Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 295: I Kissed a Stranger

My hands were still pressed to my mouth, as if that could somehow contain the what-the-actual-hell scream building in my chest.

WHAT.

That single word ricocheted inside my skull like a bullet in a tin can.

Adrien—the man who had been a silent fortress of stoicism, who barely flinched when I puked on him—was looking at me with an intensity that could’ve ignited the air between us. His gaze was dark, unreadable, and yet somehow loud, like every unspoken word was pressing against my skin.

Interested in me.

Not attracted to me. Not curious about me.

Interested.

Like I was a puzzle he intended to solve.

Or a prey he intended to hunt.

I was suddenly very aware of my own heartbeat, thundering so violently I wondered if he could hear it.

I need to leave here.

This is very crazy.

What if he meant that he is interested in the aspect of killing me?

What if he does something worse to me than what max─ I shook my head mentally. No, don’t think of max right now.

Adrien exhaled through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite—as my hands remained plastered over my mouth. His thumb stilled against my knee, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying me with that unnerving calm.

"You’re cataloging escape routes right now, aren’t you?"

My eyes darted to the door—unlocked, but with Aria and Cameron just outside. Then to the lamp on the side table—heavy enough to swing if needed. My phone was in my back pocket, 911 dialed in two taps. And my knee? Perfectly positioned to ram upward if he moved too fast.

I didn’t answer.

He smirked. "Good."

Wait—good?

His voice dropped, a low hum that vibrated through the space between us. "Always know your exits. Always know what’s within reach. Smart, Isabella." His gaze flicked to the lamp, then back to me. "But you won’t need them."

My pulse stuttered. "How do you know?"

His fingers flexed—just once—against my knee. A silent, grounding pressure. "Because if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be crouching in front of you like a goddamn knight in a bad romance novel."

A startled laugh punched out of me.

His lips twitched. "There she is."

And just like that, the tension snapped. My hands slid from my mouth, but my voice stayed small. "You’re... really not going to murder me?"

"Princess, if I wanted you dead, you’d never have seen me coming."

I shivered. Well, he is a stranger.

He pulled back, eyes glinting with something darkly amused. "But since you’re still paranoid—" He reached into his jacket. My muscles coiled—until he pulled out... a handkerchief. Monogrammed. Crisp. He draped it over my knee like a surrender flag. "There. Now you’ve got fabric to strangle me with if I misbehave."

I stared at it. Then at him.

Adrien smirked, a dangerous and charming expression that was somehow more genuine than the calm exterior he’d worn before. "Do I pass inspection, princess?"

I opened my mouth, found no words forming, and shut it with an audible click. My mind was still a jumbled mess of alarm bells and disbelief. But for the first time... curiosity was rising to the surface. Who was this man?

The silence between us crackled like static.

And then, finally, after what felt like years:

"You can’t be serious."

It slipped out before I could stop it, my voice slightly muffled behind my palms.

A slow, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. "Why not?"

Why not?

I flailed internally.

Because I just painted you with my poorly digested theme-park food?

Because we met approximately forty minutes ago under circumstances that should have ensured you’d never want to see me again?

Because I just had some kind of weird, deeply unsettling memory-slash-hallucination that seems to feature you and you basically just sidestepped it with some cryptic ’foreshadowing’ nonsense!

Because people like you—smooth, collected, walking-incarnation of I don’t know? A god—don’t just—just—

"Interested how?" I blurted instead.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes deepened. Darkened. "How do you think?"

A bolt of heat shot down my spine.

Oh.

Oh.

The way he said it—low, deliberate—made it impossible to misunderstand.

My cheeks burned.

This couldn’t be happening.

It had to be some elaborate prank. A setup. Maybe Aria had slipped something hallucinogenic into that demonic kale-cayenne concoction.

But then—

His thumb moved. Just slightly. A barely-there stroke against my knee.

And my entire body short-circuited.

"You’re lying," I croaked.

