I stand there rooted to the same position as I hold the picture against my chest. He raises a brow as if expecting a response from me.

He’s leaning against the doorframe like he has all the time in the world. Jaw tight, hands in his pockets.

‘’You lied to me” I whisper, my voice breaking into cracks.

His eyes flick to the photo and then back at me. “I didn’t lie’’

A humourless laugh escapes my lips. “You didn’t think to mention that you’re Ian?” The memory of Carla’s face streaked with tears over a boy who just disappeared, floods me with a rage so potent it feels like a physical force.

He doesn’t respond. The only sound is the frantic thumping of my own heart against my ribs. I watch his throat move as he swallows and his shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly.

“I was going to tell you”

“When?” I snap. “After I broke every rule I’ve ever had for myself? After I…’’My voice falters.

After I let you touch me? After I trusted you?

He takes a cautious step inside but he maintains distance. It’s almost as if he can tell I’m a live wire ready to spark and burn. “It wasn’t like that”

“It was exactly like that!” I shoot back feeling betrayed “Carla loved you. She never got over you. She mourned you for years, and you were just… here. Living a different life with a different name.”

“That was years ago” He says, quieter now. “We were young. It ended badly. I’ve moved on”

“That doesn’t make it all go away!” I hiss. I can’t believe I let this happen to me. I take a step forward, closing the gap between us.

“You knew who I was and you knew she was my best friend”

“I didn’t know you two were still that close. I promise you, Diane” He uses my real name, and it feels like a weapon to make me feel rational when all I feel is insane.

“That’s your best defence?” I chuckle painfully

He drags a hand through his dark hair—his tell. I’ve seen it before when a business deal went sideways, when he was losing control. "I didn't plan last night either. You think I orchestrated that?"

"I don't know what to think!" My chest is rising and falling too fast, the air thin and useless in my lungs. "I don't even know your endgame. Jason. Or Ian. Or whatever the hell your name is."

His eyes darken, a storm gathering in their depths. "There was no endgame."

"Oh, please." I roll my eyes, a dismissive gesture that feels pitifully weak.

“There wasn't," he says, his voice sharp, cutting through my disbelief. "I didn't change my name to trap you."

I look down at the photograph again to see Carla’s radiant smile and his arms around her. Then, I look at him to find the same tattoo on his collarbone and the same hands that were all over me last night.

“I needed a new look and a new me. After Carla, I lost so much self-esteem. I hated the way I looked and felt about myself. So I changed everything about me. Cut ties with almost everyone. Got a haircut, worked on my body and I loved how it all felt.”

He walks closer to me and I shake my head.

“I didn’t want to identify as the same person I was years ago, so I changed my name. And I really did want to let you know. I didn’t even think you were still close with Carla.”

"Then why?" I demand, my voice trembling with a fury that’s quickly turning to despair. "Why hide it?"

His jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle twitching. "Because I didn't want you looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're looking at me right now."

The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. I shake my head, trying to clear it. "That's not romantic. That's cowardly."

"Maybe," he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous. "But I liked the way you looked at me before."

"You mean before I knew the truth?" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes."

The raw, unvarnished honesty of that single word makes my stomach twist violently. "You don't get to keep the version of me that doesn't know better," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "The one who was naive enough to believe in you."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

He steps closer, erasing the last bit of safe space between us. Not enough to touch but close enough that the heat radiating from his skin becomes a dizzying distraction from my anger and hurt. Close enough to feel the traitorous pull in my blood. "Because the second you knew," he says, his voice dropping to a low rumble, "you would've put a wall between us. A mile high."

"And you're saying that like it's a bad thing."

"It is," he says immediately with a certainty that steals my breath.

He wanted me close. He wanted… me.

"You think I didn't notice?" he continues, his eyes scanning my face. "The way you avoid anything that feels real. The way you hide behind your precious rules."

"My rules exist for a reason!" I fire back, my voice shaking. "They keep people like you from getting close enough to break me!"

"They exist because you're terrified of getting hurt," he says, his voice not mocking, but rough, like he understands the fear intimately.

"I am hurt!" I sob, the word tearing out of me. "I am so, so hurt right now."

"I know," his voice is so gentle it almost breaks me.

"You were selfish," I say, my voice trembling with the last of my fury. "You wanted a fresh start, a clean slate, and I was just… convenient. A blank canvas you could paint over."

