The press had never been kind to Naya.
When her last relationship blew up in a cocktail of scandal, betrayal, and viral gossip, they painted her as either a fool or a fake—no in-between. She'd disappeared from the limelight, head down, tongue tied. But now?
Now she walked into that charity gala on Kian's arm, wearing red silk like it owed her something.
"Mrs. Naya Ashford," the announcer said.
Mrs. Ashford.
The cameras clicked like gunfire.
Her makeup was flawless, her smile sharp. She didn't flinch when the questions came flying.
"Is this marriage real?"
"Was this arranged?"
"Are you still in contact with your ex?"
She looked straight ahead, her hand lightly curled around Kian's forearm. "I don't discuss expired contracts," she said coolly, lips barely parting.
Kian smirked beside her, proud. Protective.
---
The tabloids spun theories, but the narrative was shifting. She wasn't the broken ex anymore. She was a phoenix in heels.
What sealed it wasn't just the public appearance—it was how she owned it. She went live on her page days later:
> "You all watched me fall. Some of you laughed. Some of you turned away. But here's the thing about real women—we rise. We grow. And sometimes, we marry someone who doesn't play games."
The comments section exploded.
And like a bad penny, her ex resurfaced.
"Let's talk," he texted.
"I miss us," he emailed.
"I'm sorry," he begged, showing up outside her new apartment with roses and the same tired lies.
Naya didn't even come down.
Kian answered the door.
"She's not interested," Kian said simply. "And next time, you'll be talking to her lawyer."
The door shut in his face.
---
Naya was in the kitchen, drinking wine barefoot, when Kian returned.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"I know," he said, pouring himself a glass too. "But I wanted to."
Their eyes met across the counter. There was something unfamiliar growing between them—soft, dangerous, honest.
Later that night, Naya walked into his room.
Not for sex. Not for comfort. Just to sit.
Kian looked up from his laptop, surprised but calm.
"Couldn't sleep," she said.
He moved over without a word, making space for her on the bed.
They didn't speak. Didn't touch.
They just were.
And in the quiet, something unspoken bloomed.