~Sienna~

 I blinked at him.

 Engagement? Isn't that too early?

  "Don't drool too much," Lucas said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tilted his head toward the display. 

 "It's just a show to make Father believe our ruse."

  I blinked, caught between the flickering light on the diamonds and his words. I wasn't drooling, thank you very much but something about the rings had taken my breath.

  Lucas's gaze settled on a ring, the most extravagant one in the display. It was a stunning emerald-cut sky blue diamond, large and perfectly cut, with smaller diamonds set around it, sparkling like stars in an elegantly simple platinum band.

  My eyes widened as he pointed to it. "Wait-no way. That's...Lucas, that's too much."

  Without missing a beat, he signaled the sales assistant over, his gaze shifting briefly to me.

  "This one," he said smoothly. "Box it."

  "Lucas," I hissed under my breath, stepping closer. 

 "We're pretending to be engaged. Pretending. We don't need the most expensive ring in the store. There are plenty of rings here that are more affordable." 

 I gestured toward a simple, modest ring-a small diamond on a delicate gold band, understated but elegant.

  He glanced at the ring I'd chosen, his mouth pulling into a line of disapproval. 

 "If I propose with that cheap ring," he said with a slight sneer, "then my dad will probably think I went broke."

  The assistant looked mildly horrified but kept her composure, discreetly wrapping the extravagant ring in a luxurious velvet box. I bit my lip, suppressing the urge to argue further. 

 His logic, as frustrating as it was, made sense.

  Once the ring was ready, Lucas held it out to me, his expression almost daring.

  "Put it on. It has to look like it belongs to you."

  With a reluctant sigh, I unboxed and slipped the ring onto my finger, feeling its strange, almost absurdly heavy weight. 

 The diamond scattered flecks of brilliance across my hand, and I swallowed, fighting the odd knot in my chest. 

 It was beautiful, far too beautiful for a fake engagement.

  He smirked, clearly noticing my reaction. "You'll get used to it."

  I shot him a glare, but he was already striding out of the boutique, his air of authority unbroken. 

 I quickly followed, fighting the urge to fidget with the ring. My hand felt foreign with it on, but there was no time to dwell on the strangeness of it all.

  We headed to the waiting car, and Derrick, opened the door. As I settled in beside Lucas, he reached over, lightly taking my hand as if he were adjusting the ring, his thumb brushing my knuckles. 

 I glanced up, surprised by the sudden tenderness in his gaze.

  "You're nervous," he murmured, his voice soft enough for only me to hear. "Relax."

  The unexpected sweetness in his tone softened my nerves a bit, and I nodded, taking a slow breath as I tried to ease into the role. Lucas kept my hand in his, a gesture that felt steadying and...oddly comforting.

  The drive to his father's penthouse passed in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the occasional squeeze of his hand, as if he were reminding me to stay grounded. 

 When we finally arrived at the towering glass high-rise, Derrick led us through a private entrance and into the elevator.

  "Nervous?" Lucas asked again as the elevator began to rise, though now there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

  I forced myself to hold his gaze, willing my voice to sound steady. "Not at all. Just hoping you've prepared me enough for your father."

  He arched an eyebrow, the smirk tugging at his lips. "Sienna, you'll be fine. Just stick with me. If I didn't think you could handle it, you wouldn't be here."

  The elevator chimed as we reached the penthouse. I took a steadying breath, my eyes widening as we stepped into the expansive space. 

 The penthouse was a study in understated luxury: warm, muted colors, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a breathtaking view of Bellmore's glittering skyline, and elegant, high-end decor that spoke volumes of CEO Jones's wealth and influence.

  A tall, silver-haired man stood by the window, his back to us. He turned as we entered, his sharp blue eyes assessing me with a quiet intensity that sent a chill down my spine. 

 CEO Richard Jones, Lucas's father. The man was every bit as commanding as I'd imagined.

  "Lucas," he greeted, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that demanded attention.

  "Father." Lucas's tone was warm, almost reverent. "This is Selena."

  "My woman." He added and I felt my heart flutter at his words and the tenderness in them.

  Mr. Jones's gaze shifted to me, and I took a careful breath, extending my hand as his eyes swept over me with a look that felt like he was peeling back layers.

  "Selena," he said in a low, thoughtful voice. His handshake was firm but respectful, and he gave a slight nod as if appraising something valuable. 

 "Lucas has told me quite a bit about you."

  "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Jones," I replied with a warm smile, willing myself to stay calm as he held my gaze.

  "Welcome, just call me Richard. It feels a little more comfortable that way," he said with a warm smile, his face softening as he glanced between us.

  " Let's have dinner, " he added, gesturing for us to sit at the large dining table set up in the adjoining room, which was already prepared for dinner. 

 Soft lighting from the chandelier above cast a cozy glow over the table, which was laden with an array of dishes that looked fit for a feast. 

 Derrick entered taking his seat, followed by two maids, each carrying additional platters, and placed them with practiced grace.

