THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
Three weeks passed.
Three weeks of subtle encounters and deliberate distance. Lunches that turned into late dinners, conversations that stretched into early mornings, and yet not once did Dominic touch her. He didn’t even try.
It unnerved Alina.
She was used to being desired, devoured, discarded. Men didn’t fall in love with her—they fell in lust, they fell into ruin. But Dominic Crane… he was building something else entirely.
Respect. Trust. Intimacy without possession.
One evening, he invited her to his estate. Not the penthouse in the city—his home on the outskirts, tucked behind iron gates and ancient trees. When the car dropped her off, she wasn’t sure what to expect.
But it wasn’t this.
The estate was elegant and quiet, bathed in golden twilight. Roses climbed the fences. A stone fountain whispered softly in the courtyard. It wasn’t cold wealth. It was a home.
Dominic met her at the entrance, casual in a grey button-down and dark slacks. No staff, no chef, just him.
"I wanted you to see where I live. Not where I work."
Inside, the house was warm. Earth tones, soft lighting, old books lining the walls. She noticed a framed drawing on the hallway table—crayons and clumsy letters.
"My daughter," he said, noticing her pause. "She’s eight. My son is twelve. You’ll meet them. In time."
Alina said nothing, but something shifted inside her. Children. A family.
She sat by the fire as he poured wine. They talked—about childhoods, broken dreams, regrets. She told him about her mother. He told her about his late wife.
“She was kind,” he said softly. “Too kind. It broke her.”
"And me?" Alina asked.
“You’re dangerous,” he replied. “But not cruel. And I think that matters more.”
The room fell quiet.
She looked into the fire, unsure what to say. For once, her weapons—beauty, seduction, charm—felt useless. This man wasn’t interested in playing.
He stood and walked over to a small drawer. From it, he pulled a velvet box. When he opened it, Alina’s breath caught.
Not because of the diamond—it was large, yes, but that wasn’t what shocked her.
It was him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Changing your life,” he said simply.
She stared at him, stunned.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“I know enough,” he replied. “I know that every version of you I’ve seen is a mask… except the one who looked scared when I said I saw more in you.”
Alina looked down at the ring, her hands trembling. “I’m not what your world wants. I have a past.”
“I have two children who need someone real. Not perfect. Just real.” He paused. “And I want peace. I want warmth in this house again. I want someone who knows how to survive.”
She should’ve said no.
Every instinct screamed that this was too fast, too strange, too dangerous. She didn’t do fairy tales.
But he wasn’t offering her a fantasy.
He was offering her a place at the table. A name. A family. A chance to belong.
And somewhere deep inside her—buried beneath years of silence and shame—a voice whispered: Take it.
She took the ring.
He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t need to.
The moment she slipped it on, the rules changed.
She was no longer the mistress.
She was about to become the wife.
Three weeks of subtle encounters and deliberate distance. Lunches that turned into late dinners, conversations that stretched into early mornings, and yet not once did Dominic touch her. He didn’t even try.
It unnerved Alina.
She was used to being desired, devoured, discarded. Men didn’t fall in love with her—they fell in lust, they fell into ruin. But Dominic Crane… he was building something else entirely.
Respect. Trust. Intimacy without possession.
One evening, he invited her to his estate. Not the penthouse in the city—his home on the outskirts, tucked behind iron gates and ancient trees. When the car dropped her off, she wasn’t sure what to expect.
But it wasn’t this.
The estate was elegant and quiet, bathed in golden twilight. Roses climbed the fences. A stone fountain whispered softly in the courtyard. It wasn’t cold wealth. It was a home.
Dominic met her at the entrance, casual in a grey button-down and dark slacks. No staff, no chef, just him.
"I wanted you to see where I live. Not where I work."
Inside, the house was warm. Earth tones, soft lighting, old books lining the walls. She noticed a framed drawing on the hallway table—crayons and clumsy letters.
"My daughter," he said, noticing her pause. "She’s eight. My son is twelve. You’ll meet them. In time."
Alina said nothing, but something shifted inside her. Children. A family.
She sat by the fire as he poured wine. They talked—about childhoods, broken dreams, regrets. She told him about her mother. He told her about his late wife.
“She was kind,” he said softly. “Too kind. It broke her.”
"And me?" Alina asked.
“You’re dangerous,” he replied. “But not cruel. And I think that matters more.”
The room fell quiet.
She looked into the fire, unsure what to say. For once, her weapons—beauty, seduction, charm—felt useless. This man wasn’t interested in playing.
He stood and walked over to a small drawer. From it, he pulled a velvet box. When he opened it, Alina’s breath caught.
Not because of the diamond—it was large, yes, but that wasn’t what shocked her.
It was him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Changing your life,” he said simply.
She stared at him, stunned.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“I know enough,” he replied. “I know that every version of you I’ve seen is a mask… except the one who looked scared when I said I saw more in you.”
Alina looked down at the ring, her hands trembling. “I’m not what your world wants. I have a past.”
“I have two children who need someone real. Not perfect. Just real.” He paused. “And I want peace. I want warmth in this house again. I want someone who knows how to survive.”
She should’ve said no.
Every instinct screamed that this was too fast, too strange, too dangerous. She didn’t do fairy tales.
But he wasn’t offering her a fantasy.
He was offering her a place at the table. A name. A family. A chance to belong.
And somewhere deep inside her—buried beneath years of silence and shame—a voice whispered: Take it.
She took the ring.
He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t need to.
The moment she slipped it on, the rules changed.
She was no longer the mistress.
She was about to become the wife.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.