Faking An Affair

Buddy, she smells incredible. Hurry up with the divorce. Let me take her off your hands, okay?

It was three in the morning. I sent the message to my billionaire husband, the man who hadn't touched me in three years.

Attached was a photo of me. A post-sex selfie. Wearing nothing but a torn lace nightgown.

I thought I would get divorce papers.

Instead, I got Killian returning from overseas. Like a madman.

He pounded on my door until the frame shook. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

"Who is he? I'm going to kill him."

Chapter 1

Beatrice was in Europe, celebrating her third wedding anniversary. She asked me what I wanted as a gift. I asked for a prepaid international burner SIM.

I stood in the empty hotel room, clutched the tiny piece of plastic, and let out a breath that felt too heavy for my lungs.

I slipped into the sheer lace nightgown I had bought specifically for this performance.

I stood before the mirror. I pinched the skin of my collarbone and twisted the skin of my neck. I faked hickeysmottled red marks, the kind left by a man consumed by rough, possessive need.

I grabbed the silk strap of the nightgown. Snap. I tore it. Just like a violent lover would in the heat of the moment.

Then the lipstick. I stared at my reflection and smeared the perfectly applied red. I rubbed it until my mouth looked bruised. Swollen. Wrecked.

I sat on the edge of the bed and thrashed against the sheets on the other side. I created the ghost of a body that wasn't there.

I closed my eyes. Heavy.

I set the camera timer. Third-person perspective.

Three. Two. One.

The woman in the photo looked exhausted. Thoroughly used. Defenseless in a deep, post-sex sleep.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Killian's reputation in the business world clawed at my mind. The Smiling Assassin. A predatory capitalist who devoured his prey whole.

But I knew his face better than his reputation. Cold. Ruthless. He was beautiful. God, he was beautiful. But all his warmth, all his humanity that belonged to my sister. Beatrice.

I had calculated the worst-case scenario.

Killian felt nothing for me. No affection. No lust. But no man could stomach this kind of public humiliation. He might destroy me. He might seek revenge.

But in the end? Disgust would win. He would throw me away. He would divorce me.

That was all I wanted. Just let me go. I just needed the divorce.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My thumb hovered over the screen.

I pressed send.

The text on the screen was light. Arrogant. Taunting.

"Buddy, she smells incredible. Hurry up with the divorce. Let me take her off your hands, okay?"

Photo attached.

Sent.

Chapter 2

Less than two seconds.

The reply came through.

Killian: Who is this?

I changed out of the nightgown slowly. I dragged out the silence. It was a twisted kind of fun.

Was he exploding right now? Was he imagining tearing this anonymous messenger apart with his bare hands?

Killian. God's favorite son. Flawless since birth.

And now? His emotions were being puppeteered. By me. The woman he kept under his thumb.

Three years of dull, suffocating pain. And today? A spike of adrenaline. A taste of revenge.

I finished changing into my street clothes. Two more messages from Killian lit up the screen.

Killian: Don't use cheap deepfakes on me. State your business.

Killian: Come clean now. Or there won't be enough of you left to bury.

I let out a soft, dry chuckle.

Buddy: Mr. Shen. Deepfakes? Why don't you ask your wife?

Buddy: The hickeys on my baby's neck? Those aren't pixels. And they aren't fading anytime soon.

I added a cute little smiley face.

I had the guts to provoke him for one reason. I knew where he was. He was on the other side of the world, locked in a multi-billion dollar merger. He couldn't be back for at least two weeks.

Buzz.

My personal phone screamed.

I jumped, my heart slamming into my throat. The screen flashed. Killian. He was calling Harper.

I pressed my lips together and stared at the vibrating phone. I let it ring until it cut out.

The screen went black. Then lit up again instantly. He wasn't giving up.

I realized then. He was actually angry. Real anger.

My pulse hammered in my ears. I was walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. One slip, and I was dead.

I picked up the burner phone and typed.

Buddy: Mr. Shen, stop calling her. We went five rounds. Your wife is exhausted. She's asleep.

The calls stopped. Instantly.

My phone fell silent. Dead silent.

I sent one final text from the anonymous card.

Buddy: I didn't mean to break up a happy home, Mr. Shen. But we're in love. Be the bigger person. Divorce her. Let me have her. You don't want the whole world knowing you can't keep your wife satisfied.

Killian didn't reply.

I threw the torn lace nightgown into the trash, checked out of the hotel, and drove back to the villa.

The maids were cleaning. Everything was normal. Quiet. As if nothing had happened. I washed my face and went to sleep.

Dawn. The sky was turning a pale, sickly gray.