That fierce look in his eyes returns almost immediately. "You were never convenient."

"Then what was I?" I challenge, my chin lifting in defiance.

He moves again, until we are breath to breath. I can see the tiny pulse beating in his throat, the tension etched around his mouth. "Dangerous," he says quietly. "You were the first thing in months that made me stop thinking and just… feel. And that felt like trouble brewing from a distance”

"That doesn't justify it."

"I'm not justifying it," he says, his voice raw. "I'm explaining it."

"Then try harder!"

His nostrils flare. "I didn't tell you because I liked who I was with you. I liked that you didn't see my past, that you didn't compare me to the boy who once dated your friend and broke her heart right after she broke mine."

"So you built something on a lie," I spit. Were we even building anything?

"It wasn't a lie," he snaps, his control finally fracturing. "I never said I wasn't him."

“You just conveniently left it out!”

"Yes," he admits and I sigh in frustration

"You don't get it," I whisper, my anger draining away, leaving a hollow ache. "I've been blindsided before. I've been the girl who didn't know everything, and it makes you feel so… stupid."

"You're not stupid," he says, his voice fierce.

"I slept with you," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Without knowing who you really were."

“You slept with me because you wanted to," he says, his voice low and intense. "Don't you dare rewrite that to make yourself the victim."

Heat floods my face, a mixture of shame and anger. "That doesn't mean I wanted this!"

"And what is this?" he challenges, his gaze dropping to my lips. "This mess? This betrayal? Or… this tension?"

The word hangs between us, making me feel weirdly alive. His gaze burns into mine and I swallow hard. "You don't get to act like this doesn't affect you," he murmurs. "You don't get to pretend last night was some accident."

"It was a mistake."

"No," he says immediately, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It wasn't."

My heart is a wild bird beating against my ribs. "You don't regret it," he says, his voice softening into something infinitely more dangerous.

I hate that he sounds so sure. I hate that he's right. "You don't know that."

"I do," he whispers. The confidence in his voice makes me want to scream, or cry, or kiss him just to shut him up.

"You're unbelievably arrogant."

"And you're unbelievably drawn to me," he shoots back.

The words land like a spark to gasoline. "Don't," I warn, my voice trembling.

"Why? Because it's true?"

I glare at him, but my silence is a deafening admission.

He lowers his voice, his gaze searing into mine. "I didn't tell you because I knew the second you found out, you'd run."

"And maybe I should.”

"But you're not," he says, and it's not a question. It's a statement of fact. "You're standing here, fighting with me. You're not running. And that scares you."

I swallow hard, my throat tight. "You don't get to psychoanalyze me after lying to my face for months."

Silence hangs in the air as we both stare at each other. "Fine," he says sharply, his voice like a blade of ice. "Then let's stop pretending this is just about Carla."

My chest tightens. He's pivoting and I'm stumbling to keep up.

"You're not just angry because of her," he continues, his eyes dissecting me. "You're angry because you felt something real last night. And now you don't know where to put it, do you? It doesn't fit into your neat little box of rules."

How does he do that? How does he see past the anger, past the betrayal, and into the messy, terrified core of me? "That's not your call," I manage, my voice a reed.

He studies me, his own chest rising and falling with a measured rhythm that feels utterly foreign to my own ragged breaths. The air between us crackles with a tension so thick I can taste it.

"Fine," he says at last, the word devoid of all emotion. "If we're done dissecting my identity crisis… when were you planning on telling me?"

"Telling you what?" I snap, my confusion fuelling my anger.

"About the more important thing."

My brows knit together. More important than him being Ian? "What are you talking about?"

His gaze holds mine, flat and unreadable. "The contract."

I stare at him, my mind a blank slate. "What contract?"

He pauses just long enough for his statement to sink in. My mind races through possibilities, none of them making any sense.

"The one you signed," he says, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Our marriage contract."

Marriage? Contract? This is insane. This is a joke. My lips form the word, but no sound comes out. "…What?"

"To Christian Ian Harrington," he finishes evenly.

The photograph slips from my numb fingers, fluttering to the floor like a dying bird.

And for a split second, the room tilts. I can't tell which version of him is standing in front of me anymore. Is it Jason, the man who held me like I was something fragile and worth fighting for? Or is it Ian, the ghost from Carla’s past? Or is this someone else entirely? A billionaire stranger I'm apparently legally bound to. A man who just outmanoeuvred me in a game I never even knew we were playing.