"Mrs. Callahan, were you pushed tonight, or did you just stumble?"
"Is it true the marriage is already falling apart?"
"Savannah, how long before the annulment?"
Rhett's jaw tightened. The moment they stepped back into the ballroom, it hit them flashes, noise, and a ruthless tide of questions that cut sharper than glass. The air around them pulsed with hunger, with judgment, with eyes waiting for blood.
Savannah didn't flinch, but he saw it the small twitch at the corner of her mouth, the slight tremble in her fingers at her side. She held her head high, regal, untouchable. But her silence spoke.
Another camera flashed. Another mic extended toward them.
"Mr. Callahan, is your wife just for the cameras?"
That was the one.
Before she could even blink, Rhett's hand slid around her waist. Firm. Purposeful. His fingers curled against her lower back, and she turned to him with wide eyes.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Ending this."
And then he kissed her.
No warning. No performance cue. No calculated delay.
His mouth claimed hers in front of everyone.
Gasps filled the air. Reporters froze. Photographers leaned in.
Savannah's eyes opened in shock. Then slowly, her lids fluttered shut, as if her body betrayed her brain.
He kissed her deeply not out of passion, not out of affection but like a man staking a flag. His lips moved with control, his hand anchoring her in place.
The room stopped breathing.
Savannah felt the burn of his mouth, the slow pressure that stirred something electric beneath her skin. It was too real to be fake and too fake to be safe.
Her body refused to move. Her mind screamed to pull back. But her pulse only raced faster.
When he finally drew away, it wasn't rushed. It was precise.
He looked into her stunned face. "You're shaking."
"You kissed me."
"In case you hadn't noticed."
She swallowed. "That wasn't in the contract."
"Neither was humiliation. I handled it."
He turned to the crowd, voice like cut glass. "Any more questions?"
Silence.
Not one mic lifted.
Blair stood across the ballroom, her red lips parted, her fury barely contained.
Savannah blinked, dazed. The room resumed its hum. Buzzing. Clicking. Tapping.
She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Her hand trembled as she lifted it.
"You kissed me," she said again, more to herself.
"You're repeating yourself."
"You didn't have to do that."
"I didn't have to catch you either."
She turned to him. "Was that supposed to shut them up or me?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
She stared at him. "Don't use me like that again."
He leaned closer. "Don't look so surprised next time."
Savannah's breath caught. "There won't be a next time."
Rhett smiled faintly. "We'll see."
The tray boy passed again. She grabbed a second glass. Didn't drink it.
Across the room, Blair hissed something into Weston Blackwell's ear. His brows lifted, amused.
"Congratulations," Weston called, lifting his own flute. "You've broken the internet."
Savannah turned away.
Rhett's assistant approached, murmuring, "Sir, the footage is already viral. They're calling it the kiss of the year."
Rhett didn't blink. "Let them."
Savannah clenched her jaw. "So that's what I am now? A headline?"
"You were a scandal," he said evenly. "Now you're a spectacle."
"And you think that's an improvement?"
"It's control."
She stared at him. "You really don't feel anything, do you?"
"I felt the room silencing."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
He turned and walked toward a senator waiting for him. She stood frozen.
The kiss still burned on her mouth.
She moved. Quietly. Swiftly. Toward the corridor leading to the side exit.
A hostess stepped in front of her with a bouquet. "For the new Mrs. Callahan "
Savannah brushed past her. Didn't speak. Didn't stop.
Outside, the wind hit her hard. She exhaled sharply and pressed a hand to her chest.
That kiss hadn't been for them. Not completely.
She'd felt it. The way his mouth softened for just a second. The way his hand had lingered too long after he pulled back.
It wasn't just about the cameras.
And that scared her more than any reporter.
Footsteps.
She turned.
Rhett.
"Couldn't handle the noise?" he asked.
"You shouldn't have followed me."
"I didn't."
She folded her arms. "You kissed me in front of everyone."
"You're welcome."
"I didn't ask for that."
"No. But you needed it."
Her voice dropped. "Do you always decide what I need?"
He stepped closer. "Do you always run when things get uncomfortable?"
"I run when they become unbearable."
"Then stay."
"Why?"
"Because you want to."
She scoffed. "You're very sure of yourself."
"I just kissed you in front of fifty cameras. I'm feeling bold."
She laughed once. "That wasn't a kiss. That was branding."
His expression shifted. "Is that what it felt like?"
She didn't answer.
He stepped closer again. "You didn't pull away."
"Because I couldn't think."
"Because you didn't want to."
She looked up at him. "Stop pushing."
"Then stop running."
They stood in silence. Her breath visible in the night air. His hands in his pockets.
"You kissed me," she whispered.
"You keep saying that."
"Because I can't stop feeling it."
He didn't reply.
She walked past him, heels tapping softly on the stone.
Back inside, the storm raged hashtags, headlines, whispers.
#CallahanHeat
#TheKiss
#FakeWifeRealKiss
A reporter turned his screen toward her as she reentered. The footage looped. Over. And over.
She felt every frame like a pulse beneath her skin.
Across the room, Blair's smile was gone. In its place something darker.
Savannah looked at her. No words exchanged. Just silent war.
Rhett rejoined her a moment later.
"Smile," he said softly.
"Why?"
"Because they think we're in love."
"And you're enjoying that?"
"I'm surviving it."
She turned to him. "And what am I doing?"
"Learning."
"What exactly?"
"How dangerous the game becomes when it starts to feel real."
Her throat tightened. "This is still fake, right?"
"Is it?"
He didn't wait for her answer.
And she couldn't give one.