Chapter 4: "You... You're Ash?"

Harper's POV

Three months in, and George drops by for Sunday lunch.

He's sitting at the head of the dining table, his gaze ping-ponging between Adrian and me. The silence stretches just long enough to make my palms sweat.

"Three months together now." His voice cuts through the quiet.

I nearly choke on my water.

"Yes, Grandfather," Adrian replies, smooth as ever.

"You look very much in love." George saws into his steak with deliberate precision. "But I haven't seen any real progress yet."

The air gets thick. Real progress. Oh god.

"What do you mean?" Adrian asks, though we both know exactly what he means.

George sets down his knife and fork, pinning us with that hawk-like stare. "I mean I'd like to hold a great-grandchild before I die. You two should be making some headway on that front."

My face is burning. Like, actually on fire.

"Grandfather—"

"I know young people these days like to take it slow." He waves a dismissive hand. "But you're turning thirty soon, Adrian. Time's ticking."

The rest of lunch is me mentally begging for the floor to swallow me whole. When George finally leaves, he claps Adrian on the shoulder with a knowing look. "I'm serious. Show me you're committed to this."

The door closes. Adrian and I stand in the foyer, both of us suddenly very interested in the marble floor pattern.

"I need a drink," he finally says.

Yeah. Me too.

Later that night, I'm standing under the shower spray, letting hot water pound against my skin. But it's not washing away the tension coiled in my stomach. George's words keep replaying on loop. Real progress. I know what that means. The contract mentioned bed sharing, sure, but actual sex? That was never part of the plan. At least not in my head.

I wrap myself in a towel and pad back into the bedroom, hair still dripping. Adrian's sitting on the edge of the bed, tumbler of whiskey in hand. The bottle on the nightstand is noticeably emptier than before. I can smell the alcohol from here.

"Harper." His voice comes out low and rough. "We need to talk."

My heart kicks into overdrive. "About what?"

He stands, and the way he moves is different now. Looser. Predatory. Each step toward me feels like he's closing in on prey. He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

"About what my grandfather said." His eyes are darker than usual, pupils blown wide. "We have to make it look real."

I back up until my spine hits the wall. "What are you saying?"

His hands come up on either side of my head, caging me in. "I'm saying we need to sleep together. For the contract."

The breath leaves my lungs in a rush.

"I'm not—"

"I know you're still waiting for Ash." He cuts me off, leaning in closer. His gaze drops to my mouth. "But this is just a transaction. No feelings involved."

That word stabs right through me. Transaction. Right. That's all this is. All we are. Don't get it twisted.

I force myself to meet his eyes, those gray-blue eyes that are looking at me with desire and hesitation and maybe even guilt all at once.

"Okay," I hear myself say.

He freezes, like he wasn't expecting me to agree. "You're sure?"

"I signed the contract." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I'll hold up my end."

He kisses me then. Not like that staged kiss at the family dinner, all surface and show. This one's deep. Desperate. Consuming. His tongue parts my lips as his fingers find the knot holding my towel together. The fabric hits the floor with a soft thud, leaving me completely exposed.

I should feel vulnerable. Ashamed, maybe. But all I feel is heat, this liquid warmth spreading through my body. He pulls back to look at me, really look at me, and I can see the want in his eyes, can feel the evidence of it pressed against me. Before shame can take over and make me cover myself, his mouth is on mine again. In one smooth motion, he lifts me up. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct.

A few steps later, my back hits the mattress. His kisses trail down my neck, my collarbone, lower. My hands fist in the sheets as sounds I can't control escape my throat. He lifts his head, eyes dark and hungry.

"Last chance. If you want me to stop—"

"Don't stop."

He strips off his clothes and covers my body with his. I feel his weight, his heat, every hard plane of muscle. When he pushes inside me, there's pain. Sharp and immediate. I gasp, body instinctively trying to pull back.

He stops instantly. "Harper?" His voice changes completely. "Are you... is this your first time?"

I bite my lip and nod.

Guilt floods his face, then shock, then tenderness. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not exactly easy to bring up."

He swears under his breath and kisses my forehead. "Relax," he murmurs against my skin. "I'll take care of you."

He moves differently now. Slower, gentler, giving me time to adjust to the intrusion. And gradually, the pain transforms into pleasure. Sharp, overwhelming pleasure that I've never experienced before, and I find myself moving with him, chasing that feeling.

Later, we're tangled together, both of us slick with sweat. He's still kissing my skin softly when my hand traces down his back. My fingers brush over a raised, uneven scar.

"What's this?"

His entire body goes rigid. "Childhood accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"Nothing important." He moves my hand away and rolls over, giving me his back. "Go to sleep. We have brunch tomorrow."

Conversation over. I stare at his back in the darkness, that scar barely visible in the moonlight filtering through the curtains. What happened to you?

I can't sleep. Too many thoughts spinning through my head. What just happened between us. His sudden coldness after. That scar. My throat's dry, so I slip on a robe and tiptoe downstairs. The manor is quiet, moonlight spilling across the floors through tall windows. After getting water from the kitchen, I notice a door in the hallway left slightly ajar. Adrian's study. He'd mentioned I could use the desk in there for event planning, so I don't think twice about pushing it open.

I take a sip of water, my eyes landing on a drawer near the bookshelf. Curiosity killed the cat. I know, I know. But I open it anyway. There's a wooden box inside. When I lift the lid, my hands start shaking. Inside is a friendship bracelet. Blue and silver threads, woven in an intricate pattern. Identical to mine. The matching pair.

Under the bracelet are photos. Summer camp. A bonfire. A group of teenagers laughing. In the front row, there's a skinny boy with brown hair and a shy smile. His features look almost like... Adrian?

"What are you doing?"

I spin around. Adrian's standing in the doorway, face white as a sheet.

"You're going through my things?"

I hold up the bracelet with trembling hands. "This belonged to Ash. I made it for him." My voice cracks. "How do you have this?"

The color drains from his face.

"Do you know him?" I demand, pieces clicking together in my head. "Adrian, do you know Ash? No. Wait. You... you're Ash, aren't you?"