Chapter 5: The Dinner Trap
More heat. More tension. More trouble.
Ava stood in front of the mirror, fingers trembling as she adjusted the slim black dress Dominic had left for her.
It clung to her like second skin—expensive, elegant, and far too daring.
He was playing a game. Dressing her up like a doll… but why did she feel a thrill instead of fear?
"You look..." His voice came from the doorway.
She turned—and saw him freeze.
"…presentable," he finished, eyes flicking down her body with a heat that burned.
Her lips lifted. "Is that your version of a compliment?"
"It's my version of not losing my mind," he muttered, jaw tight.
They rode to the dinner in silence, tension like static between them. But at the elite rooftop restaurant, Dominic's mask returned—calm, cold, powerful.
She played her part. Smiled. Nodded. Let him touch her back as he introduced her as "my wife."
But between courses, she leaned in and whispered, "You're good at lying."
"So are you," he said, his voice a little hoarse.
Later that night, after the champagne and fake laughter, he walked her back to the penthouse.
She turned to him at the door. "You can stop pretending now. The night's over."
His hand caught her wrist.
"No," he said quietly. "It's not."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer, just inches between them now. "You think I don't notice the way you look at me?"
"I don't—"
"You do," he said, voice low, rough. "And if we're going to keep lying to the world, we need to be better at it. More... convincing."
His hand lifted—fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
Her pulse thundered.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
He leaned in. Close enough to feel the heat of his breath.
"Practicing," he murmured. "Unless you're scared."
And then his lips hovered a breath from hers… waiting.
She should pull away.
But she didn't.