  Lucas led me to my seat beside him, keeping his hand on my lower back as we settled in. It was a small touch, yet comforting, and I found myself leaning into his warmth just a little.

  As dinner began, Richard took a sip of his wine, his eyes meeting mine over the rim of his glass.

  "So, Selena," he began, leaning back slightly as he studied me. "Lucas tells me you're a model from Canada."

  I glanced at Lucas, who gave me an encouraging nod. 

 "Yes," I said smoothly, careful to project the elegance of the role I was playing. "I'm here for a series of shows, but I extended my stay for Lucas."

  Richard raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at his son. 

 "And how did you two meet?"

  There was a twinkle in his gaze, as if he were testing us, waiting to see how we would handle the question. 

 Before I could respond, Lucas leaned forward, his hand covering mine on the table. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a gentle caress, and he smiled, that warm smile reaching his eyes.

  "It was...unexpected," he said, his voice soft but steady. "We met by chance. I guess you could say it was fate."

  For a moment, Richard just watched us, his gaze lingering on the way Lucas held my hand. Then he nodded, a pleased smile softening his features.

  "It's rare to hear you speak of anything with such conviction, Lucas," he said, his voice quieter, more contemplative. 

  "I was beginning to think you'd given up on love altogether."

  A shadow flickered across Lucas's face, something almost vulnerable, before he masked it with a polite smile. 

 "People change, Father. Even me."

  I couldn't help but smile, marveling at the ease with which Lucas spun his lies, every word flowing like he had rehearsed it. 

 Caught up in the performance, I reached for the lemonade pitcher and poured two glasses, one for myself and one for Lucas, hoping to add to the effect of our "chemistry."

  "Drink up, babe," I said playfully, handing him a glass with a wink. "Remember how much you loved that last one I made for you?"

  The words were barely out of my mouth when Lucas's eyes flashed. His fingers tightened around my hand, a silent warning, and I felt my face flush as I caught the faintest smirk on Mr. Jones's face.

  Richard leaned forward, his gaze keen.

  "Interesting... I thought you two had been together since two years?" His tone was smooth, but there was a flicker of amusement behind his words. 

  "How come you didn't know Lucas is severely allergic to lemons?"

  My stomach dropped. Oh no.

~Sienna~

  The moment Richard's eyebrow lifted, Lucas didn't miss a beat. With a smooth, tight smile, he picked up the glass of lemonade as if it were nothing but water.

  "Oh, that?" he said, tossing in a chuckle that was all confidence and control, his glance sliding over to me with a look that burned. 

"I'm over it. Allergy treated last year. Doctor cleared me."

 Richard's brow furrowed, doubt flickering briefly, but Lucas's unwavering stare left no room for question or so he made it seem. 

He took a sip, set the glass back down, and met his father's gaze like it was just another day at the office.

I held my breath the entire time, dread pulsing through me. I had almost messed everything up. 

But Lucas had it handled, a flawless performance.

  "Well," Richard finally said, nodding with reluctant approval, "good to see you're finally managing better, Lucas. Health, as we know, can be... fragile."

  There was a slight pause before he straightened, almost like he'd changed gears. 

"Tomorrow's check-up then?" he said, more command than question.

  Lucas's response was as calm as ever. "Just send the details," he replied, his fingers pressing around mine with enough force to remind me to stay focused. 

I kept my smile in place, trying to match his polished charm, though something twisted inside me from the coldness in his touch, the tension in his posture.

  Dinner carried on, Lucas answering with that same smooth calm as his father spoke about markets, investments, the usual. 

But a creeping sense of dread lingered as I caught sight of small, red goosebumps traveling up his neck, like they were foretelling something dark that was about to unfold. 

But I kept my face steady, unbothered.

  Finally, as the last dish was cleared, Derrick approached, his voice low.

 "Sir, we have a meeting in twenty."

  Lucas's face stayed unreadable as he stood, reaching for my hand. 

"Let's not keep them waiting, see at the hospital tomorrow dad," he said easily, his hand resting at my lower back as we made our way to the door.

  "Thank you for joining us, Selena," Richard said, with a nod that lingered just a bit too long. 

"I expect we'll see you again soon."

  "Of course, Richard," I replied, holding onto that warmth in my voice, even as Lucas's grip on my hand tightened, almost steering me toward the exit.

  As we walked in silence to the car, I felt tension coiling in his hand, like he was holding himself together by sheer force. 

By the time we reached the car, his jaw was locked tight, but he simply nodded to Derrick, slipping into the back seat, his control never wavering.

  The second the car doors shut, his face changed, the cold hardness cutting through every word as he turned to me.

  "Are you completely incapable of following instructions?" His voice was low, razor-sharp, each word cutting through the air between us. 

"I gave you every detail, and somehow you still managed to mess it up."

  I swallowed, willing my voice to stay calm. "I thought it would look more natural..."

 He scoffed, coldly, bitterly. 

"This isn't some casual date, Sienna. My father's sharp, and I thought I made that clear."

