The market thrummed with a kind of organized chaos, the air thick with the scent of crushed basil and urgency. Lex moved through the swirl, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair floppy and half-tamed. He kept smiling, flashing dimples as he directed volunteers with clumsy enthusiasm. Underneath, he watched Irisa’s stall, caught in the orbit of her bright laughter and messy ponytail, longing for her to glance his way.

Kael’s arrival was a sudden shift—he strode across the brick concourse in faded jeans, black tee clinging to his torso, chin lifted like he owned every inch. Crowds parted for him. His eyes landed on Irisa: she stood hipshot, sunflower petals caught in her hair, lips pursed in concentration as she argued with a supplier. Kael’s mouth twitched, the heat between them unspoken and sharp.

“You still pissed about yesterday?” he rumbled, stepping too close, voice pitched low. Irisa tensed, arms folded, every muscle in her jaw stubborn.

“You think I have time to be pissed?” Her tone was flippant, but her hands trembled as she sorted stems, knuckles pale. Kael leaned in, brushing against her, their faces inches apart—her breath caught, visible in the glint of her eyes. The stall’s tiny countertop pressed into her back. He didn’t move away.

Kael’s bravado flickered. “We need to talk. Not here, but soon.” His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered, then snapped away when Lex called out over the din, asking for help with a palette. Irisa slipped past Kael, shoulders rigid, but her cheeks flushed.

Lex helped her steady a box, brush of his hand gentle against hers. “You okay?” he asked, eyes earnest. She nodded too quickly, the smile she offered brittle at the edges. Lex noticed, brow furrowing, longing to reach for her, to matter.

Later, Kael found Irisa behind the stall, clenching his fists in an effort to hide nerves. “Fake it with me,” he said abruptly. “Pretend we’re together. They want to push us out—if they think we’re a couple, we’re harder to split up.” His voice was rough, stripped of its usual swagger. She glared, shaking her head, the idea landing heavy in her chest.

“Absolutely not,” she whispered, but a shiver ran through her. She hated that he noticed.

A sudden noise—glass shattering, a raised voice. Irisa flinched, squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to steady her breathing, but panic crawled up her throat, hands fluttering uselessly against Kael’s shirt. Kael froze, caught between anger and concern, but Lex appeared, kneeling beside Irisa, his hand warm on her shoulder.

“Breathe with me,” Lex murmured, soft and steady. Irisa’s lashes were wet. Lex’s thumb drew slow circles, grounding her, his voice a quiet anchor. The world shrank to them—the curve of Irisa’s spine, the worry sharpening Lex’s features. Her fingers curled into his wrist, desperate, trusting.

“You’re not alone,” Lex said, searching her face for signs of trust. Irisa’s chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. She turned, caught his hand in hers, and for a moment he thought she might kiss him. Instead, she just squeezed tight, the possibility hanging between them.

Kael watched, tension restless in his stance. He hated the jealousy rising, how Lex’s touch was soft where his always felt like an argument. He wanted to pull Irisa away, to be the one she leaned on. Instead, he scowled and looked away.

Shaken, Irisa let go of Lex and found Kael outside, rain threatening overhead. Her voice was frayed. “Fine. I’ll do it. But only for the market.” There was defiance, and something else—fear, guilt, the shadow of her secrets. Kael nodded, trying not to look too relieved.

An hour later, as afternoon sun filtered through the tented roof, Kael and Irisa staged their first act. Kael’s hand slid into hers, his touch too rough, desperate to claim. Irisa let him pull her close, her posture rigid until he whispered, “Let them see.” She tilted her face, parted lips trembling. Kael surged forward, his kiss fierce and unpracticed, sending a gasp through the crowd. Irisa melted against him, her fingers tangled in his hair, a soft moan escaping. Heat pulsed; the act crumbled into something raw.

Lex stood on the far side of the crowd, tray in hand, eyes wide—hurt so bright it almost glimmered. He stumbled back, crushed by longing, Irisa’s abandoned flower pressed to his chest.

After, hidden behind stacked crates, Irisa shoved Kael against cool metal, lips claiming his in a bruising, hungry kiss. His hands roamed her waist, tracing the line of her spine, both of them gasping, startled by the hunger. Her nails bit his skin, his breath shuddering into her mouth.

“I said fake it,” Irisa whispered between kisses, voice breaking. Kael’s forehead pressed to hers, hands trembling. “Tell me when it stops being pretend.”

Their bodies trembled together, too close, too real. Just out of sight, Lex lingered, the weight of the moment heavy in his chest, resolve burning in his jaw.

To be continued...