Ayra had always known that life could twist in ways she never imagined, but nothing had prepared her for this , standing in the cold, immaculate office of Mr. Richard Kairo, staring at the man who was now officially her fiancé, and feeling as though the ground had vanished beneath her feet.
She tugged at the strap of her modest dress, unsure how to speak without shaking. Liam Kairo, impossibly tall and confident, stood nearby, expression unreadable. He looked every bit the part of the ruthless heir his father claimed he was, yet there was an edge to him now that hadn't been there before — a quiet storm lurking behind the controlled demeanor.
"You will sign the contract," Mr. Kairo said, his voice like steel. "Six months. No intimacy. No feelings. Only appearances. Do I make myself clear?"
Ayra swallowed hard. "Yes… sir," she whispered, though her heart pounded in rebellion.
Liam's eyes met hers briefly, a flicker of something she couldn't identify,amusement? irritation? or perhaps the faintest trace of regret. He didn't speak, and that silence was almost worse than the words themselves.
The lawyer handed over the thick document. Ayra scanned the clauses: obligations, public appearances, legal consequences, fines for breach of contract. Each line felt like a chain, binding her to a man she barely knew.
Her hand trembled as she signed. Liam signed immediately after, his pen moving with precise, controlled strokes. There was no hesitation, no doubt ...just the cold efficiency that matched the public image he had built.
And yet, in the brief moment their hands brushed over the table, a spark unwanted and undeniable shot through her.
The first night in Liam's penthouse was a trial.
Ayra had been assigned her own room, as if they were strangers forced together by duty rather than affection. The penthouse was immaculate and intimidating floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Nairobi's glittering skyline, and every piece of furniture screamed wealth she could never hope to touch.
Liam didn't speak much, and she appreciated that. He moved around with the precision of someone accustomed to control. Yet, she caught herself stealing glances at him the way his jaw flexed when he concentrated, the faint crease between his brows when he was thinking. She hated herself for noticing, but a part of her was already intrigued.
The next morning brought their first official test.
Liam's father had arranged a press conference. Ayra had to appear at his side as the "supportive fiancée," answering scripted questions while maintaining the image of a perfect, composed woman. Every flash of the camera, every whispered rumor on social media, felt like a needle piercing her chest.
She realized, painfully, that public appearances weren't the worst part. The worst part was Liam's proximity. He smelled faintly of his cologne, a sharp mix of cedarwood and something warmer she couldn't name. His hand occasionally brushed hers as they walked to the podium, each accidental contact sending shivers she refused to acknowledge.
He noticed. She could feel his awareness in the subtle shifts of his stance, in the way his eyes lingered longer than necessary on her face. He didn't speak of it, didn't make a move, but the tension between them thickened like fog ,impossible to ignore.
By the end of the day, Ayra felt exhausted and exposed. She retreated to her room, collapsing on the luxurious bed and staring at the ceiling. The contract was clear: no feelings, no intimacy. But the problem was, feelings didn't care about contracts.
She replayed the day in her mind: Liam's subtle protective gestures, the brief touches, the way his gaze softened when no one was watching. It was maddening, confusing, and undeniably stirring something she hadn't expected.
Liam, in his own room, stared at the ceiling as well. He wasn't used to losing control,not in business, not in life. And yet, this arrangement, this forced proximity to Ayra, unsettled him more than he would ever admit. She challenged him in ways he hadn't anticipated: her quiet strength, her refusal to be intimidated, the way her eyes held him accountable even when she said nothing.
He had grown accustomed to people bending under his authority, to loyalty bought with money or fear. But Ayra? She was different.
Over the next few days, the routine settled into a fragile rhythm.
Ayra learned the intricacies of Liam's schedule: his meetings, his moods, his triggers. She navigated the office with grace, balancing professionalism with the subtle expectation that she was now "his fiancée." Every interaction became a tightrope , one misstep, one misread glance, and the world would interpret it as scandalous.
And yet, moments slipped through the cracks small, intimate fragments that no one else could see.
One evening, while reviewing documents late into the night, Liam leaned over her shoulder to point out a correction. Their faces were inches apart. She smelled his cologne, saw the faint glint of green in his eyes. Her heart skipped.
"I… didn't notice this before," he said quietly, almost a murmur.
"Notice what?" she asked, though her voice betrayed her.
"The way you… focus. The way you care," he said, then straightened abruptly, returning to his papers.
Ayra's chest tightened. She wanted to reply, to say something that would bridge the distance between them, but the contract echoed in her mind: no feelings. She bit her lip and kept silent.
The first weekend together in the penthouse tested their boundaries further. Liam, usually so composed, invited her to dinner ... not a public event, not a family gathering, but private. He cooked, meticulously, and watched her with a gaze that made her shiver without understanding why.
"You eat like you've been starving," he remarked casually, though there was no casualness in his eyes.
"I… I'm just hungry," she replied, keeping her voice level.
He smirked faintly. "No. You're not just hungry. You're… trying not to think about what you feel."
Her heart stopped. "I… don't know what you mean," she said, looking down at her plate.
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers lightly. It was subtle, almost accidental, yet it carried a weight that left her trembling. She pulled back, shame and confusion washing over her.
He noticed her withdrawal and didn't comment. But the air between them was charged. Unspoken words, desires, and questions hung like smoke
Days turned into weeks.
The contract governed their lives, but it could not govern the attraction simmering between them. They began to share small, stolen moments , coffee in the morning, quiet walks on the terrace, laughter over private jokes that no one else would understand.
Each moment was a minefield. Each touch, each glance, carried potential scandal, yet neither could resist the growing pull.
Ayra hated it. She hated that she was drawn to him, that she caught herself wondering about him when he wasn't there. And Liam… he hated that he felt protective, possessive, and drawn to her in ways he had never allowed himself to feel before.
The first storm came when Liam caught Ayra late at night on the balcony, staring at the city lights with a troubled expression.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked softly, leaning against the frame.
She startled, then laughed nervously. "Nothing. Just… thinking."
He stepped closer. "You can tell me. I won't judge."
She hesitated, then admitted, "I just… I never imagined my life like this. That I'd be here. With you."
His hand brushed hers. "Neither did I," he admitted. "And yet… here we are."
The words were simple, but the weight behind them made her chest ache. She wanted to pull away, but the warmth of his hand, the quiet sincerity in his eyes, anchored her.
And in that moment, the contract ... the rules, the boundaries, the careful distance they had tried to maintain felt impossibly fragile.
By the end of the chapter, both Ayra and Liam realized something that neither could say aloud yet: this contract was never going to protect them from what they were beginning to feel.
The tension between them was no longer just about appearances. It had become something more dangerous, more thrilling ,something that promised heartbreak, desire, and perhaps… love.
And for the first time, both of them knew that the rules were already breaking.