A sound pierced my sleep. The roar of an engine. The screech of tires tearing up the driveway.

I blinked, confused.

Then, the banging started. Heavy. Rhythmic. Violent. Right on my bedroom door.

"Harper. Open the door."

The voice was low. Cold. He was restraining himself. But barely. Underneath the calm was a vibration of pure, unadulterated violence.

I woke up fully. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. My blood froze.

Killian.

Chapter 3

I was a mess. Why was he back? I was nothing to him. A placeholder. A tool.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three distinct strikes. Controlled. Terrifyingly controlled. His voice bled through the wood. A little too fast.

"Harper. I want to see you."

I scrambled up. Don't panic. Don't slip up. I sucked in a breath.

"Killian?" My voice was groggy, fake. "I I need to use the bathroom. I need a shower. Just a minute."

I bolted into the ensuite. Shower on.

I stared at the mirror. The marks on my neck. I had made them yesterday with a bottle rim. I pinched hard. Bruised deep. Foundation wouldn't cover this.

But I had to try. A cheater's first instinct is to hide the evidence. Killian was sharp. I had to sell the lie.

I wet my hair. Fresh from the shower. I pulled on a black dress. High collar. Long sleeves. Armor.

One purple mark peeked out above the fabric. I slapped a bandage over it.

I looked in the mirror. Practiced the face. Guilt masked by thin bravado. Perfect.

He would look at me and see filth. He would vomit. He would demand a divorce.

Get out.

I opened the door.

Killian was on the sofa. Eyes closed. Brows knit tight. He looked wrecked. Pale skin. Shadow of a beard. No watch. No cufflinks.

One hand gripped his phone. The other hung loose.

My eyes snagged on his knuckles. Raw. Bloody. Four deep gashes. He had punched something. Hard. Repeatedly. The skin was split. He hadn't even bothered to wipe the blood.

"Killian? Why are you back?"

His eyes snapped open. Black holes. He stood up. The frantic energy was gone. Replaced by a terrifying, heavy slowness.

He walked toward me. Gravity shifted. I took a step back. Instinct.

He grabbed my arm and yanked me into his orbit. His gaze dropped. Laser focused. Right on my neck. His pupils contracted. Pinpricks.

"Is something wrong?" My smile was brittle.

He didn't speak. He raised his hand. His fingers were ice cold. He brought them to my neck. Two fingers hovered right over the bandage.

The air between his skin and mine crackled.

He was going to rip it off. Expose the lie. Shred the contract. I trembled. I closed my eyes. Waited for the explosion. Waited for the end.

But it didn't come.

His fingers didn't rip. They just rested there. Light. Heavy. Terrifying.

Chapter 4

"How did it happen?" Killian asked. His voice was terrifyingly calm.

I dodged his gaze. "Just a paper cut. Yesterday. From a book."

"A book" Killian blinked. Once. Slowly. "What were you doing last night?"

His fingertips dipped inside my collar. One tug. That was all it would take. One tug to reveal the galaxy of fake bruises hidden beneath the fabric.

I swallowed hard. "I went out. To the salon."

Killian's breath hitched. Heavy. Audible. He stared at me. His face was a mask of stone, but his eyes

For a second, I thought he was going to devour me. Whole.

His fingers tightened on the fabric. He pulled.

I stumbled forward. My knees buckled. I fell against the solid wall of his chest. I threw my hands up, bracing against his chest to keep some distance.

His hand swept around my waist. It clamped down. A band of iron. He squeezed. Harder. And harder.

It wasn't just anger. It was possession. He was restraining himself, but his body betrayed him. The grip on my waist was bruising. A silent scream of ownership.

My strength was nothing compared to his. My arms shook as I tried to push him away. Killian leaned in. Inch by agonizing inch.

"K-Killian. Don't." My voice trembled.

I didn't know what he was going to do. Kiss me? Kill me? My mind went blank. The fear was real.

"I'm scared. Don't touch me. Please."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

He froze. Three seconds passed. Four.

Slowly, painfully, he withdrew his fingers from my collar. His hand fell to his side and curled into a fist. His knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

His face turned the color of steel.

"I'm assigning two bodyguards to you," Killian announced. His tone was flat. Dead. "They will follow you everywhere. To ensure your safety."

He turned on his heel. He walked out. No hesitation.

A moment later, the roar of his engine faded into the distance.

I stood there, frozen.

He wasn't going to pursue it? He wasn't going to drag the truth out of me?

How is this possible?

---

The surveillance was suffocating. I was a prisoner in my own home. I couldn't even sneak away to use the burner phone.

Killian was supposed to be gone for weeks. He was back in five days.

