Caught in the Act.
Lila sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, highlighter in hand, and coffee cups forming a defensive wall around her. Her brows were knitted so tightly it looked like she was trying to solve the mystery of the universe, or at least a particularly vicious Excel spreadsheet.
Ryan leaned against the doorframe, smirking.
"Well, well, look at you. Nerd mode activated," he drawled. "Careful, Lila. If you frown any harder, your face might get stuck like that. I'm not sure I can be friends with a grumpy raisin."
She shot him a glare over the top of her laptop.
"Go away, Ryan."
"Not until you tell me what has you looking like you're about to defend a thesis in rocket science."
With a dramatic sigh, Lila set the highlighter down. "I've got an interview next week at Black ridge corporation, one of the biggest firms in the city. If I get this job, it's, well, it's huge for me. So yes, I'm studying every single thing they might throw at me."
Ryan strolled in like he owned the place, because of course he did, and plopped onto her bed, ignoring the flash of annoyance in her eyes.
"Big company, huh? Sounds serious. Almost as serious as the time I ate an entire family-sized pizza by myself."
Before she could throw the highlighter at him, Ryan's phone buzzed, slicing through the moment. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting into something unreadable before answering.
"Hello?" His tone dropped, smooth, clipped, and laced with an edge that didn't match his usual lazy drawl. Words like shipment and transfer slipped out between pauses, his voice careful yet commanding.
"I'll handle it," he murmured, turning his back as he strolled toward the balcony.
Lila's brow furrowed. She watched his silhouette against the light, the way his shoulders squared, the way his voice carried that strange authority. It wasn't the Ryan she'd seen tangled in sheets an hour ago, this one felt, dangerous.
But Lila was too busy to focus on that. So she brushed if off and focus on her studies.
Lila cooking.
The kitchen smelled like heaven, Lila's heaven, anyway. She'd just plated her masterpiece, golden roast chicken, creamy mashed potatoes, and a sauce so perfect she was tempted to bottle and sell it.
All that was missing? Her favorite vanilla milkshake from the café down the street. She could already imagine sipping it while savoring every bite.
Grabbing her purse, she dashed out. It was a five-minute mission. In, out, milkshake in hand.
But when she returned, humming happily, she froze mid-step.
The plates were gone.
The chicken_ gone.
The mashed potatoes were gone.
Every. Last. Bite.
Her soul left her body for a second before it returned with a vengeance.
"RYAAAAAAAN WEST!" she screamed, the sound echoing like a war horn.
A clatter of footsteps, then Ryan appeared in the doorway, with a tall, busty brunette in a skintight dress right behind him.
"What happened? Why are you screaming like you just saw a ghost?" Ryan asked, half-concerned, half-annoyed.
Lila's eyes zipped straight from his guilty puppy-dog stare to the brunette's glossy smirk invader, and she swallowed her rage like a bitter pill, because, oh boy, if glares were lasers, that woman would've been vaporized on the spot. She swallowed her boiling rage like it was a shot of straight vinegar, burning all the way down, clenching her fists so tight her nails bit into her palms. Who the hell is this? And why is she breathing his air?
The brunette wrinkled her nose like she'd just stepped in something unpleasant, flipping her hair with a dramatic sigh. "Ew, your little sister is so rude. I mean, look at her, staring daggers, no manners whatsoever. Total brat vibe."
Ryan's face? Instant thundercloud. His jaw ticked, and he whipped around so fast it was like she'd flipped a switch from "chill guy" to "protector mode: engaged." "Whoa, whoa, whoa, pump the brakes, right there. You do not get to talk about her like that. Not even close. Apologize. Now."
The brunette's pout could curdle milk, full glossy lips pushed out, lashes batting like faulty windshield wipers. "What? Come on, Ryan, it's just your kid sister being all dramatic. I'm saying, it's kinda tacky to screech like a banshee when you know your big bro's got... company." She shrugged one shoulder, all faux forgiveness, then turned those baby blues on Lila with a saccharine smile that dripped honeyed venom. "But hey, water under the bridge. So, little sis? How about you whip up a coffee for your guest? Black, two sugars. Chop-chop."
Lila smiled sweetly, too sweetly, as she took a step forward, but before she could "politely" destroy this woman, or unleash the verbal fireworks maybe just a well-aimed throw pillow, Ryan snapped, full-on, no-holds-barred, his voice dropping to that low, unyielding growl that made her knees do funny things even now.
"Did you just, did you just tell her to make you coffee? Okay, that's it. Show's over. You're done. Grab your purse, your attitude, and get out. Right. This. Second." He jabbed a finger toward the door, his free hand already steering the brunette by the elbow like she was a misbehaving toddler at nap time.
