Chapter 9
Christina's POV
I stood outside his door. Drawing in a breath that felt more like preparation for a firing squad than a conversation, I knocked.
Well, that was it. Point of no return. Unless I suddenly faked my own death in the next five seconds.
The door swung open almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting. There he stood in all his commanding presence, wearing what had to be a custom suit. Not the kind you grab off the rack for job interviews, but the kind that announces "I own the building, the block, and possibly your soul."
Perfect timing. He looked like he was headed out,probably to acquire a small country or make another billion before dinner.
"Well, look who it is. Cinderella coming back for her glass slipper?" His voice was teasing.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It's not like it was my fault I had to bolt from his hotel suite the moment my dad called.
Well anyway. Since when do fairy tales make it into an Alpha's reading collection? Next you'll tell me he curls up with Little Red Riding Hood before bedtime, though I suspect he'd identify more with the wolf than the girl.
"Can I come in?" I asked, trying to sound casual while my nervous system was having a full-blown meltdown.
He stepped aside with a fluid grace that reminded me of large cats in wildlife documentaries, deceptively relaxed but ready to pounce at any moment.
His apartment had the same layout as mine, but that's where the similarities ended. Where mine was a messy reflection of "young professional with IKEA addiction and no eye for design," his was straight out of Architectural Digest. Minimalist furniture that probably had six-month waitlists, sleek surfaces that had never known the touch of a takeout container, and absolutely zero clutter.
It looked expensive but impersonal, like he hadn't bothered to actually move in. No personal photos, no random trinkets, nothing that said "a person with emotions lives here." Just a gorgeous, soulless showcase that whispered "I have money and excellent taste, but I'm just passing through."
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, gesturing toward what I assumed was a kitchen that had never seen actual cooking.
"Anything that's not alcoholic," I replied quickly. "I need a clear head."
A smile passed over his face. "Water it is."
He moved to the kitchen, giving me a moment to collect my thoughts and rehearse my insane proposition one last time. I could do this. Just a simple business arrangement between neighbors. Nothing weird about proposing a fake mateship to the walking embodiment of dangerous attraction who happened to live next door.
When he returned with two glasses of water, I pulled out the check I'd written and held it out like a peace offering.
"For the shirt," I explained. "The one I accidentally ripped during our... time together."
"You mean the shirt you ripped off me like a kid tearing into Christmas wrapping?"
His words made me flush, and then he glanced at the check with the interest of someone being offered Monopoly money. "I don't need it."
"Maybe not, but I do. Need to give it, I mean." I placed it on his glass coffee table, where it looked pathetically out of place.
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to sink through the floor. I suddenly felt like every cell in my body had received the memo to panic at exactly the same time.
He moved closer,barely half a step, but enough to make Akira stir restlessly.
"What's the real reason you're here?"
My body reacted instinctively to his proximity. Not fear exactly, but that primal awareness you get around someone who clearly runs things. With his well-built body, he was displaying a strong sense of authority.
My pulse quickened, my mouth went dry, and every sense heightened.He radiated that unmistakable Alpha energy that made me want to low my head.
Finally,I spoke."You mentioned a proposal.Back at the hotel? I was a bit... distracted at the time."
He raised his eyebrow, "Interesting. But you still haven't answered my question."
"I want to marry you.", the words tumbled out before I could stop them.
His expression shifted minutely,the barest flicker of surprise breaking through his composed facade.
"Not really marry you," I clarified in a rush, words spilling like I'd knocked over a dam. "I mean yes, technically, legally, but not... you know, for real. My father is basically trying to pimp me out to some creep,old Alpha named Leonard Shaw who controls half the shipping terminals in Highrise City and is looking for Wife Number God-Knows-What. And if I don't show up with someone even more powerful and intimidating, my father will make good on his threats to ruin my best friend's family business and probably kick me out of my apartment. So I need a fake mate who radiates enough 'don't fuck with me' energy to make my father back off, and my list of candidates is currently... just you."
I finally paused to inhale, my chest heaving like I'd run a marathon.
He didn't laugh or call security. He simply studied me with that unnerving intensity, like a chess master considering an unexpected but intriguing move.
Then he nodded once. "Alright."
I blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry - what?"
"I said alright. I'll do it." He said it so casually, like I'd asked to borrow a cup of sugar instead of asking him to pretend to be my mate.
"Just like that?" My voice had climbed to operatic heights.
"My family's been pressuring me to find a mate," he explained, taking a casual sip of water. "Like I told you yesterday, I need a Luna.Your proposal solves both our problems."
I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. I need a fake mate at exactly the same time him need one? What are the odds?
I narrowed my eyes. "Wait, just to be clear.It is a fake mate you're looking for, right? Not a real one?"
"Fake, of course," He replied, but there was something in his eyes that didn't quite match his casual tone. "And arranged mateship for mutual benefit happen more often than you think in our world. We're just skipping the courtship and going straight to the contract."
I stared at him. "You're serious."
"Deadly."
"And you just... decided this after one night?"
He smiled meaningfully, then shrugged. "You left before I could discuss it properly. I figured you weren't interested."
"I thought you were joking!"
"I rarely joke, Christina."
Wait, I didn't remember telling him my name. Whatever, it didn't matter.
"What's the catch?" I asked.He'd agreed too quickly. I was starting to suspect this was some new type of scam.
"No catch. Just terms." With that, he gestured for me to sit on his couch. I perched on the edge, feeling out of place.
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a black notebook. He clicked an expensive-looking pen like someone who regularly drafted contracts before breakfast.
"If we're doing this, we're doing it properly."
"You already have terms written down?" I asked incredulously.
"I like to be prepared." He flipped open the notebook. "Shall we?"
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