option."
"What about if we paid someone to stand in instead?"
"No" there was a hint of frustration in Marek tone. " Then what next? She'd look for your dick to suck out your cum?"
There was another pause. But this time the silence was longer.
Then Sinveer says something I won't forget. "She's just a placeholder."
"What else?" Marek added.
*
The next morning, he called me into his office and informed me about the Gala like it's nothing.
"We have a function, Friday. You'll be coming with me."
I keep my face blank.
"Yes, sir."
"It's black tie. You'll be expected to behave accordingly."
" I understand sir." I nod. " Anything else sir?"
He hesitated for a moment, shift his gaze from the table and stared at me.
"Some may assume we're involved. Let them."
My teeth clench behind my polite smile. "Understood."
He doesn't look at me after that. Just turns away like I'm alread leaving.
I spend the next three days preparing for the Gala, not because they want me to, but because I have to show Sinveer I'm not just some placeholder.
I have no intention of being just a stand-in. If I'm going to wear the label, I'll make it unforgettable.
I commission a gown—blood red, silk, slit to the thigh, with a neckline that borders on indecency. My hair is done sleek and sharp. Makeup like war paint.
I look like sin incarnate. I look like a woman who doesn't belong on anyone's arm. But could ruin a man for pretending she does.
*
On the night of the Gala, a sleek black car was arranged to take us to the venue.
Sinveer's already inside, dressed in black tailored perfection, a watch worth more than most lives on his wrist.
Oh Lord! This man his fine. How can a suit make him look so godly, those arms, those muscles just in the right places.
LIACH! What the fuck are you thinking about right now, get a grip.
His eyes trail down my body when I step in, resting at my exposed skin. But he says nothing.
We ride to the venue in wordless tension, and in those tension different heat were building up within me.
When we arrive, cameras flashes at every angles, guards step aside, and all eyes turn toward us.
He offers me his arm, like a gentleman and I took it.
The Kastro estate is grand. Gold floors, chandeliers that screams diamond, too much gold everywhere.
Sinveer is greeted like royalty. Some heads of the major families are here, each with their heirs and trophy women.
And now, I'm one of them. A trophy. A fake.
A placeholder what an insult.
"Who's this?" one of the underbosses asks as we're introduced.
Sinveer answers before I can.
"My assistant."
What is wrong with this man? I didn't come all this way, dress like a storm to be introduced with little significance.
"And date."
I smile. Tilt my head. Offer my hand like a queen.
"Liach. It's a pleasure."
I feel his fingers on my waist seconds later. Not too tight. Not soft. Possessive.
For the next two hours, I drink champagne I don't taste, laugh at jokes I could dismantle, and let Sinveer touch me like I'm his.
His fingers graze my back when he leads me through crowds. His hand stays low on my waist, thumb brushing the curve of my hip.
And every time, I feel that heat crawl under my skin. I'm not supposed to react. I'm not supposed to want this.
But I do.
Not because it's Sinveer. But because it's power. It's control.
"Careful." I said, as I felt his grip on my waist growing tighter.
He raises an eyebrow. "Of what?"
"Touch me too long and I might start thinking you mean it."
His smiled. As he pulled me even more closer to him, and said— "Touch me too long and I might forget I don't."
I didn't let what he said rattle me.
Instead, I lean in close—close enough that only he can hear. "I'm not Marla."
"I noticed." He said, smiling.
That damn devilish smile.
"Good. Because I'd hate for you to mistake me for someone disposable."
Our eyes lock. He doesn't look away, neither do I.
That's when that pulse came rushing down again. I don't know what it is but it's there. Some kind of sensation.
Then someone calls his name, and the moment dies.
He pulls back from me. "Stay close," he says, voice lower now. "Some of these men are animals," he said walking away from me.
And I smile. Because so am I.
Hours later, we leave the gala.
On our way back, we still did not speak not a word, not even a hum. Just silence.
But within me? Something else was happening. An unusual heat was burning within me.
It's like that tension that sits right below the skin, waiting to snap.
Upon reaching the De Luna estates, Sinveer trailed behind me as I make my way to my quarters.
Why does he keeps following me? His office is at the opposite side, so what's he doing?
As I got to the door of my building, he finally speaks.
"You played the part, Liach."
"I'm an excellent actress, Mr De Luna."
He nods once.
"Goodnight, Liach."
I look at him. And for a second, I almost say something cruel. Something cutting. Something that would remind him that I heard every word from that office.
But I don't.
" Good night, Mr De Luna."