Valeria finished her avocado toast and green smoothie before heading upstairs to shower, do her makeup, and pack for the weekend press tour in Los Angeles. Ivy trailed behind her like a highly competent shadow—assistant, publicist, emotional lifeguard all in one.
That left Aiden Reed alone at the breakfast table, face-to-face with Gloria Lang.
She watched him with the scrutiny of someone who once cross-examined federal witnesses for fun.
"Shouldn't you be helping her pack?" she asked, voice sharp enough to slice through his toast. The implication was clear: no decent man sat around scrolling Twitter while his wife prepped for a major work trip.
Aiden didn't even look up. "That's what Ivy's for. I'm here for breakfast, not wardrobe coordination."
Gloria blinked.
He had said that.
With a straight face.
And he meant every word.
Of course, Aiden had his reasons. He wasn't about to head back upstairs—not while Gloria was lurking like a judgmental housecat. After her unannounced entrance earlier, he was taking no chances. The bedroom was still a mess, his clothes were heaped on a chair, and the bed hadn't been touched since the faux-wake-up scene.
Nope. He wasn't the maid. He was security. His job was to make sure she didn't start poking through drawers or inspecting the medicine cabinet next.
Across the table, Gloria shifted, growing visibly uncomfortable under his steady, unfazed stare. He looked far too amused. Like he was waiting for her next move just so he could enjoy shutting it down.
Eventually, she stood.
Aiden sat up straighter, ready.
"Some people," he said idly, "are just born lucky. Others… they get to live in a Manhattan brownstone without lifting a finger. Frustrating, huh?"
The dig landed clean.
Gloria turned, jaw tight, glare sharp. "How does Valeria even tolerate you?" she snapped. "You're lazy, arrogant, and aimless. It's embarrassing."
Aiden raised a brow, unfazed. "What, jealous?"
She scoffed. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His tone was calm, almost bored. "You show up early. Invade our room. Question our marriage like it's a court case. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were projecting."
Gloria's mouth opened, then shut.
He wasn't done.
"Valeria's flying out with Zach Monroe and Daniel Blaine," she said, regaining her footing. "You know—actual stars. Charming. Successful. Devastatingly attractive. You're not even in the same orbit."
Aiden didn't blink. "And yet, she married me. Funny how that works."
His coolness was infuriating.
She'd been hoping for insecurity. A flicker of doubt. A trace of jealousy. But there was nothing—no crack in the armor. Either the man had complete trust in Valeria… or he simply didn't care.
Before she could retort, footsteps descended the stairs.
Valeria reappeared in a champagne satin slip, Aiden's oversized white dress shirt tossed over it with casual elegance. It was wrinkled, half-buttoned, the sleeves rolled to her elbows like she'd stolen it off the floor and somehow made it look intentional.
It shouldn't have worked.
It did.
Aiden's brain promptly short-circuited.
Gloria scowled. "Seriously?"
"What?" Valeria asked, blinking innocently. "It's comfortable."
She reached for her suitcase without missing a beat. Ivy hovered behind her with a checklist and a travel bag.
But Gloria wasn't ready to surrender.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, voice sweet with venom. "If you two are really married, where's the goodbye kiss?"
Valeria froze mid-step.
Aiden looked up, startled.
Valeria turned slowly, lips twitching in amusement. "Oh? Gloria, asking for PDA before nine a.m.? Didn't know you were into that."
Gloria's expression tightened.
"I'm just saying," she snapped, trying to recover. "If you're truly in love, a kiss shouldn't be difficult."
"Of course not," Valeria said, voice light and dangerous. She turned to Aiden, mischief dancing in her eyes. "What do you think, babe? Should we give our guest a little proof-of-life performance?"
Aiden rose smoothly, playing along.
He slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and murmured, "You're my wife. Wouldn't want to disappoint our lone audience."
Valeria tilted her chin, her smirk all gloss and provocation. Then, just as their lips were about to meet, she angled her face—letting the kiss land gently on her cheek instead.
It lingered. Soft. Just suggestive enough to sell the story, just restrained enough to be dismissed.
Gloria watched in stony silence.
"Well," Valeria said brightly, brushing imaginary lint from her shirt. "That's done. Shall we?"
Gloria didn't respond. She just turned, stiff and silent, and walked out the door.
Valeria followed, Ivy close behind.
Aiden remained in the foyer, staring at the space where Valeria had stood seconds ago.
His lips still tingled faintly.
Warm. Coconut. Something floral beneath it.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
This fake marriage was starting to feel dangerously real.