Fake Smile
RONNY’S POV
The sound of the shower hit me first.
Water rushing, hitting tiles. I leaned against the bathroom doorframe, staring through the glass at her silhouette.
Liliana.
Her head was tilted back beneath the spray, rivulets running down her bare skin. She was rinsing, scrubbing, letting the water wash everything away. My gut twisted so hard I had to clench my fists at my sides.
We had showered together just hours ago. My hands had been on her, my mouth devouring her skin as steam coiled around us. Back then, she clung to me like she’d drown if she let go.
And now—
Now it felt like she was trying to wash me off her.
The thought made my chest squeeze, sharp and punishing.
I stepped into the bathroom, the warmth closing around me instantly. She didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge me. Just kept standing there, back arched, palms braced against the wall as water cascaded over her.
Like I wasn’t even in the room.
“Liliana,” I rasped, my voice sounding foreign, too rough.
Nothing.
I moved closer, the fog swallowing me whole, until I stood right outside the glass. My reflection blurred beside hers, distorted, unsteady.
“Whatever you think you heard earlier,” I said, my throat dry, “I didn’t mean it.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. I didn’t even know if they were enough—if they could ever be enough.
The shower cut off. Silence rushed in, broken only by the drip of water sliding from her body.
She slid the door open, stepping out like she hadn’t just stripped me bare with her silence. Droplets trailed down her legs, her skin glowing from the heat, her hair slick and wild. She reached for a towel, her movements precise, composed, infuriatingly calm.
Then—she smiled.
A soft, practiced curve of her lips. Not warm. Not real.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said lightly, wrapping the towel around herself, twisting the edge into place.
Something in me snapped.
“Stop giving me that fake smile.” My voice came out hoarse, almost a growl.
Her smile widened, taunting me, cutting me deeper than any blade.
That was it. I reached for her, my hands closing around her waist, yanking her against me before I even thought it through. Her wet skin burned against mine, and for a second—for a fucking second—I thought she’d melt, that she’d stop pretending.
But she didn’t.
She slipped out of my grasp, tugging herself free with sharp precision, her towel clutched tightly. Her chin lifted, her eyes blazing with that stubborn defiance that made me want to tear the whole world apart.
“I already told you,” she said, her voice clipped, deliberate. “We’re keeping things professional from now on. So I don’t need your explanation. And besides—” She threw the words like daggers. “You don’t owe me anything. I just need you to focus on my mother’s case. That’s all.”
The air between us cracked, heavy, suffocating.
She didn’t wait for me to respond. She turned her back, moving with steady grace as she pulled on her clothes. Jeans, blouse, every button fastened with an almost militant calm. She grabbed her handbag, slid the strap over her shoulder, and walked to the door.
No hesitation. No glance back.
The door shut behind her with a quiet click, but it might as well have been a gunshot.
I stood there, frozen, staring at the space she’d left behind. My chest felt hollow, gutted, like someone had reached inside and ripped something vital out of me.
If it had been anyone else—any other woman—I wouldn’t have cared. I would’ve shrugged it off, moved on, drowned myself in work or whiskey or the next willing body that crossed my path.
But not her.
Not Liliana.
This redhead had walked into my life like a storm and left me standing in the wreckage, unable to remember what peace had felt like before she came. And worse—worse—was that I didn’t want peace anymore. I wanted the storm.
I dressed robotically, each motion mechanical. Pants. Shirt. Jacket. Watch. My hands moved, but my head wasn’t in it. My mind was replaying the look in her eyes, the curve of that fake smile, the steel in her voice when she told me to stay professional.
Professional.
The word tasted like ash.
By the time I slid into my car, my jaw ached from clenching it so hard. I started the engine, the low growl vibrating through me, but it didn’t drown out the chaos in my chest.
The phone buzzed against the console.
Hardin.
I almost let it ring out, but habit had me snatching it up.
“Yeah.”
“Ronny, brother.” His voice came through loud, easy, familiar. “Listen, Ariana’s throwing this small party Saturday night. Just close friends, nothing flashy. I want you to come.”
“Not interested,” I muttered, my gaze fixed on the road as I pulled out of the driveway.
“Don’t hang up yet,” Hardin pressed, his tone shifting, teasing. “Everyone’s been dying to meet her.”
I frowned. “Meet who?”
“Your girlfriend, of course.”
The word hit me like a sucker punch. My grip tightened on the wheel, leather biting into my palms. “Hardin—”
“Don’t bother hiding it," he cut me off, laughing. “I already told everyone about her, so there's no way out of this for you,”
Heat crawled up my neck, the memory of Liliana’s voice whispering boyfriend echoing in my skull like a ghost.
“She’s not—” I started, then stopped, the words sticking in my throat. What the hell was she to me? Not professional, no matter what she said. Not casual, not replaceable, not anything I could put into a neat little box.
“She’s not what?” Hardin challenged, his tone smug. “From what I've seen, she’s got fire. Exactly what you need, brother. Don’t screw this up. I'm already spreading the word—everyone’s expecting to see the mysterious Liliana.”
My teeth ground together. “You had no right—”
“Relax. It’s a damn party, not a wedding. Just bring her, have a drink, let people see you’re human for once. Trust me.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing my grip to loosen on the wheel. Part of me wanted to tell him to go to hell, to hang up and never think about it again. But another part—the part I hated admitting existed—wanted her there.
Wanted her by my side.
Fake or real, didn’t matter. The idea of walking into that room without her, of making her think she didn’t matter—it burned.
“Fine,” I bit out.
Hardin chuckled. “Knew you’d come around. Saturday night. Don’t be late.”
The line clicked dead before I could argue further.
I sat there, phone heavy in my hand, the road stretching endlessly ahead. My reflection stared back from the darkened screen, jaw tight, eyes hard.
I could go without her. Make some excuse, tell them she was busy, out of town, whatever. It would be easy.
But the truth was—I wanted her there.
I wanted to walk into that room with Liliana on my arm, let the world see what I refused to admit even to myself. That she wasn’t just anyone.
That she was mine.
Whether she wanted to be or not.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
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