Revealing The Real Identity

The heavy thud of a wine bottle hitting the dining table snapped Elena out of her daze. Gareth had returned, vibrating with excitement. He marched straight to his seat, slamming a premium bottle of clear liquor down next to the roasted chicken.

"Come, Kaelen! Let's raise a toast to our new family!" Gareth boomed, his voice echoing off the kitchen tiles. He grabbed the bottle, twisting the cork free with a sharp pop, and poured a generous glass for Kaelen before anyone had even taken a bite of the food. Without waiting for a response, Gareth threw his head back and downed his own glass in one smooth gulp.

Elena stood frozen by the kitchen door, clutching her damp dish towel. Beside her at the table, Miriam sat frozen, staring at her husband with her mouth slightly open in baffled silence. Just a few hours ago, Gareth had treated Kaelen like dirt beneath his shoe. Now, he gazed at the younger man with the starry-eyed reverence of a dedicated fan.

Miriam smacked her palm flat against the wooden table, making the silverware rattle. "Gareth Stanton, what has gotten into you?" she scolded, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. "Why are you acting like his best friend all of a sudden? You are a grown man. Act your age and sit down properly."

Elena nodded in firm agreement, crossing her arms over her chest. She remembered the metallic gleam of the bank card passing between them on the balcony. Her stomach twisted.

A slight flush of alcohol already blooming on his weathered cheeks, Gareth waved a dismissive hand at his wife. "What do you two women know?" he slurred a bit, emboldened by the liquor. "That is none of your business. Don't mind them, Kaelen. Drink up!"

Kaelen offered a polite nod and raised his glass, matching Gareth pace for pace. He didn't flinch at the burn of the alcohol. They poured glass after glass, the conversation reduced to Gareth's loud cheers and Kaelen's quiet hums of agreement. They emptied two bottles of strong white wine in under an hour.

"Let's pour another..." Gareth mumbled, his eyes crossing as he fumbled for a third bottle. He swayed dangerously in his chair, lost his balance, and slumped forward. His forehead hit the table with a dull thud, followed by a rumbling snore.

Kaelen sat across from him, his posture perfectly straight, his eyes clear. He didn't have a single trace of a flush on his skin.

Miriam sighed heavily, massaging her temples to ward off a headache. "This stubborn old fool. His tolerance is terrible, but he insists on showing off." She stood up and hauled Gareth up by his arm, struggling under his dead weight. "Clear the table, Lena. I need to drag your father to bed before he breaks something."

Miriam dragged him down the hall, leaving Elena alone in the dining room with Kaelen. Silence stretched between them.

Elena picked up a stack of dirty plates, her knuckles turning white. She avoided Kaelen's steady gaze. "You will have to sleep in my room tonight," she muttered, the words tumbling out in a rush. A hot flush crept up her neck, turning her face bright red.

Kaelen grabbed the empty wine bottles to help her clean. He noticed the red tint on her cheeks and thought she looked rather cute, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.

Elena knew her mother possessed a sharp, suspicious mind. If Miriam caught them sleeping in separate rooms, or if she found Kaelen sleeping on the cold floor, their fake marriage arrangement would fall apart instantly. But the thought of sharing a dark, confined space with a man she barely knew made Elena's pulse race. He had just consumed enough alcohol to drop a horse.

She led him into her small bedroom and immediately set strict boundaries. Grabbing a thick, heavy quilt from the closet, she rolled it into a long cylinder and placed it straight down the middle of the mattress.

"Your side. My side," Elena stated, pointing to the barrier.

She climbed under her own covers, pulling them up to her chin. She left the bedside lamp on, casting a warm yellow glow across the walls. She refused to close her eyes in the dark with him. Kaelen lay down on his designated side, staring up at the plaster ceiling without a word.

Half an hour ticked by. The room remained suffocatingly quiet. Kaelen hadn't moved an inch, his breathing steady and calm. He didn't act like a drunk man at all.

Elena finally relaxed her rigid posture, letting her shoulders drop. She turned her head, studying his sharp profile in the dim light. "What exactly did you say to him out there on the balcony before dinner?" she whispered. "Why did his attitude change so drastically?"

"I didn't say much," Kaelen replied casually, not looking away from the ceiling. "I just told him the truth. I told him I used to be in the military."

Realization dawned on Elena's face, clearing away her confusion. "Oh. That makes sense." Her father had always harbored a deep respect for soldiers. He idolized the God of War who shared Kaelen's name.

Elena propped herself up on one elbow, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I heard you saw combat. Did you ever get the chance to meet him? The real Kaelen? The God of War?"

Her eyes sparkled in the dim light. The apprehension vanished, replaced by the eager energy of a fan.

Kaelen turned his head, raising an eyebrow at her glowing expression. It seemed his fake wife was a massive admirer. "I have," he answered truthfully. He wondered if she would toss the rolled-up blanket aside and hug him if he revealed his true identity right now.