Her eyes bugged out comically wide, all shock and betrayal, like he'd just canceled Christmas. "Wait, what? You're seriously kicking me out? Over her?" She planted her hands on her hips, giving an exaggerated shimmy that sent her curves jiggling like they were auditioning for their own reality show, practically waving them in his face as her ultimate bribe. "You're tossing all this to the curb for some snot-nosed kid sister? Ryan, baby, think about it..."
And for a second, just a second, Lila swore that the he-goat was tempted. But then he went full bipolar mode.
"Yes. In a heartbeat, I'd ditch every inch of that," he said, waving a dismissive hand at her over-the-top display like it was yesterday's takeout, "for her." His voice softened just a notch as he glanced back at Lila, that fierce protectiveness melting into something warmer, sweeter, like he'd bottled sunshine for her alone. "And for the record? She's not my sister. She's my wife. The one and only. So, yeah, door's that way. Don't let it hit you on the ass."
The brunette gaped, mouth flapping like a fish on dry land, before she snatched her clutch.
"What? Your wife? Jeez, that's straight-up creepy, calling your kid sister your wife? You two got some weird family dynamic going on, or what?" The brunette's voice pitched up like a deflating balloon, all screechy outrage as she clutched her purse like a shield, heels scraping the floor in a half-retreat.
Ryan's patience? Snapped like a cheap guitar string. He crossed his arms, towering in the doorway with that no-nonsense stare that could've frozen lava. "I don't owe you jack squat by way of explanations. Door's open. Use it. Now."
But oh, she wasn't slinking off without a parting shot, something about the casual way he'd booted her ass for his "little sister" lit a fire under her designer stilettos, turning her pout into a full-on sneer. She straightened up, flipping her hair like it was a weapon, and unloaded with the precision of a tabloid takedown. "You know what? I wouldn't have even bothered showing up if it wasn't for that fat stack of cash you dangled. And now you've got the gall to toss me out like yesterday's trash over her? Please. Newsflash, pretty boy, I was never into you anyway. Couldn't give two figs about your so-called charm. Yeah, you've got the face, maybe even the abs under there, but let's be real: your wallet's probably as limp as your game. Living in this shoebox dump with your bratty kid sister? Can't even spring for her own house or crash pad? Pathetic. Total clown show." She spat the words like sour grapes as she flounced toward the exit, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the windows, leaving a wake of cheap perfume and zero regrets.
Ryan's jaw clenched so tight Lila could hear his teeth grinding from across the room, that easygoing vibe evaporating like mist in a microwave. He yanked his phone from his pocket faster than a bad habit, thumb jabbing the screen as he barked into it, voice all gravel and grit. "Yeah, this is Ryan West. Yeah, you heard me right, send over your top-tier list. The biggest, flashiest, most over-the-top mansions you've got on the books. No expense spared. And make it quick." He paused, glancing at the cozy chaos of their "tiny" living room, the mismatched couch they'd scavenged from a garage sale, the framed pics of their dumb adventures, and let out a huff that was half-laugh, half-growl. "No one talks smack about my girl like that. And yeah, it's kinda her fault we're catching heat for this shoebox life... but damn if it ain't worth it."
He pocketed the phone and spun back to Lila, that storm cloud lifting just enough for a playful glint to sneak in. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shot her a wink that could've powered a small city. "Speaking of... blame yourself for looking all pint-sized and teenage-fresh next to this towering Adonis over here, stout, tall, and stupidly handsome. You're like the pocket-sized trouble that makes me look like the responsible one. Total setup."
She arched a brow, but the corner of her mouth twitched, fighting a smile. He stepped closer, softening the tease into something real, his hand brushing her arm in that absent, comforting way that always grounded her. "Look, that's why you've got me in your corner, okay? Rain or shine, insults or ice cream runs, I'm here, no matter what kinda nonsense anyone slings your way. Big bro's got your back. Forever. Don't sweat her; she's just salty 'cause I picked you in a heartbeat, and I'd do it a thousand times over. You know that, right? Zero drama. Promise."
Lila rolled her eyes so dramatically it was a full-body event, but the warmth in her chest? Undeniable, like hot cocoa on a rainy day. "Oh, please, spare me the knight-in-shining-armor monologue, Sir Galahad. I didn't sign up for the sappy sequel." But then, because timing was her love language, she snatched a giant serving fork in one fist and a battle-scarred spatula in the other, twisting her face into the most over-the-top villain glare she could muster, eyes narrowed to slits, lips curled in a snarl that screamed feed me or fear me. She brandished the utensils like a deranged chef from a horror flick, jabbing the air for emphasis. "Now, where. Is. My. Food? You've got about three seconds before I start this kitchen raid without you, hubby."
