[POV: Lanaya Roux]

Friday arrived with the suffocating inevitability of a nightmare.

Lanaya stood in the center of Maverick's sprawling guest bedroom, surrounded by cardboard boxes that held the entirety of her life. Ash-wood floors. Slate-grey walls. A king-sized bed that looked more like a slab of marble than a place to sleep.

It didn't feel like a room. It felt like a cell.

"I can unpack those for you, Miss Roux."

Lanaya spun around. A woman stood in the doorway - older, sharply dressed, with eyes that saw entirely too much.

"No. Thank you. I'll do it myself."

"Mr. Hayden requested I ensure you are settled. I am Mrs. Gable. The estate manager."

"Estate manager," Lanaya repeated dryly. "Because calling this a penthouse isn't pretentious enough."

Mrs. Gable didn't crack a smile. "Dinner is at seven. Mr. Hayden expects you in the formal dining room."

"Tell Mr. Hayden I'm not hungry."

"He was quite specific that your attendance is mandatory. To discuss the upcoming press tour."

The press tour. The dog-and-pony show where she would have to smile, wave, and pretend the heavy diamond on her finger wasn't an anchor dragging her to the bottom of the ocean.

"Fine. Seven," Lanaya snapped.

Mrs. Gable gave a crisp nod and disappeared.

Lanaya sank onto the edge of the mattress, dropping her head into her hands. She had survived the morning press conference. Barely. The flashbulbs were blinding. The questions were invasive.

But the worst part wasn't the media. And for once, it wasn't even Maverick.

It was their fathers.

Camden and Alexander had stood together at the edge of the room while the cameras flashed. Not across from each other the way two men finalizing a business arrangement would stand. Side by side, speaking too quietly and too comfortably for men who were supposed to be meeting over a merger. At one point, Alexander said something low and her father nodded - not the nod of a man receiving new information, but the slow, automatic nod of a man being reminded of something he already knew. When someone nearby mentioned Crew's name, directing a question about the foundation toward Camden, both men went still at the exact same moment. Her father answered smoothly. Alexander said nothing. He simply set his glass down on the nearest surface, very carefully, and turned to look at the window.

Lanaya hadn't known what to do with that.

She still didn't.

She stood up, needing to move. She ripped open the nearest box and began shoving clothes into the walk-in closet, channeling all her vibrating anger into the simple task. By six-thirty the boxes were empty. By six-forty-five she was pacing. By six-fifty-five, the scent of cedar and dark musk hit her before the knock even sounded.

Her heart kicked against her ribs. She hated the immediate, traitorous reaction.

"Come in."

The heavy door pushed open. Maverick stood in the frame - dark jeans, fitted black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. The bruise on his jaw was a dark, violent shadow. He looked too big for the doorway. Too dangerous for the room.

"You skipped lunch," he stated.

"I wasn't hungry."

"You need to eat. You have practice tomorrow."

"Don't tell me what I need." She crossed her arms. "And stop monitoring my meals."

He stepped fully into the room. The sheer heat radiating off him immediately changed the temperature of the air. "I monitor everything in my house."

"I am not one of your possessions, Maverick."

"No," he agreed, his voice dropping an octave. He closed the distance until he was standing entirely too close. "You're my fiancée."

Lanaya let out a harsh laugh. "Only on paper."

"The media doesn't care about the paper. They care about the performance."

"I gave them a performance this morning."

"You looked like you were being led to a firing squad." He reached out. Before she could dodge, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her left hand up between them. The diamond caught the light. "If you look at me like a hostage on the press tour, Alexander will know we're faking it."

The name came out the same way it had in the tunnel - flat and load-bearing, worn smooth by long practice. Not hatred. Not pride. The specific blankness of a man who had learned exactly how much pressure that name could apply, and had stopped flinching under it years ago. For a moment his jaw tightened in a way that had nothing to do with her.

Then his eyes came back to her face and the shutter closed.

"Then let him know," she said. She tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was iron.

"If he knows, the merger dies. The foundation dies." His chest brushed against hers. The friction sent a shocking, unwanted spike of electricity straight through her. "Is that what you want, Huntress?"

"I want you to let me go."

"I can't."

The raw honesty in those two words made her freeze. She looked up. The cold, mocking mask was gone. His grey-blue eyes were storm-dark, fixed on her mouth with a starving intensity that made her breath hitch.

"Maverick," she warned, her voice trembling.

"We have to make them believe it," he whispered, his thumb tracing the frantic pulse in her wrist. "Starting right now."

Before she could process the threat, his hand tangled in her hair, and his mouth crashed down on hers.

