Somewhere Between Wrong and Right

By the time the entrées arrived, the dining room had settled into a low, elegant murmur. Dozens of voices buzzed quietly beneath the warm flicker of the chandeliers. The room smelled of saffron and wine and too-expensive perfume—cut only by the occasional metallic burst of camera shutters clicking from the media corner. Their presence was technically limited, “for documentation purposes only,” but everyone knew they were still watching.

Kiara Laurent—CEO, heiress, face of Euphorica—sat at the center of it all. And next to her, Lucian Devereaux. So of course they were watching.

The table was shared by two influencers with enormous followings and a softly-spoken investor couple from Paris, but they were lost in their own conversations. Which meant Kiara and Lucian, now well into their third shared glass of wine, had slipped into a bubble of their own.

She wasn’t even sure when the laughter started. Or when she stopped forcing it.

Lucian had told a story—something about a disastrous pitch meeting in Milan involving a bottle of fragrance, a broken heel, and a board member’s poodle—and Kiara laughed. Actually laughed. Not the rehearsed kind. Not the airy, “I’m listening but still poised” kind. The real kind. Warm. Uncontrolled. It slipped out of her before she could catch it, and she had to lift a hand—her hand, with its delicate nails and diamond-paved ring—to cover her mouth as she giggled.

Except it wasn’t his mouth anymore, was it? She wasn’t using her Kieran laugh. She was using hers. Light. Musical. Feminine. The kind of laugh you tuck into a napkin. The kind of laugh Celeste taught her.

And when she lowered her hand, cheeks flushed, and met Lucian’s gaze—still gleaming with mischief—Kieran’s heart twisted in a way he didn’t expect. Because it felt wrong. So, so wrong. Because this wasn’t the boardroom. Because he was dressed like this—corseted, padded, tucked, cinched, shaped. Because his thighs brushed together beneath a silk sheath. Because he was smiling through sculpted cheekbones and painted lips and lashes curled to flirt. Because Lucian was looking at him like—like he belonged to the fantasy. Like he was the fantasy. And Kieran—no, Kiara—was playing along. Giggling. Blushing. Resting a manicured hand near her wineglass as if her body knew what it meant to be flirted with. Because it did. Because that’s what Celeste had been drilling into her for days now.

Phase Two. The era of craving. And Kiara had begun to feel it. Not completely. Not openly. But it was starting. In moments like this—when her laugh matched her smile, and her shoulders tilted just slightly when Lucian leaned in.

“See?” Lucian said, swirling his wine. “Told you I was charming.”

“You’re terrible,” she replied, half-laughing.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t. I said I was charming. Big difference.”

Kiara smiled again—automatic, subtle, perfect.

“You know,” he added, lowering his voice just slightly, “I wasn’t sure how much of you was real at first.”

Kiara blinked. “That’s a loaded observation.”

He shrugged. “I mean, the public version of you is flawless. Cool. Corporate. But tonight?” His eyes traced hers—careful, lingering, just enough. “You’re… softer.”

She opened her mouth, paused. Her tongue sat still behind her teeth.

Shit. What was she supposed to say to that?

Celeste would say: “Thank him. Let him lead. But never give everything away.”

Instead, she said, “Maybe I’m just letting the wine do the talking.”

Lucian smirked. “Then I hope you finish the glass.”

She smiled back—quick, cute, a flash of something flirty—and then instantly regretted the words.

No, no, no—should’ve said something wittier. Something like, ‘Then I’ll keep sipping.’

Too submissive. Too soft. You gave him an inch too easily. He’ll know.

But Lucian didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, but approved.

Instead, he leaned just a little closer and added, “Or maybe you’re just finally having fun.”

And that’s when Kiara blanked. Not visibly. Not externally. Her body smiled. Her fingers swirled the wine in her glass. But inside? Kieran had gone completely still. Because when Lucian said “finally having fun,” what she heard was Celeste whispering, “I want you to smile when you feel seen. I want your body to thank him for noticing you.”

And her body had done exactly that. No resistance. Just a soft sigh in her chest, a subtle warmth in her stomach, and the slow rise of... something. Something close to comfort. Something close to arousal.

She couldn’t even process the rest of the sentence because she was too aware of the camera flash across the room, capturing the image of Kiara Laurent—perfect, poised, feminine—laughing over wine with Lucian Devereaux.

Another shot for the brand. Another bullet point for the narrative. Another inch lost.

And yet—she didn’t stop it. When Lucian brushed his knuckles lightly against her hand as he reached for his fork, she didn’t pull away. She didn’t stiffen. She just blinked slowly and smiled. Because her body knew what to do. She had been trained for this. And it was working.