 My heart sank, shame twisting in my chest like an anchor. 

"I didn't mean for things to go wrong, Lucas."

  "Your intentions don't matter," he snapped, his voice like ice. "What matters is that you couldn't even follow simple instructions."

  "Well, if you'd added that to your notes, I wouldn't have made the mistake," I said, my voice breaking slightly as I fought to hold it together. 

His harshness was wearing me down, he was completely different from the Lucas at bar, now cold and cocky.

 His face softened, but only for a flicker of a moment, before he steeled himself again, expression hardening as he said, "I didn't expect him to test us like that. No one's served me lemonade in years. But if you'd just kept quiet, I wouldn't be suffering now."

 His voice grew rougher, his breathing becoming strained, and his hand moved to his collar, loosening his tie in stiff, jerky motions like it was suffocating him. 

A faint sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead, and the redness creeping up his neck deepened.

  "Lucas..." I hesitated, a prickle of worry crawling through me. "Are you alright?"

He shot me a glare that could slice through glass. 

"I'm fine. Mind your goddamn business."

  Derrick's gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, his face tense with worry. 

"Sir, the reaction is starting."

  My stomach dropped. "Reaction?"

 Derrick's voice was low and steady, keeping his eyes on the road. 

"President Jones never received treatment for his allergy. He only said he did to avoid suspicion. The meeting was an excuse so we could leave before... this." 

He nodded toward Lucas, whose breathing was growing more labored, the redness spreading along his neck, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

My heart pounded. "What? How could you do that, Lucas? You risked your health!" 

Guilt slammed into me, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on my shoulders. 

This was my fault, my careless mistake.

 Lucas's jaw clenched, his body shivering slightly as I helped steady him.

  "Don't start mothering me. You're just twenty-three, don't act like my mom," he scoffed, his gaze shifting over to Derrick. 

"Don't fuss, Derrick. Just drive." His voice was strained, but the edge was still there, like he wouldn't let anyone think he was weak.

 The car raced through the streets, finally pulling up to Lucas's white painted villa, a striking blend of glass and stone softened by the lush greenery, his fleet of sleek cars lined up outside. 

Derrick opened the door, giving me a look of quiet urgency.

  "Miss Wilde, you'll need to assist him inside."

  I nodded, slipping out of the car and wrapping an arm around Lucas. He felt heavier than I'd expected, his body leaning into mine, his skin warmer than it should be. 

We stepped into the villa, unusually empty and quiet.

  Together, Derrick and I guided him past the grand staircase leading up from the wide living room, struggling slightly as Lucas's steps grew heavier.

  Inside, Lucas's bedroom was as luxurious as the rest of the villa, a huge bed with a plush, velvet headboard and soft blankets layered across it. 

Overhead, a crystal chandelier cast a warm, dim glow. Nightstands framed the bed, each one detailed with gold, thick curtains draped over the large windows.

  Derrick helped ease him down onto the bed, then quietly excused himself, leaving us alone.

  I took a steadying breath, nerves fluttering through me. I couldn't believe I was sitting here, on my boss's bed, about to take care of him like this.

  Derrick returned briefly, placing a few items on the nightstand before glancing at Lucas, worry etched deep in his face. 

Lucas dismissed him with a nod, leaving us alone in the quiet.

  My heart raced as I reached for the small tin of cream on the nightstand, catching Lucas's gaze for a charged second. 

A flutter of butterflies stirred in my stomach.

  "You don't have to... fuss," he muttered, clinging to his pride even now.

  Ignoring him, I moved closer, unbuttoning his shirt to get to the rash that had spread over his chest and collar. 

His skin was flushed, red blotches standing out against his normally perfect complexion. 

My fingers brushed his chest, and his muscles tensed, his gaze heavy and dark as he watched me.

  "Enjoying yourself?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, but the arrogant smirk still lingered, like he thought he had the upper hand.

  My cheeks warmed, but I focused on the task, smoothing a dab of cream onto my fingers and gently patting it onto his skin.

  "There's nothing enjoyable about this," I muttered, though my pulse was racing, my heartbeat wild and erratic.

  "Liar!"He sneered but I ignored him, trying to stay focused.

  As I spread the cream across his chest, I felt the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, and I couldn't ignore the electric thrill of each touch. 

Memories of last night flashed in my mind, the way his body felt against mine. 

The heat rushed through me, my fingers trembling slightly as I tried to focus.

  His gaze stayed on mine, intense, unreadable. I wondered if he felt it too, the tension that filled the air between us. 

I brushed the cream along his collarbone, feeling his pulse beneath my fingers, strong and steady despite the reaction that had him at my mercy.

 Slowly, his breathing evened out, his eyes fluttering shut as the tension left his body. I stayed there, watching as his face softened in sleep, and before I knew it, my head had come to rest on his shoulder. 

The warmth of his chest beneath my cheek, the steady rhythm of his breathing, it was so easy to give in, my own breaths slowing as sleep pulled me under.