(Sweet Lies, Sharp Edges)
The dinner table looked warm. The atmosphere? Questionable.
Aria Larkspur sat gracefully, reheating dishes with calm precision, as if she hadn't just emotionally ambushed a powerful man five minutes ago.
Focus, Aria. Step one: fragile. Step two: irresistible. Step three: emotional damage.
She smiled sweetly and picked up a piece of fish, placing it into Ethan Vale's bowl.
"Ethan… try this."
He paused.
His gaze dropped.
Two chopsticks. No serving utensils.
Translation? Contamination alert.
His jaw tightened almost invisibly.
Aria watched him. Waiting.
Three seconds.
Five.
Ten.
He didn't touch it.
"I don't eat fish," he said flatly.
Oh? And I don't eat lies, yet here we are.
Her smile didn't crack—but it dimmed. Just slightly. Enough to hurt. Enough to matter.
"Ah… I see."
She withdrew her hand casually, as if it didn't sting.
Point to Aria. Emotional micro-expression: deployed successfully.
—
Dinner ended in silence.
Ethan stood, already reaching for his coat.
Of course he was leaving.
Congratulations, Aria. You've officially been downgraded to decorative furniture.
From the kitchen, she carried out a bowl of steaming soup—corn and ribs.
His favorite.
Also, boiling hot.
Also, burning her palms.
Worth it.
"You're leaving… again?"
Her voice came soft. Fragile. Dangerous.
Ethan turned slightly. "I'll come next time."
Next time? Wow. Such commitment. Should I print that on a certificate?
She didn't reply immediately.
Instead, her eyes shimmered, voice trembling just enough.
"You… don't like me anymore, do you?"
Silence.
Bingo.
He hesitated.
That tiny pause? Gold.
"If you don't… just say it," she added quietly. "I won't bother you."
Lie. Absolute lie. I will haunt you emotionally.
She turned as if to leave.
One step.
Two—
A hand caught her wrist.
"You don't have to go."
Hook. Line. Sinker.
She didn't turn immediately.
Good actors know timing.
Finally, slowly, she looked back.
"Really?"
Ethan exhaled, pulling her into a brief embrace.
"I've just been busy."
Busy lying? Busy scheming? Busy being emotionally constipated?
But outwardly—
Aria melted into him like soft silk.
"I only have you…"
Her voice was small. Dependent. Perfect.
Inside?
And you, Mr. Vale, are my biggest investment.
—
Days passed.
Dinner together. Conversations light. Smiles easy.
A perfect illusion.
Until—
"Do you remember your parents?" Ethan asked one afternoon.
Ah. Here comes trauma testing. Classic.
Aria froze.
Then clutched her head suddenly.
"It… hurts…"
Her voice cracked.
"I see… blood… I can't—"
Her body trembled convincingly.
Oscar-worthy.
Ethan immediately pulled her closer.
"Enough. Don't force it."
And scene. Thank you, thank you. I'll accept awards later.
She leaned into him, shaking slightly.
"I'm scared…"
"I'm here," he said.
A lie.
A useful one.
—
Later, in the glass garden, white orchids bloomed.
Delicate. Rare. Carefully cultivated.
Just like her.
"Look," Aria said, tugging his sleeve lightly. "It finally bloomed."
Ethan glanced at the flower.
Then at her.
Fragile. Beautiful. Contained.
Exactly how he wants me.
She smiled brightly.
Exactly how I want him to think.
—
That evening, piano music filled the air.
Soft at first.
Then bold.
Confident.
Unapologetically powerful.
Ethan paused outside, listening.
Oops, Aria thought mid-performance. Forgot to act weak for a second.
She softened the melody instantly.
Back to delicate flower mode.
When she finished, she looked up and smiled.
"Want to play with me?"
He hesitated.
Then sat beside her.
Their hands brushed.
Warm.
Close.
Dangerous.
"Don't worry," she said lightly. "I'll match your rhythm."
In music… and in manipulation.
The duet began.
Perfect harmony.
Perfect illusion.
Two players.
One game.
And only one of them knew the rules.