Dessert had come and gone. The dinner plates cleared. The final camera snaps dulled to silence, and the event staff faded into the background with practiced discretion. The room was still full—executives leaning back in their chairs, influencers posing at the wine bar, journalists scribbling polite observations—but Kiara and Lucian remained anchored to each other like nothing else existed.

The candle between them had burned low, its flame flickering beneath the edge of her wine glass. Her lipstick had faded just enough to look lived-in. Her posture—shoulders relaxed, one leg crossed gently over the other—looked impossibly natural. But it wasn’t. Every inch of her pose had been trained. The angle of her wrists on the table. The softness in her smile. The way she tilted her head—always slightly down, eyes glancing up through curled lashes when Lucian said something flirtatious.

And he was saying a lot of flirtatious things.

It had started with compliments. “Purple suits you,” he’d murmured, his fingers grazing the stem of his glass. “Like you were poured into the color.” A warm smile. A thank you. A practiced flutter of lashes.

Then came the jokes. “I think I was supposed to take notes on the marketing rollout tonight, but I can’t remember a word from the presentation after you walked in.” A polite laugh. Hand brushing her collarbone as if embarrassed. Chin tucked.

Reflex.

Now, though—it was more. The conversation had narrowed into a kind of quiet intimacy. Lower voices. Closer chairs. A subtle change in the air around them. It wasn’t flirtation for show. It was something with weight now—intent behind the glances, silence between the jokes.

And Kiara was still performing. Except, she wasn’t thinking about it anymore. Her body knew how to respond now. Her lips smiled before she thought about it. Her knees angled subtly toward him. When he complimented her laugh—her laugh, not the corporate mask—she blushed. Not because she made herself. Because she felt it.

And that was terrifying.

Lucian leaned in a little closer now, his elbow resting against the table, his voice softer. “You always this charming when the cameras are off?”

Kiara smiled automatically. “Only when the company deserves it.”

Too soft. Shit.

Should’ve said something with a bite. Not that. That’s too inviting.

He’s going to think I’m trying to be taken home. Or worse—trying to be claimed.

But Lucian just grinned, eyes flickering briefly to her lips, then back up. “I think I might’ve just fallen for my CEO.”

Kiara blinked. Just once. A pause. A breath. A flicker in her chest that wasn’t quite panic—but wasn’t calm, either. Her lips parted. Nothing came out.

Lucian was teasing. Mostly. But he wasn’t joking. She could feel it. This wasn’t boardroom banter. This wasn’t optics. This was real interest.

Kieran knew that look. He’d given that look before. He’d earned that look. But he’d never been on the receiving end.

And now, here he was—tucked, glossed, laced into Euphorica couture, blinking at a man who was flirting like he meant it.

And his body? Her body? Didn’t recoil. It blushed. It warmed. It leaned in.

Celeste had been planting seeds all week.

“Smile when he touches your hand.”

“Let yourself react when he praises you.”

“Let the warmth mean something.”

That was Phase Two. Not just obedience. But emotional alignment.

Kieran knew this. He told himself this. Repeated it like armor inside his skull.

This is trained. You’re just reacting because you’re conditioned. It’s fake. You don’t want this. You’re doing it because it’s what Celeste wants. What the company wants.

But then Lucian’s fingers brushed hers on the table again—just casually, like it didn’t mean anything.

And her stomach fluttered.

Shit. That was real.

He smiled, and she smiled back.

And it felt natural. It felt right.

And that was so wrong.

Lucian sipped his wine. “You know,” he said, “I think you’re more dangerous now than when you were just a corporate figurehead.”

Kiara raised a brow. “Dangerous?”

“You’re magnetic,” he said, watching her carefully. “There’s something about you. It’s not just the look. It’s how you make people feel seen.”

Kiara blinked. Flushed. And said the first thing that came to mind.

“That’s… sweet of you.”

Crap.

Sweet? You sound like a prom queen. Should’ve said, ‘That’s a skill, not an accident.’ Something powerful. Something Kiara would say.

But Lucian didn’t pull away. He just nodded slowly.

“Not sweet,” he said. “True.”

The silence stretched between them. Comfortable. Charged. And Kiara didn’t run from it. She sat with it.

In her mind, she could hear Celeste whispering—one of those late-night conditioning phrases that used to sound ridiculous but now felt like background noise.

“When the right man sees you... your body knows before your mind does.”

And maybe that was what this was. Because her body was already leaning in. Her voice had already softened. Her knees already pressed closer together. Her smile curved just enough to invite more.

And when Lucian said—quietly, directly—“I’d like to get to know you outside all this noise,”

—she didn’t blink. She didn’t freeze. She didn’t even need to think.

She just smiled, warm and knowing. And said, “I’d like that.”

Even as Kieran, somewhere far behind her perfect lashes, whispered: What the hell is happening to me?