The feeling of light, feathered kisses on my back woke me up.
For a second, I thought I was dreaming.
You know — one of those steamy fantasies where the guy doesn't belong to your sister and you're not knee-deep in a rich woman's life you've been impersonating for a week straight.
But no. This was real.
And worse—it was him.
Killian.
His lips were barely brushing against my shoulder blades like he had every right to be there. Like this body was his playground.
Spoiler alert: It's not.
My first instinct?
Scream. Slap. Set the house on fire.
But I didn't. Because unfortunately, I'm still "Selena."
So I did the only thing I could do.
I froze.
Still groggy from sleep, I mumbled,
"What are you doing?"
My voice was low, cracked with exhaustion, but I made sure to stay in character. I couldn't afford to sound annoyed, even though—
Waking me up in the middle of the night?
Killian. Be serious.
I squinted toward the window.
Dark. Silent. Definitely not morning.
So yeah. Middle of the night confirmed.
I rolled slightly, careful not to flinch at the feel of his arm now lazily draped across my waist.
Great. Now I'm being cuddled by someone I'm impersonating a marriage with.
10/10. Zero regrets, 100% recommend— maybe not.
"Doing my husbandly duty," he joked, his voice low as he continued pressing kisses up my neck.
I stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.
I got murder on my mind.
Not just light murder. Not cute romcom murder.
Actual, cold-blooded, orange-jumpsuit murder.
Because what the hell kind of 'duty' involves waking me up at ungodly hours just to nuzzle my spine like a lost puppy?
I wiggled out of his grasp, inching toward the edge of the bed, determined to reclaim at least one inch of personal space.
But of course, my moment of peace was short-lived.
His arm caught me mid-escape, pulling me right back against his chest.
"Now where are we running to, kitten?" he murmured.
Kitten?
Excuse me, what in the sexually frustrating hell is this? Since when did Selena get called kitten? Is that a thing? Is this a recurring pet name?
Because now I have questions.
And a growing need for holy water.
When I didn't respond, he leaned in closer, clearly aiming for my lips.
Sir, no.
"Hmm… morning breath," I said quickly, dodging the kiss like it carried a plague.
He chuckled, completely unfazed.
"When has that ever stopped me?"
I blinked.
So y'all are freaky. Got it.
"Don't you have work in the morning?" I asked, voice sweet but strained, expertly swerving the moment like an emotional getaway driver.
Anything to change the subject.
Anything to stop him from kissing me again.
"Not anymore," he replied like he'd just performed an act of divine generosity. "I decided to give myself a day off."
He smiled—well, the Killian version of a smile, which is more like a smirk that got lost on the way to sincerity.
"I just realized we haven't spent much time together in a while."
Oh? Now it's "we"?
Not like y'all were spending time together before.
Not from what I heard.
The real Selena used to say he'd come home like a ghost—cold, quiet, and gone again before morning. So what's with all this sudden "quality time" energy?
"Hmm, that sounds amazing," I said, faking a smile so well I deserved an award.
Best Actress in a Psychological Romance Thriller: Me.
My body temperature spiked from how close he was — his warmth, his cologne, his stupidly perfect jawline.
But I didn't forget my role.
So I pushed aside the discomfort, tucked the panic under my ribcage, and rested my hand gently on his chest.
"Now I have you all to myself," I added, voice soft, eyes steady.
"Yes, baby. I'm all yours," he murmured, pulling me fully against him and pressing his lips to mine.
Holy shit.
Not the fake-wife, pretend-we're-in-love kind of kiss.
A real kiss.
A I-forgot-my-own-name kind of kiss.
The kind of kiss that makes you forget you're impersonating your sister and remember you have a pulse.
His lips pressed against mine—warm, firm, and far too familiar for someone I barely knew. It wasn't rushed, or hungry. It was deliberate, like he meant it. Like he meant me.
And for a terrifying second...
I kissed him back.
Then I snapped out of it.
Reality hit like a slap.
"But… I'd love to sleep now," I said quickly, pulling back just enough to breathe again.
"Tomorrow morning, we do… whatever."
I added a lazy smile for effect, like I wasn't two seconds away from a full-blown identity crisis.
"Okay, your way," he said simply, voice low and unbothered.
Like he hadn't just shaken my entire nervous system with one kiss.
I turned away, facing the wall, pretending to fall asleep.
But sleep?
Yeah, that wasn't happening tonight.
The next morning, I woke up to déjà vu.
Same man.
Same unwanted intimacy.
Except this time, he was standing over me, leaning down to press a soft kiss on my shoulder.
My eyes fluttered open.
"Hi… good morning," I mumbled in a groggy voice, blinking up at him like this was normal.
Like I wasn't dying slowly inside.
"Good morning," he replied, already dressed in a sharp black two-piece suit, adjusting his cufflinks with quiet precision.
I blinked, still foggy.
"Are you… going somewhere?" I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"Yeah," he said bluntly, not looking up. "Change of plans. Something came up at the office. I'll be back soon."
That was it. No kiss, no extra warmth. Just business.
I watched him, silent.
And for some reason… that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
Is he… bipolar?
Because I swear, last night he was soft, kissy, calling me kitten and giving me black Amex cards.
Now? Cold. Distant. Suited up like he's got a meeting with the devil himself.
What is happening??
Somebody get me away from this place!!!