Ryan glanced at his phone, utterly unfazed. "Hmm, how about this? Your food in exchange for the latest iPhone?"
Lila's eyes bugged out like she'd just won the lottery, the food lottery. The fork and spatula hit the kitchen floor with a metallic clang that echoed her dropped jaw, rolling away like they'd seen some shit.
"Wait... oh. Oh. I totally spaced that I'm hitched to a walking ATM. Here I am, white-knuckling this ancient brick of a phone, seven years old, glitches like it's possessed by a demon tech support nightmare. So, spill: cash in hand, or Venmo magic? Make it snappy, big spender."
He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with that lazy, lopsided grin that always made her stomach do a little flip, half tease, half trouble. "You know, this is exactly how Esau got fleeced out of his birthright by Jacob. Bowl of stew for the family jewels. Keep haggling like this, babe, and you'll wake up owning nothing but my last name, and maybe a timeshare in my heart."
"Hand. Over. The. Phone. Now, Ryan West, as if I am not already your wife. She added with her eyes rolling, she growled, leaning in close enough that her breath ghosted his cheek, eyes narrowing to playful slits that screamed test me and regret it.
Ryan let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that said I'm doomed and loving every second, but his fingers were already flying across the screen, tapping "buy" with the speed of a man dodging marital landmines. Seconds ticked by, eternal, agonizing, until the confirmation pinged. And boom: Lila let out a squeal that could shatter glass, pure, unfiltered glee, before catapulting herself across the two feet of linoleum tile and straight into his arms. She wrapped around him like a koala on caffeine, squeezing tight, face buried in his shirt that smelled like home and faint cologne, hugging him like he'd just stormed a battlefield and brought back her heart on a platter.
"Best. Husband. Ever!" she chirped, pulling back just enough to plant a smacking kiss on his cheek, her grin wide and wicked.
He smirked right over her shoulder, arms locked around her waist like he'd never let go, voice muffled against her hair. "Yeah, yeah, flattery'll get you everywhere. Until the next time I 'accidentally' polish off your fries. Then what, huh? World War Three?"
She poked his nose, sharp, affectionate, the universal shush of best friends turned something more, drawing back with a cool-as-ice arch of her brow. "And you'd make it up to me with another iPhone, duh.
Escalation's my love language."
Ryan facepalmed, dramatic and full-throated, like she'd just confessed to a felony. "What kind of wife are you? A tech-hoarding, food-guarding menace?"
"Ask that again," she drawled, voice dropping to that silky, no-bullshit tone that always made him pause, "and you'll be fasting for a full week, theme: 'Salvation for the World,' prayers and water only. Your move, hubby." She mimed zipping her lips for emphasis, but he beat her to it, reaching up with a gentle finger to trace an invisible zipper across his own mouth, eyes twinkling surrender.
The kitchen fell into that easy hush, the kind dotted with leftover laughter and the hum of the fridge, their foreheads bumping soft as they stood there, tangled, teasing, and totally, ridiculously in love. "Truce?" he murmured, stealing a quick kiss that tasted like promises.
"Truce," she whispered back, but her hand snuck to his pocket for that phone anyway. Just in case.
The Following Morning....
Morning sunlight streamed through the hallway windows as Lila wiped a thin layer of sweat from her forehead.
Her morning run had been longer than usual and right now, she was desperately craving a shower that could wash away the five extra miles she'd tacked on just to outrun her own brain. She hadn't spotted Ryan since rolling out of bed solo, her usual running buddy ditching her for... who triumphant, and desperately craving a shower that could wash away the five extra miles she'd tacked on just to outrun her own brain. She hadn't spotted Ryan since rolling out of bed solo, her usual running buddy ditching her for... who knows? Coffee? A secret lair?
Whatever. Now, as she hit the stairs halfway up, her calves screaming for mercy, she couldn't help the little ping of curiosity. Where'd you vanish to, Houdini?
That's when it hit her, a weird, breathy sound drifting from one of the guest rooms, all low moans tangled with a rhythm that no playlist could fake. Her brow crinkled like she'd bitten into a lemon. What the actual...? She'd figured the house was empty,? Whatever. Now, as she hit the stairs halfway up, her calves screaming for mercy, she couldn't help the little ping of curiosity. Where'd you vanish to, Houdini?
Curiosity was a sneaky bastard, stronger than any "mind your business" pep talk her common sense could muster. Barefoot and bold, she crept down the hall, ears perked like a cat burglar in yoga pants. Heart thumping a little too loud in her ears, she leaned in, just a peek, and nudged the door open with the tip of her pinky, like it might bite back.
Her eyes? Saucer-wide in three seconds flat.
