Chapter Four

LIORA POV

The mask felt cold on my face. My mother had tied the silk ribbon behind my head so tightly I thought my head might burst. I was standing in a small room in a hotel I didn't know, waiting for a man who thought I was my sister. I was not ashamed, not yet. I was just scared. I had been given my orders: go in, do as he says, stay silent, and then get out. I was a stand-in, a fake, a sacrifice. My heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird inside my chest, desperate to get out.

The room was beautiful, but it felt like a trap. The walls were painted a dark blue, and the lights were soft, making everything look like a dream. There was a big bed in the middle of the room, covered in white blankets. A fireplace glowed in the corner, giving off a warm, cozy light. The air smelled of woodsmoke and a clean, fresh scent. My hands were shaking so much I had to put them behind my back. I told myself to be strong. This was just a night. It would be over soon.

I heard the door open, and I froze. My breath caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to prepare myself. When I opened them again, he was there. Nicholas Sterling. The man I had seen from a distance at the dinner. He was wearing a dark suit that made his broad shoulders look even wider. He walked with a quiet strength, a power that filled the room. He wasn't wearing a mask, and his gray eyes, the color of a stormy sky, found me in the soft light.

He stopped a few feet away from me. He didn't speak. He just looked. I felt my fear grow even more, but a strange warmth started to grow inside me, too. It was the feeling of being seen, even though my face was hidden. He must have been told to expect a woman in a mask, because he didn't seem surprised.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and calm. It was a deep, smooth sound that made me feel a little less afraid. "Hello," he said. He didn't ask who I was. He didn't ask for my name. He just looked at me as if I was the most important person in the world. He reached out his hand, a strong and steady hand, and I looked at it for a long moment. It was a choice. I could run, or I could take his hand and go along with this lie. I took a deep breath and slowly, I put my shaking hand into his.

His fingers closed around mine. His touch was warm and firm, not cold or demanding like I had expected. It felt safe. He gently led me toward the center of the room. We stood in front of the fireplace, the flames dancing in our eyes. He still hadn't let go of my hand. My mind was full of my parents' strict rules—stay silent, don't say a word. I knew I couldn't speak. I couldn't ruin this for them. So, I just stayed quiet.

He seemed to understand. He didn't push me to talk. Instead, he started talking to me. He told me about his day, about a big business deal he had closed. He didn't talk about money or power. He talked about the people he had worked with, and I could hear the honesty in his voice. He talked to me as if I were a real person, a friend he was telling a story to. I just listened, letting his voice wash over me. It felt strange and wonderful at the same time. I had never had a man talk to me like this before. To Liora, the shadow, it felt like a gift.

After a while, he stopped talking. He was just looking at me again. He reached out and gently touched the side of my face, his thumb moving slowly over the mask. I felt my body tense, but his touch was so gentle that I just leaned into it. He was close enough now that I could smell him. He smelled like woodsmoke and expensive cologne, a mix of power and warmth. He slowly lifted his other hand and gently took off my veil that covered my nose and lips and left the mask covering my upper face.

My eyes were closed, so I didn't see him at first. I felt a cold rush of air on my skin. When I finally opened my eyes, he was still there, just looking at me. His gray eyes were intense, and for the first time, I felt like he was seeing the real me. He smiled a little, a genuine, warm smile that made my heart flutter.

"You're even more beautiful without the veil," he said in that low voice. My heart hammered in my chest. He wasn't talking about my sister, Bianca. He was talking about me. This lie was starting to feel real.

He leaned in, and his lips touched mine. It was a soft, slow kiss at first. It was a question, an invitation. I had been so scared, so ready for this to be a terrible night. But his kiss was not terrible. It was warm and kind. I felt a flood of relief rush through me, and I kissed him back. The kiss grew deeper, more passionate. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers getting lost in his dark hair. The kiss was a storm of feelings—passion, surprise, and a deep, aching need I didn't know I had.

We moved closer to the bed, our bodies still pressed together. My heart was beating like a drum, and I could feel his heart beating just as fast. The night was a blur of touch and feeling. It was not a violent or rushed thing. It was slow and careful. He was gentle, so incredibly gentle. His hands traced the curves of my back, and his lips moved across my skin. I gave myself over to the moment, forgetting the mask, forgetting my family, forgetting the lie. In his arms, I was just Liora, a woman who was finally being seen, finally being wanted. He made me feel safe and cherished. The night was a language of touch, and my body was speaking it all.

Later, I woke up to the sound of his slow breathing. I was wrapped in his arms, the blankets warm around us. The fireplace had died down, and the room was filled with the soft gray light of early morning. He was sleeping, his face relaxed and peaceful. I looked at him, the man who was supposed to marry my sister, and my heart ached. The night we had just shared was a secret, a beautiful, stolen moment that belonged only to us. He didn't know who I was, but in that secret moment, he had given me something real.

I knew I had to leave. My orders were clear: get out before he wakes up. I carefully got out of his arms, trying not to wake him. I found my clothes and put them on quickly. I found my veil on the floor and picked it up. It felt cold and foreign in my hands. It was the thing that had started tonight, the symbol of the lie. But the feelings I had felt were real. The passion, the kindness, the deep connection—all of it was real. I was leaving this room with my body a little sore and my heart feeling full, not empty.

As I quietly opened the door to leave, I took one last look at him. He was still sleeping, a peaceful expression on his face. The man I had just spent the most intimate night of my life with, the man who would soon marry my sister, had no idea who I was. I left the room, the lie still hanging in the air. I was shaken, yes. My world had been turned upside down. But I was not ashamed. What we had shared had been real, and that was a truth no one could take from me.