He stormed back into the house, bringing a storm cloud with him. But strangely, once he returned, the leash loosened. The bodyguards stepped back.

I finally found a moment alone. I grabbed the burner phone. My fingers flew across the screen.

Buddy: Buddy, you're a sore loser. If she cheated, just divorce her. Why lock her up?

Killian replied instantly.

Killian: She didn't cheat. I trust her. Harper isn't the kind of person who does that.

I stared at the screen. My mouth fell open.

What?

He trusts me?

I mean, sure, I didn't actually sleep with anyone. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had to fake it. But how did he know? Why was he so sure?

Killian had always been cold. Distant. Indifferent. He treated me like furniture. So why, all of a sudden, did he sound like he actually knew me?

Chapter 5

I threw caution to the wind. I didn't care anymore. I poured gasoline on the fire.

Buddy: Mr. Shen, you don't know your wife better than I do.

Buddy: She has three moles. One on her ribs. One near her navel. And one

Buddy: Every time I trace a line between them with my finger, dragging it down her skin, she shivers. She can't stop shaking.

Buddy: But you're her husband. Three years of marriage. You must know that map by heart, right?

The sarcasm dripping from that last sentence was lethal. Because in three years, Killian had never touched me.

Bang.

The moment I hit send, a massive crash exploded from upstairs. It came from the study.

I flinched. My hands shook as I shoved the burner phone into its hiding spot.

Smash. Another crash. And another. Then, silence.

Then, heavy footsteps descending the stairs.

"Gerald," Killian's voice drifted up. It sounded exhausted. Hollow. "Clean up the study. And order a new computer."

The footsteps continued. Coming closer. Toward my room.

I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I felt like I was next on the list of things he wanted to destroy.

I dove under the covers. I curled into a ball and pretended to be dead to the world.

The lock on my door had been broken since he returned. Convenient. The handle turned. The door creaked open.

The room was pitch black.

He didn't speak. But in the dead silence, he was loud. His breathing was ragged. Harsh.

His heart was beating so fast, so erratic, I could hear the rhythm of it from across the room. I wondered if he could hear mine.

He walked closer. And closer. I squeezed my eyes shut until colors burst behind my lids.

He didn't shake me awake. He didn't strangle me. He didn't demand an explanation.

He just stood by the bed. Looming.

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel it. A gaze. Sharp. Scorching. It felt like a physical weight boring into my stomach. Right where I told him the moles were.

He was hesitating. He wanted to check.

Don't shake. Keep breathing. Act. I lay perfectly still.

Then, the mattress dipped. The weight settled beside me. Killian lay down.

That gazecold as ice, hot as firewas still fixed on me.

I grit my teeth. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I decided to push him over the edge.

I moved like I was lost in a dream. I turned over. I buried my face in his chest.

Killian froze. The burning intensity of his gaze suddenly softened. Just a fraction.

"Hubby" I mumbled, slurring the word like a sleepwalker.

Killian's body went rigid. Rigid as stone.

I didn't stop. I wrapped my arms around his waist. I used the sweetest, stickiest, most vulnerable voice I could muster.

"Hubby hold me."

I waited for the explosion. I waited for him to hit me. To shove me away in disgust. Because I had never called him that.

He knew. He had to know I was calling out for another man.

Chapter 6

But

He glared at me. His grip on my arm tightened until his hand shook with the force of it. He was vibrating with rage.

Then I let out a soft, pained whimper.

Killian froze.

He forced his muscles to unlock. He shifted his grip to the back of my head. He didn't let go. He pulled me closer. Tighter.

He pressed a kiss to my hair.

Then his hand began to move. Up and down my spine. A rhythmic, clumsy stroke. It was awkward. It was stiff. But it was the way you soothe a terrified child back to sleep.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice rough. "Hubby is here."

I froze in his arms.

This wasn't just weird. This was terrifying. This was a level of calm that bordered on psychosis.

Killian was brilliant. He was a shark. He should have realized the moment he got that text that I was cheating.

To protect his reputation, to protect the empire, he should have had the divorce papers drafted within the hour. He should have kicked me to the curb with nothing but the clothes on my back.

But he didn't. He denied it. Over and over again. He rejected the truth with a stubborn, paranoid madness.

And now? He was stealing a moment meant for another man. He was roleplaying a loving husband to a wife he thought was dreaming of her lover.

What is he doing?

Killian thought my silence meant I had drifted back into a deep sleep.

He moved. He lifted the duvet. Silently.

His finger landed on my ribcage. Cold. Precise. Then, he began to slide it down.

He was tracing the line. He was following the map I had described in the text message. Connecting the dots of the moles.