Ryan was very much occupied. Like, capital-O occupied. A stunning brunette was splayed across his bed like she'd been airbrushed into existence, head thrown back in that classic "oh yes" arch, nails clawing the sheets as if they owed her money. And Ryan? God, Ryan was in the driver's seat, hips snapping with a precision that screamed practice makes perfect, every thrust smooth and shameless. The sight of his... well, let's call it his generous gift, thick, unapologetic, and working overtime, fried Lila's brain circuits like a dropped phone in the toilet.
Her first gut punch? Run, girl, run. Bolt like your dignity depends on it (spoiler: it did). But her legs? Total traitors. Planted. Frozen. Staring.
Oh my God, she thought, her scalp prickling. No wonder they scream so loud, the guy's practically armed and dangerous.
Something about the way he stood there unraveled her. Maybe it was the taut, chiseled ridges of his abs, sculpted like marble yet alive with heat. Or the pale smoothness of his skin, made almost luminous by the thin sheen of sweat trickling down in glittering beads. Or maybe, God help her, it was the thick, rigid length of his manhood, standing proud and merciless, daring her to look away.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. It was too much. He was too much. Standing before her, he didn't just look perfect, he looked dangerous. Like a sin carved into flesh. Like a beautiful criminal who had already stolen her reason and was about to rob her of control.
She gulped, throat Sahara-dry, pulse jackhammering in places it had no business being. Too much. Way too much. He was perfection dialed to eleven, dangerous, delicious, the thief who'd swiped her sanity years ago and now circled back for her self-control.
She should've spun out, hightailed it to the safety of denial. But her eyes? Lingered. Traitorous little traitors, drinking in one beat too long, until her mouth turned to cotton candy dust. And that's when Ryan clocked her, mid-thrust, no less, his gaze snapping to hers like a heat-seeking missile.
A smug, knowing smirk curled his lips, all busted and busted you good, like he'd been waiting for an audience of one.
Heat flooded her cheeks, crimson, volcanic.
And when she saw that he had caught her, Lila then snapped her chin up, puffed her cheeks like he'd just grossed her out, and scoffed.
Then, without another word, she spun on her heel and marched off, her heart pounding for reasons she refused to admit. Her cheek crimson shades already. Her mind screaming, WTF.
Lila was standing in front of the mirror, fastening the last button on her crisp white blouse when the door creaked open. Ryan strolled in, shirt unbuttoned, hair still messy from whatever chaos he'd been up to. He leaned lazily against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"So, someone was peeking at me during my heated moments," he drawled, his voice slow, almost lazy, but dripping with amusement.
Lila froze for a split second, then spun around with narrowed eyes. "I wasn't peeking, okay? I had just gotten back from my exercise and thought you weren't home," she shot back, folding her arms.
Ryan stepped further into the room, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh really? So, why did you linger? Decided to get yourself a little free, cinema?" His grin widened, just enough to make her want to throw a pillow at him.
Lila rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "You're delusional."
"Mm-hmm," he hummed, clearly unconvinced. His gaze flicked down to her outfit. "And by the way, what's with the power-dress? Where are you going?"
"Unlike some people who only think about screwing anything in a skirt," she said, pointedly, "I'm actually trying to secure a job. So yes, I'm going for my interview today."
Ryan gave an approving nod. "Hmm, that's cool. Which lucky company is about to have their socks knocked off by Miss Lila-the-Overachiever?"
"Blackridge Corporation, the one I've been studying for" she replied, her chin tilting up proudly. "One of the biggest in the city. Landing this would be huge for me."
He gave a slow whistle. "Ah, the place where everyone wears suits that cost more than their rent. Ambitious. I like it."
Before she could roll her eyes again, Ryan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, frowned for half a second, then answered.
"Hello?"
A sweet, sultry voice floated through the speaker. "Ryan… it's me. You remember me, right?"
He paused. "Uh…"
"We met at the champagne gala? I was wearing the red dress,"
"Sorry, sweetheart," he interrupted with a yawn, "you're gonna have to be more specific. That describes at least seven women I've met this month."
Lila gasped. "Oh my god. You seriously can't even remember their names now?"
He gave her an unapologetic grin. "What can I say? It's not my fault I'm this hot, rich, and handsome. Women just, appear."
"Yeah, well, I hope one of them also appears to take out your trash, because I'm busy," she retorted, pushing him toward the door.
"Hey,"
"Nope. Out. I don't need you infecting me with your bad luck before my interview."
Ryan let her shove him out into the hallway, hands raised in surrender but still smirking.
He let himself be pushed out, chuckling all the way down the hall. "You'll miss me, Lila. You always do."
"Not in this lifetime!" she called after him, slamming the door shut but not before hearing his remarks ."Break a leg, Miss Blackridge."
She shut the door in his face before he could add anything else, muttering under her breath, "Unbelievable."