[POV: Lanaya Roux]

The kiss was an act of war.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. Maverick's mouth crashed against hers with eight years of starved, violent desperation. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her in place while his other arm wrapped like an iron band around her waist, hauling her flush against his chest.

Lanaya gasped against his lips, the sound entirely involuntary.

He took immediate advantage. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot and dominant, claiming territory that didn't belong to him. The taste of him-mint and dark, expensive bourbon-flooded her senses, obliterating every rational thought she possessed.

For two terrifying seconds, she kissed him back.

Her hands, which should have been shoving him away, tangled in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. She felt the heavy, frantic thud of his heart against her palm. It beat just as wildly as hers.

Then reality shattered the haze.

Crew's jersey number. The penalty box. The blackmail.

Lanaya ripped herself away, shoving her hands hard against his chest.

She stumbled back, hitting the edge of the mattress. Her chest heaved. Her lips burned, swollen and tingling with the ghost of his touch.

Maverick didn't move. He stood exactly where she left him, breathing heavily. His dark hair was slightly messy where her fingers had gripped it. His grey-blue eyes were completely black, fixated on her mouth with a hunger that made her skin crawl.

"Don't," Lanaya choked out, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. "Don't ever do that again."

"It was a test." His voice was a raw, jagged rasp.

"A test?" She let out a harsh, broken laugh. "Are you insane?"

"I had to see if you could fake it."

"Fake it? You practically swallowed me whole!"

"And you kissed me back."

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. The air vanished from the room.

"I didn't," she lied.

Maverick took a slow, predatory step forward. "You did. Your hands were in my shirt. Your mouth opened for mine. If Alexander or the press saw that, they would buy the engagement in a heartbeat."

"They aren't here!" Lanaya backed up until her calves hit the bed frame. There was nowhere else to go. "We are in a bedroom. Alone. There was no one to perform for, Maverick."

He stopped mere inches from her. The heat radiating off his body was suffocating. "Maybe I was performing for myself."

Lanaya's stomach plummeted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he leaned down, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "that if you look at me like you hate me on the press tour tomorrow, I will pull you in front of the cameras and do exactly what I just did. Until you stop fighting me."

"You are blackmailing me into a relationship, forcing me to live in your house, and now you're threatening to assault me on national television?"

"It's not assault if you're my fiancée."

"I am not your fiancée!" Lanaya screamed, the rage finally snapping her control. She swung at him.

Maverick caught her wrist in mid-air. His reflexes were terrifyingly fast. He didn't twist her arm, but his grip was unyielding.

"You are," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm against her rising panic. "Until the ink dries on that merger, you belong to this lie. You belong to me."

"I would rather see Redstone burn."

"No, you wouldn't." He stepped closer, crowding her completely. "Because if Redstone burns, Crew's foundation burns with it. And you will never let that happen. You will let me kiss you. You will hold my hand. You will smile for the cameras."

He released her wrist slowly, his thumb brushing over the frantic pulse jumping beneath her skin. The gentle touch was infinitely worse than the harsh grip.

"Get dressed, Huntress," he ordered softly. "Dinner is in ten minutes. And you are going to sit next to me and act like you like it."

He turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open.

Lanaya sank onto the mattress, her legs completely giving out. She stared at the empty doorway, her heart hammering a toxic, terrified rhythm against her ribs.

She raised her hand, her fingers trembling as she touched her bruised, swollen lips.

She hated that her body remembered him before her mind could stop it. Hated that her muscles recognized the shape of his mouth, the way his hands fit around her waist, like some cruel kind of muscle memory she hadn't consented to. For two seconds, she hadn't been kissing her enemy in a stranger's bedroom.

She had been kissing the boy who used to make her laugh on frozen ponds and cheap neighborhood rinks, before the lake took everything and turned him into the monster she needed him to be. She had never let herself think about what he had looked like that day at the lake, the exact tilt of his face when he came out of the water without Crew. She wasn't going to start now.

The realization made her stomach twist.

She hated him. She hated him with every fiber of her being.

But the most terrifying part wasn't the kiss.

The most terrifying part was the dark, twisted knot low in her stomach that realized he was right.

She had kissed him back.

[POV: Lanaya Roux]

The blinding flash of cameras was a physical assault.

Lanaya stood at the center of the Redstone arena press room, her face locked into a smile that felt brittle enough to shatter. The air was thick with the smell of cheap coffee and expensive perfume. Dozens of reporters shoved microphones forward, their voices a deafening roar of overlapping questions.

Maverick stood beside her.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit that made him look less like a hockey player and more like a predatory CEO. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist. His hand rested low on her hip, his long fingers pressing possessively against the silk of her dress.