It was a feather-light touch. The pad of his finger was cool against my burning skin.

It happened too fast. I didn't have time to steel myself. My body reacted before my brain could stop it.

A violent shiver ripped through me. I curled in on myself, jerking away from the touch.

The text was a lie. I made it up. I didn't know. I didn't know that having someone trace that line would actually send a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

I was trembling. Pathetic. Exposed. I couldn't fake sleep anymore. I tried to turn away, to escape the heat coming off him.

Killian stopped tracing.

He didn't let me go. Both of his arms clamped around me. He hauled me back, forcing me to flush against his chest. Face to face. Chest to chest.

He squeezed. Hard. Unyielding. He locked his arms around me like a vise.

He held me so tight I could feel the chaotic, thundering rhythm of his heart hammering against my own ribs. Messy. Crazy. Powerful.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear.

"You're mine," he whispered into the dark. "And I am yours."

He had officially lost his mind.

He had abandoned all logic. He had thrown away all strategy. He had stopped being a CEO and started being an animal. Feral. Direct. Possessive.

No negotiation.

It was like I had been dragged into his cave, and now that I was there, I belonged to him.

Killian had objectified me. And in doing so, he had objectified himself. We weren't humans anymore. We didn't have fragile skin or sensitive souls.

We were just two pieces of cold iron. Click. Locked together.

If he held on tight enough, he could believe it. I was his. He was mine. He was insane.

I opened my eyes in the pitch black. Trapped between his scorching chest and his steel arms, I stared at Killian's sleeping face.

I watched him until my eyelids grew heavy. I fell asleep in the arms of the monster.

Chapter 7

I was back in the nightmare. Three years ago.

I was screaming. Crying. Begging Killian to let me go. He looked at me. Cold. Indifferent. Like I was a bug trapped in a jar.

"I don't owe you anything!" I shrieked. "You have no reason to lock me up!"

He took a step back. Silence stretched for a full minute. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then, he lifted his eyes.

"You owe me," he said. His voice was a gavel striking a block. "Your sister ran away. She destroyed the engagement. You will pay for it. For the rest of your life. I am never letting you go."

I collapsed to the floor. I touched my face. The face that looked so much like Beatrice's.

That was the moment I understood. He wasn't keeping me because he wanted me . He was keeping me because I was the replacement. The consolation prize.

Three years. Three years of bitterness. Three years of being a ghost in my own house.

---

My eyes snapped open.

Killian was gone. The space beside me was smooth. Cool. It was like he had never been there at all.

My phone buzzed. A message from Killian.

Killian: Do you have other photos of her? Videos?

I blinked, shaking off the remnants of the dream. I grabbed the burner phone.

Buddy: Buddy, I'm a player, not a pervert. I don't take nudes.

Killian: Is that how you tricked her? With that slick tongue? She's so young. You animal.

I frowned at the screen.

Young?

I was twenty-three. I was almost done with my Master's degree. I wasn't a child.

Killian: Leave her. Name your price. How much do you want?

My temper flared.

Buddy: I told you, Buddy. We're in love. How about you leave her? I'll write you a check.

Killian: You aren't worthy of her love.

I rolled my eyes.

Excuse me?

The gender-swapped version of me was a catch. Handsome. Romantic. Rich. I wasn't going to take that lying down.

I opened a browser. I risked burning out my retinas and scrolled through Google Images. I saved a photo of rock-hard abs. Then another one. A bulge.

I sent them all to Killian.

Buddy: I'm packing, man. Don't worry. Your wife is eating good.

I waited for the crash. The sound of breaking glass.

Silence. One second passed.

Then, from the living room downstairs, a sound drifted up.

"Heh."

A laugh. But not a happy laugh. It was a sneer. Cold. Derisive. Pure, unfiltered mockery.

I froze.

Not big enough?

I hadn't seen anyone else's in real life, but the guy in the photo seemed substantial. What the hell was he laughing at?

Buzz.

New message. I glanced at the screen. The blood drained from my face. Every hair on my body stood straight up.

Killian: Last month. The 27th. You, or someone you know, went to Barcelona. You bought a SIM card there. Correct?

My heart stopped.

Killian: Did you really think a "burner" meant I couldn't find you?

Killian: I will check every single lead. I will go through them one by one. I will peel back your layers as if I were skinning you alive. You better hope you went to Barcelona yourself. Because if you paid someone to mail it to you packages have addresses.

The threat wasn't screamed. It was stated. A fact of nature.

Killian: Sleep with one eye open. Buddy.

That last word. Buddy. It wasn't a greeting anymore. It was a promise.

Chapter 8