Chapter Four

Arion opened the door to his apartment and found Caitlin standing there, her reddish curls damp from the rain. Today, she had tied her hair back, giving her a more mature appearance than usual.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said softly.

Caitlin wiped the remaining raindrops from her hair, hesitating slightly before stepping inside. Her heels squeaked subtly against the wooden floor as she shifted her weight uncertainly.

“Come in,” Arion said, stepping aside to let her pass.

“Looking like this, I’m afraid I’ll dirty your place,” she mumbled, glancing at the puddle forming beneath her.

Arion reached out, took her hand, and pulled her gently inside. “You can clean it up later,” he said shortly. “I’ll get you something dry to wear.”

Without waiting for her response, he disappeared down the hallway. Five minutes later, he returned with a large T-shirt in his hands.

“Here. Change out of that wet dress. Put this on.”

Caitlin looked at the shirt, clearly unsure, but she nodded and disappeared into the bathroom without a word.

Silence settled over the apartment. Only the sound of running water could be heard. Arion sat on the couch, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the armrest. His mind was anything but calm. Since their tense meeting with Harriet, everything had been shifting too quickly—too uncontrollably.

The bathroom door opened a few minutes later. Caitlin stepped out in the oversized T-shirt, which hung loosely over her frame, reaching to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was slightly dryer now, though a few strands clung to her cheeks.

She looked awkward, as if unsure of what she was doing here.

“It’s too big,” she murmured.

Arion turned to glance at her, then stood. “It’s mine. Of course it’s big.”

She tried to smile, but her expression was uncertain. “I’m not used to wearing other people’s clothes… especially not from a guy like you.”

Arion raised an eyebrow. “A guy like me?”

He scoffed, clearly irritated, though he tried not to show it.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Caitlin said quickly, attempting to backtrack.

He shook his head. “Forget it.”

She bit her lip. “I still don’t know if I’m really cut out for this.”

“Are you sure you still want to pretend to be my girlfriend?” Arion asked, the words falling like a challenge.

Caitlin hesitated, meeting his eyes. “Yes. I said I would. I promised I wouldn’t let you down.”

Arion’s jaw tightened for a moment. Then, without another word, he turned and walked into his bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying two boxes: one large and wrapped in black satin ribbon, the other smaller and slimmer.

“What’s this?” Caitlin asked, eyes narrowing.

“For tonight. Don’t tell me you forgot we’re having dinner at Harriet’s.”

She blinked. “You bought me… a dress?”

“A dress and shoes,” he replied with ease. “And my stylist will be here shortly.”

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Arion, this is too much—”

“You’re my girlfriend now, Caitlin,” he interrupted calmly. “At least in Harriet’s eyes. And tonight, the whole upper circle of her world will be watching. You need to look like someone who belongs by my side.”

Caitlin’s breath caught. This wasn’t just some harmless play anymore. It was evolving into something much more real—something harder to walk away from.

The doorbell rang.

Arion’s personal stylist had arrived, dragging two rolling suitcases filled with makeup, styling tools, and accessories. With professional precision, the stylist and her assistant began transforming Caitlin.

The next hour passed in a blur of fragrances, silks, brushes, and gentle tugs on her hair. Makeup enhanced the sharpness of her eyes; soft contouring gave her face an aristocratic polish she’d never imagined she could carry. When the dark silk evening gown finally embraced her figure—elegant, sleek, with a neckline that hinted without revealing—Caitlin could barely recognize herself.

The heels that completed the look were delicate but dangerously high, giving her both grace and edge.

Arion leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with a look that was hard to decipher.

“I don’t think this is me,” Caitlin said quietly, turning from the mirror.

“Good,” he replied without hesitation. “Because tonight, we’re not ourselves.”

Caitlin dropped her gaze and took a deep breath. Her reflection was intimidating—refined, powerful, almost untouchable. She barely felt like she belonged in her own skin.

Arion stepped closer, stopping just behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror. Caitlin could feel the quiet tension in the space between them.

“This… this isn’t me,” she whispered again.

“And that’s exactly what makes it work,” Arion said, voice low but sure. “Harriet will see you and pause. And that pause is all we need.”

She turned to him, suddenly uncertain. “What exactly are we trying to accomplish, Arion?”

He looked away, to the rain-soaked window. For a moment, his expression softened—almost vulnerable.

“For once in my life, I want Harriet to realize she doesn’t control everything.”

There was something heavy behind those words. Caitlin felt it but didn’t press. Not yet.

Before either of them could speak again, Arion’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed.

“The car will be downstairs in five minutes,” he said. “We should go.”

He moved toward the door but paused halfway and turned, just enough to see her over his shoulder.

“Caitlin—listen.”

She straightened. Something in his voice had changed.

“I don’t know what Harriet is planning, but I know she won’t just smile and let this go. She doesn’t like surprises she didn’t orchestrate. So keep your guard up tonight. If anything feels strange… trust your instincts.”

Caitlin nodded, though unease crawled under her skin.

“You think she’ll try something?”

Arion gave a tight, almost bitter smile.

“I think she’ll do anything to make sure you don’t come back after tonight.”

And then he added, almost as if to himself:

“And Harriet always knows exactly where to strike.”