The hum of the engine fills the silence as you shift slightly in your seat, hyper-aware of the weight of Christian’s hand on your thigh. His touch is casual, almost absentminded, yet there’s an undeniable sense of possession in the way his fingers rest against your skin.

You steal a glance at him—sharp jawline, unreadable expression, eyes fixed on the city lights flashing past the tinted windows. He’s as effortlessly composed as ever, like this is just another business deal to him. And maybe it is.

You both knew what you were signing up for. A mutually beneficial arrangement—his pristine reputation untouched, your social media presence skyrocketing. Simple.

But as his fingers flex slightly, sending a slow warmth curling through you, you can’t help but wonder: how long will it really stay just pretend?