"If lying is the new truth, then I’m a terrible liar..." he stared into my eyes in a weird, weird way. "Because every time I look at you, all I can speak is the truth"

My jaw went slack. The air in my lungs seemed to evaporate, replaced by a sudden, violent palpitation of my heart. His confession wasn’t just words; it was a physical force, a gravitational pull I hadn’t anticipated. It resonated with that unsettling memory, that strange, warm recognition that had both terrified and fascinated me moments ago.

He chuckled lightly, a soft, amused sound that echoed through the room. He leaned forward, closer, his hand still on my knee, fingers tracing small, distracting circles. His eyes, dark and intense, never leaving mine. "You look shocked," he remarked. "Didn’t you expect me to say something like that?" There was something almost smug in his tone, like he knew something I didn’t. Like he’d already won.

His lips curved into a ghost of a smile, as if he was enjoying the sight of me, flustered and speechless. His thumb continued its trace of a line along the delicate arch of my knee, a slow, deliberate movement that sent an unexpected shiver up my spine. "Why the silence, princess?" he murmured, his voice soft but cutting through the quiet room like a knife. "Cat got your tongue?"

He was close now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, the faint, intoxicating scent of him assaulting my brain and making me want to vacuum him through my nose. His gaze was like a caress, his eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second. Then they flicked back up, meeting my gaze with an intensity that made my stomach flip. "You’re not responding," he noted, the words almost a taunt. "No witty remark? No clever comeback?"

He shifted, his body moving a fraction closer, his hand on my knee sliding up my thigh, the touch light but shockingly intimate. My breathing hitched, and I swear I could feel them trembling against me. "Speechless, are we?" he murmured, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite identify. "Perhaps you’re simply overwhelmed by my charm."

His fingers tightened ever so slightly, enough to send a jolt of awareness through me. His gaze flickered down to my lips again, lingering this time—like he was considering something. His voice dropped lower, rougher, as he leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin.

"Or perhaps... you’re just waiting for me to steal the words right out of your mouth."

A pause. A challenge. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, slow, deliberate—before pulling away just enough to watch me unravel.

"Tell me I’m wrong."

And oh, how I wanted to. But the traitorous part of me? It wanted him to be right. But I could feel myself lose control for this man.

He chuckled again, a soft, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air like a dark promise. His eyes, still fixed on mine, held a fire that made it impossible to look away. "You’re not denying it," he stated, his voice a low purr as he swallowed. His thumb traced a path from my lip to my chin, his touch sending sparks along my skin. He tilted my head up slightly, his expression smug, as if he was enjoying the effect he had on me.

He was so close now that I could see every fleck of color in his honey eyes.

His breath fanned across my lips as he hovered there—close enough to kiss, close enough to taste. The heat between us was palpable, thick enough to choke on. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in my hair, tipping my head back just enough to expose the flutter of my pulse.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured—a dare, a plea, a threat all in one.

But I didn’t. And that terrified me more than anything. I don’t even know how we got here but I don’t want him to stop.

For a brief, torturous moment, we simply breathed each other in—a charged, trembling silence thick with unspoken things. My heart pounded against my rib cage, so loud in my ears I was sure he could hear it. But all he did was run his thumb softly along my jawline, tracing a path of fire in its wake.

Then, he leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just millimeters from mine.

"Say the word, and I’ll walk away."

And God help me, I didn’t want him to even if my brain is screaming stranger danger.

His gaze darkened, the heat in them flaring at my silence. His hand slid up to cradle my face, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. His voice was a whisper in the stillness, sharp with a hint of warning and desire.

"But you’re not going to do that, are you?"

He was right. I was lost. Utterly, completely, hopelessly lost in him.

His gaze dropped to my lips again, his eyes so beautifully dangerous.

His voice, barely audible:

"Say ’no’ if you want me to stop."

The air between us grew heavier, thick with the tension of something inevitable. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in my hair—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me that he could.

His lips brushed against mine, feather light, teasing—a promise, a threat—before he pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my skin.

"Last chance."

I should have told him to stop. I should have shoved him away. But instead, I leaned in. My hands twitched, aching to pull him closer, betraying every alarm bell screaming in my head.

His eyes darkened, molten, like he’d been waiting for me to make that choice.

The air between us snapped, charged, inevitable.

And then, before I could second-guess myself, his mouth crushed against mine.