Every time she tried to put an inch of space between them, his grip tightened, pulling her flush against his side.

You will hold my hand. You will smile for the cameras.

His threat from the night before played on a vicious, agonizing loop in her mind. Along with the ghost of his mouth on hers.

"Maverick! Lanaya!" A reporter from Boston Sports Network shoved his way to the front. "The rivalry between Thornhill and Redstone is legendary. How did you two keep this relationship a secret for so long?"

Maverick leaned into the microphone. "It wasn't easy," he said, his voice a smooth, deep rumble that carried perfectly over the noise. "But when you find something real, you protect it. We didn't want the media circus interfering with our seasons."

"And the merger?" another reporter shouted. "Critics are saying this engagement is awfully convenient timing."

Lanaya's stomach plummeted. She opened her mouth to recite the PR-approved script, but Maverick beat her to it.

He shifted his stance, turning slightly to look down at her. His grey-blue eyes locked onto hers. The expression on his face was terrifyingly gentle, completely masking the toxic, volatile man she knew he was.

"The merger was a surprise to us both," Maverick lied flawlessly. "But my father and Camden Roux realized what Lanaya and I have known for months. Some partnerships are meant to be permanent."

He reached up. His thumb lightly brushed a stray curl away from Lanaya's face. The touch was agonizingly tender.

The cameras went wild.

"Miss Roux!" A sharp female voice cut through the chaos. "You're wearing Crew's number. Does this engagement mean the feud over his foundation is finally over?"

The room went dead silent.

Lanaya froze. The smile melted off her face. The name Crew was a physical blow to her chest. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. The lights in the room suddenly felt too bright, too hot.

She felt Maverick's hand tighten sharply on her hip, grounding her.

"The foundation," Lanaya forced the words out, her voice trembling slightly, "is exactly why we are all here. The merger ensures that Crew's legacy will continue to grow and support young athletes across the city."

"So you forgive Maverick for the accident?"

The question was a grenade.

Lanaya stared at the reporter. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. She could feel Alexander Hayden's furious gaze burning into her from the side of the stage. She could feel her father's panic.

She felt Maverick go completely rigid beside her. The arm around her waist felt like iron.

She looked up at him. The mask had cracked. Under the glaring lights, the raw, broken guilt he hid from the world was painfully visible in his eyes. He was waiting for the execution. He was waiting for her to say no.

If you look at me like you hate me... I will pull you in front of the cameras and do exactly what I just did.

Lanaya swallowed the bile in her throat. She looked back at the reporter, forcing a serene, devastating lie past her lips.

"There is nothing to forgive. It was a tragedy. Maverick was Crew's best friend. He loved him just as much as I did."

The words came out steadier than she expected. She told herself it was because she was a good liar. She didn't examine the other possibilities.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the executives. The reporters scribbled furiously.

Maverick stared down at her, chest heaving slightly. The shock in his eyes was absolute.

"Thank you, everyone," the lead PR director announced, stepping quickly to the podium. "That is all the time we have for today."

Maverick didn't wait. He dropped his arm from her waist, grabbed her hand, and pulled her off the stage. His grip was entirely too tight as he dragged her down the hallway, ignoring the executives and PR reps trying to intercept them.

He didn't stop until they reached a deserted VIP lounge. He shoved the door open, pulled her inside, and slammed it shut, locking it.

"What was that?" he demanded, his voice a lethal, vibrating rasp.

Lanaya ripped her hand from his grip. "That was me doing my job. That was me saving my brother's foundation."

"You lied."

"Of course I lied! That is the entire point of this arrangement!"

Maverick stepped into her space, crowding her backward until her spine hit the heavy oak door. The distance between them vanished. The suffocating heat of his body was overwhelming.

"You don't forgive me," he stated.

Lanaya didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched one beat too long, thin and fragile and loaded with everything she had spent the morning performing over. She turned her face slightly to the side, not quite looking at him. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat - not cold, but controlled, the way a person sounds when they are keeping something from moving.

"No," she said. "I don't."

Something shifted in Maverick's face. Not softness. Nothing as readable as that. More like the faint recognition of a man who has heard a line before and knows exactly what it costs to say it. His jaw tightened once, then released. He looked at her the way she had looked at the photograph in the tunnel - like he was standing at the edge of something he couldn't afford to step into.

Then it was gone.

He leaned down. His face was mere inches from hers. The heavy scent of cedar and pure adrenaline flooded her senses.

"Good," he said, his voice dropping into a dark, low register that made her shiver. "Because if you stop hating me, Huntress... we are both going to lose."

She turned away first. She didn't slam the door on her way out. She just left, quietly, which was worse, and both of them knew it.