Maya's POV
The morning was quiet. My small suitcase sat by the bedroom door. It held everything important I owned. It didn't look like much.
My sister Mia stood in the doorway. She looked angry, but I saw the worry in her eyes. "You don't have to go," she said.
"Yes, I do," I replied, folding a shirt. "This is for us. For Mama. For you."
"It feels wrong," she whispered.
Downstairs, my mother was making tea. The familiar, safe sound filled the kitchen. I brought my suitcase down. She turned and saw it. Her smile was brave, but her eyes were sad. "You will visit?" she asked.
"Of course, Mama," I lied. I didn't know the rules yet.
The black car came at noon. Robert opened the door. I hugged my mother tight. She smelled like home. "You are always my daughter," she whispered. "Always come back."
I got in the car. I did not let myself cry.
But the car didn't go to a big house. It stopped in front of a beautiful shop in a very fancy part of London. Robert opened my door. "Mr. Thorne's instructions, Miss Mayfair. Please go inside."
Confused, I walked in. A woman in a black dress greeted me with a perfect smile. "Miss Mayfair. We are here to prepare you." Before I could speak, gentle hands led me away.
For two hours, I was not myself. They washed and styled my hair until it was soft and smooth. They did my makeup with small, careful brushes. They took my simple navy dress and my old shoes. They brought new clothes—soft, expensive fabrics in colors like cream and rose. Finally, they stood me in front of a tall mirror.
I did not recognize the woman staring back. My eyes looked bigger. My skin glowed. The dress fit perfectly, flowing like water. I looked… beautiful. Not like Maya from the small house. Like someone from a magazine. Someone Alexander Thorne would marry. The thought made my stomach twist.
Robert drove me out of the city. We passed big gates and long rows of trees. The house was huge, made of old stone. It was like a king's house.
Alexander was waiting in the garden. He wore a dark suit. He looked at me, his eyes moving slowly from my head to my feet. His face showed nothing. "Better," was all he said. "Remember the story. We are in love. Be quiet. Smile. Look at me if you do not know what to say." He did not wait for my answer. He walked toward the house.
Inside, his parents waited. His father, Henry, had a sharp face and cold eyes. His mother, Eleanor, was elegant, with a kind smile that did not feel kind. "This is Maya," Alexander said. His voice was warmer now. It was an act.
His mother took my hands. "Pretty," she said, but her eyes were checking me like a product.
Dinner was long. The plates were gold. The food was small and beautiful. I did not taste it. His father asked about my family. I said my mother was a teacher. "And you?" he asked. "What do you do?" "I will go back to school," I said.
Alexander's hand touched mine on the table. It was warm. A pretend touch. But it felt real. It felt safe. I held onto it like a rope in a storm. He played his part perfectly. He filled my glass. He smiled at me with soft eyes that were not real. I smiled back. My face hurt from pretending.
Finally, dinner was over. His mother kissed my cheek. "Alexander, show Maya to your room. She must be tired." Your room. Not a guest room.
We walked up the big stairs in silence. The act was over. His warmth was gone. He opened a door to a large bedroom. There was one big bed. My heart jumped into my throat. "This is us," he said, his voice cold again. "For my parents, we must share a room. They must believe this is real."
I stood frozen in the doorway. He walked to a drawer, took out a small piece of silk and lace, and placed it on the bed. It was lingerie. Very beautiful. Very revealing. "Change," he said, not looking at me.
My face burned. I did not move. I was too shy. He finally looked at me. His eyes were like gray ice. "If you keep being this shy," he said slowly, "how do we make a baby? This is part of the contract." The words were a slap. They were not romantic. They were a business reminder.
I took the silk in my hands. It felt soft and scary. "Can you… turn around?" A flicker of something crossed his face. Almost like annoyance. Or maybe pity. He turned to look out the window.
My hands shook as I changed. The silk felt strange on my skin. I felt exposed. When I was done, I stood still, hugging my arms. "I am done," I whispered.
He turned. His eyes moved over me. His face was hard. Unreadable. He had changed too, into simple dark pajama pants. His chest was bare. He was strong, like a statue. I looked away, my cheeks on fire. "Get in the bed," he said.
I moved quickly, slipping under the covers, turning my back to him. The bed was huge. I stayed on the very edge. I heard him move. The lights went off. The bed dipped as he lay down. There was an ocean of space between us in the dark.
I could not breathe. I could hear my own heart. I could feel the heat from his body across the sheets.
Minutes passed. Maybe an hour.
Then, his voice in the dark, low and quiet. "You did well today. With my parents." I was so surprised he spoke, I turned a little. In the moonlight from the window, I could see the shape of him, lying on his back. "Thank you," I whispered.
"It was not a compliment," he said. "It was an observation. You are a good actress." The words hurt. I turned away again, tears stinging my eyes.
More silence.
Then, I felt it. A shift. His hand, very slowly, brushed against my arm under the sheets. I froze. His touch was light. Just his fingers tracing a slow line from my wrist to my elbow. It was not a business touch. It was… curious. Gentle. My skin came alive. A shiver ran through me.
"You are shaking," he said softly.
"I am cold," I lied.
He moved closer. Not much. Just enough that I could feel his warmth against my back. His hand stopped on my arm, his fingers resting there. "Maya," he said. My name in the dark sounded different. I did not answer.
Slowly, he turned me. I did not fight him. In the faint light, his face was shadows and sharp lines. His eyes were dark pools, watching me. His hand came up and touched my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear I did not know had fallen. "This part…" he whispered, his voice rough. "This part does not have to be cold."
And then he lowered his head. His lips touched mine.
It was soft. Questioning. Not the kiss of a husband. Not the kiss of a stranger buying a baby. It was just… a kiss.
My mind went empty. My body melted. I kissed him back.
For a moment, there was no contract. No betrayal. No past. Just the warm, dark quiet and his mouth on mine.
Then, he pulled away. He rested his forehead against mine. His breathing was uneven. "Go to sleep," he said, his voice tight. He turned onto his back again, putting the space back between us.
I lay in the dark, my lips still tingling, my heart crashing against my ribs. The kiss changed nothing. He was still cold Alexander. I was still the girl he bought.
But in that one kiss, I felt a crack in his ice. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.