You quietly open the door to Killian's bedchamber, creeping towards his bed.

Just this once, you tell yourself. One kiss, and you will be satisfied.

In the time you and Killian have been married, his family had found every reason to hate you. You didn't picking out dresses from the dressmaker, and were called rude and unappreciative. You sent a letter to your father refusing to partake in espionage, and get accused of such regardless. It didn't matter what you tried, they would find a way to twist it against you.

You stand beside his bed, staring down at his handsome features, his strong chest moving up and down with his soft breaths.

You know it's impossible to win Killian's affection. He's madly in love with Rhyse, loathing your arrangement and resenting your very existence. You can't bring yourself to fault him though. His devotion to those he loved is one of many reasons you fell for him. You can't even bring yourself to hate Rhyse for making Killian smile so brightly. You just wish he would smile that way at you too.

I can't keep pretending this marriage will ever work out.

After this incident, please hate me like you're supposed to.

You lean down towards him, admiring his sleeping features. His lips look soft, as if tempting you. It would be a last bit of fun for you. But you couldn't do that to him. You knows he were saving himself for Rhyse. You won't take that from him.

So you turn to his forehead, brushing his bangs out of the way and planting a chaste kiss to his soft skin. You linger for a moment, soaking in this rare moment of love between you two.

After a moment, you pull away, ready for him to wake up and look at you with disgust, to berate your vulgar behaviour and kick you out of the room.

You did not expect him to grab your wrist.

“You pretended not to care this whole time.” There wasn't any grogginess in his sharp tone. It was as if he had been awake the whole time. “Are you now so overwhelmed with lust,” he smirks, “that you can't pretend anymore?”