The Dinner
RONNY’S POV
The first thing that hit me when we stepped through the front doors was the smell—expensive perfume mixed with old money, polished marble, and something faintly metallic underneath, like blood hidden behind roses. The chandelier above blazed with too many lights, the kind meant to blind rather than illuminate, casting every polished surface in gleaming gold.
And the people.
Dozens of them, scattered across the massive hall like jeweled ornaments, laughing too loud, smiling too wide. Men in tailored suits with too much cologne, women dripping in diamonds that seemed heavy enough to choke. The entire place screamed fake. Every laugh sounded rehearsed. Every handshake lingered just a beat too long.
Liliana’s arm slipped into mine, warm, steady, pulling me into her performance before I could dwell on it. She pressed close, her posture regal, her chin lifted, her every movement broadcasting confidence. To them, we looked like a couple entering a party. To me, we looked like two spies walking into enemy territory.
She leaned slightly, her voice low against my ear. “That’s my father,” she murmured, nodding toward a tall man near the grand staircase. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, his posture stiff as he spoke to two men in navy suits. “Next to him—that’s my stepmother.”
My gaze flicked to the woman at his side. Strikingly beautiful, her dress clinging in all the ways she knew would draw attention. Her expression, however, was ice—eyes sharp, lips curved in the faintest smirk as though she’d already judged everyone in the room and found them lacking.
“And there,” Liliana added, her voice taking on a sharp edge, “is my witch of a stepsister.”
I followed her discreet nod. The girl looked like her mother—golden hair, flawless makeup, a gown meant to showcase more skin than fabric. She was laughing at something a man whispered, but even from here I could see the calculation in her eyes. When her gaze slid toward us, toward me, it was like a spotlight snapping on. A smile—flirty, deliberate—curved her mouth.
I felt Liliana tense against me.
“She acts like an angel in front of my dad,” she muttered, voice bitter, “but she’s as fake as the rest of them.”
I gave a single, measured nod. Her assessment didn’t surprise me. Families like these always had rot beneath the gilded surface. My hand tightened over hers, pulling her closer against me, the movement protective, possessive. An act, I reminded myself. All of this was an act.
But when her eyes flicked up to me, catching the believable smile I forced onto my face, something in her gaze softened almost imperceptibly. Dangerous.
“Won’t you introduce me to your family?” I said smoothly, my voice pitched just loud enough for those nearby to hear.
She smiled then, dazzling, practiced, but I knew enough to see through it. It wasn’t nerves. It wasn’t even just acting. It was strategy.
“Of course,” she said brightly, her fingers squeezing mine.
We walked toward the trio by the stairs, every eye in the room following our steps. I could feel the weight of their curiosity pressing on me, the sharp prickle of judgment like invisible knives at my back.
Her father noticed us first. His conversation faltered, his head turning sharply, his gaze locking onto me. His brows drew together in the kind of frown reserved for unwelcome surprises.
Her stepmother’s eyes flicked over me with cool calculation, judgment in every slow sweep of her gaze.
The stepsister didn’t even pretend. Her lips curved into a smile that was more invitation than politeness, her eyes lighting up with an interest that made my stomach tighten with irritation.
I ignored her.
My focus went straight to the man of the house. I extended my hand, firm and steady. “It’s an honor, Mr. Arthur.”
His grip was immediate, crushingly tight, the kind of handshake meant to test boundaries. I matched it, unwavering, until his jaw twitched and he finally released. His eyes studied me with suspicion, flickers of something darker lurking just beneath.
Beside him, the stepmother tilted her head. “And who might you be?” Her voice was smooth, almost sweet, but it carried an edge of disdain.
Before I could answer, Liliana spoke.
“This is Ronny,” she announced, her tone filled with pride, with possession. “My boyfriend.”
The word dropped like a bomb.
Her father’s eyes widened, shock slicing through his carefully constructed mask. The stepmother’s lips thinned, her judgment sharpening into something colder. And the stepsister—she let out a laugh, light and airy, before biting her lip and dragging her gaze over me in a way that made my blood heat with annoyance.
I caught all of it. Catalogued every reaction, every flicker of expression. One of them knew more than they let on. One of them was hiding something.
Liliana, however, didn’t flinch. She ignored their shock, her hand slipping more firmly through my arm as she smiled up at me like she’d just won. “Babe,” she said sweetly, “let me show you the home I grew up in.”
And as crazy as it sounded, hearing her call me babe did something to me. My chest tightened, not with unease, not with suspicion—but with something warm, unfamiliar. It wasn’t part of the job. It wasn’t fake.
I had to remind myself again—it was.
Still, I let her lead me, our steps carrying us away from the staring eyes of her family, deeper into the echoing corridors of the estate. The air grew cooler here, quieter, the laughter from the hall fading behind us.
She moved with purpose, her heels clicking against marble, but then—abruptly—she stopped.
I nearly collided with her.
Her back was straight, her chin lifted as though she’d made a decision in the span of a heartbeat. She turned to me, green eyes sharp, her breath just slightly faster.
“Kiss me. Now.”
The words sliced through the silence, unexpected, commanding.
I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
Her gaze darted over my shoulder, then snapped back to mine. “You have to kiss me. My family’s watching. Make this believable.”
A hundred thoughts shot through me at once. It was reckless. It was unnecessary. It was a line we shouldn’t cross.
But her eyes locked on mine, fierce, insistent.
And without a second thought, my hand slid to her waist, drawing her against me. Her breath hitched, soft, before my lips crashed down onto hers.
Heat surged, instant and consuming.
And in the split second before I lost myself to it, I knew—
I would regret this.
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