"You met him?" Elena sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. "What does he look like? Is it true he is tall and intimidating? They say he can wipe out a million enemies with a single strike!"

She had spent years trying to find a real photograph of the man, tracking rumors on military forums. The God of War was a phantom, always hidden behind his signature butterfly mask on the battlefield.

"Wipe out a million enemies with one strike?" Kaelen muttered to himself, shaking his head in mild shock. "Am I really supposed to be that ridiculous? Why don't I even know about these rumors?"

Elena tilted her head, trying to parse his low mumbling. "What did you say?"

Kaelen looked her dead in the eye. He decided to test the waters and see how she handled the reality of her idol. "I'm saying that I am the God of War. Do you really think I'm that mythical?"

He waited for the shock, the awe, the sudden respect her father had shown on the balcony.

Instead, Elena's expression hardened. The sparkling admiration vanished, replaced by a simmering fury.

"Did you tell my dad that?" she demanded, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Did you tell him you are the God of War who shocked the world?"

Kaelen frowned, confused by her sudden hostility. "Yes. He asked about my background, so I told him the truth when he pressed for my identity."

Elena's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "And how did you manage to get him to believe such a pathetic, outrageous lie?"

"A lie?" Kaelen shifted, his own frustration rising. He propped himself up on his elbow. "Why do you automatically assume I'm lying?"

"Because I saw you!" Elena hissed, her chest heaving with anger. "I saw you on the balcony taking that card! You share the same name as the great God of War, fine. But do not ever dishonor his sacred legacy like this!"

She glared at him, pure disgust dripping from her words. "It would be acceptable if you just spoke the truth and said you were a regular soldier. No one would judge you for never meeting him. He is a ghost. But it makes me sick that you would impersonate him!"

Elena connected the dots in her mind. Kaelen had fed her gullible father this grand delusion about being the God of War, and in return, Gareth had handed over his secret stock money out of sheer hero-worship. He was conning her family.

Any lingering attraction she felt for Kaelen shattered into pieces. He wasn't just a freeloader; he was a despicable con artist taking advantage of an old man's dreams. The God of War was her idol, a selfless hero. The mysterious, masked savior was nothing like the swindler lying in her bed.

"I—" Kaelen started, bewildered by her leap in logic. Since when did he insult his own name?

Elena didn't give him a single second to defend himself. She grabbed the heavy comforter, yanked it forcefully over her head, and turned her back to him. She shut him out in the dark, refusing to listen to another word of his nonsense.

Kaelen stared at the lump under the blankets, utterly speechless. He ran a hand over his face, frustrated and baffled that telling the undeniable truth only made him look like a criminal in her eyes.

Hours crawled by. The small room remained tense and quiet. Elena fumed under the covers, her mind racing with anger and bitter disappointment. She had barely slept over the past two days, the stress of her family's demands wearing her down to the bone. Eventually, physical exhaustion overpowered her righteous fury. Her tense muscles relaxed, her breathing evened out, and she slipped into a deep, heavy sleep.

Sometime during the cold night, the rolled-up blanket barrier got kicked aside in the darkness. Seeking comfort and warmth in the chilly room, a sleeping Elena unconsciously closed the distance between them. She rolled over, threw her arm over Kaelen's waist, and buried her face into his side, holding him tight as if he were a giant, warm plushie.

The dark sky faded into a bright morning blue. The first golden rays of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains, illuminating the tangled mess on the bed.

Silence reigned in the Stanton household, broken only by the distant, peaceful chirping of morning birds.

Then, an ear-piercing, terrified scream shattered the quiet dawn.

"Kaelen, you bastard!"

Elena bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her breathing came in short, panicked gasps as she scrambled backward until her spine slammed against the wooden headboard.

Her silk nightgown was a mess. The top three buttons were undone, exposing her collarbone and the soft, fair skin of her chest.

But that wasn't what caused her to scream.

She had just woken up sprawled directly on top of Kaelen's bare chest. He was lying flat on his back, shirtless. His chest was broad, heavily muscled, and radiating intense heat. The realization that her face had been pressed intimately against his bare skin sent a wild rush of fire straight to her cheeks.

Her mind scrambled to make sense of the scene. The barrier was gone. She was on his side of the mattress. She had crossed the physical boundary.

Kaelen blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He sat up slowly, the muscles in his arms and torso shifting smoothly under his skin. He looked at her panic-stricken face, his expression frustratingly innocent.

"Why..." Elena faltered, pulling the edges of her nightgown together with trembling fingers. "Why are your clothes off in my bed?"

She tried to sound furious, demanding answers, but her voice wavered badly. She knew, deep down, that she was the one who had invaded his space.

Kaelen ran a hand through his messy hair. "I felt really hot last night," he reasoned calmly. "Drinking all that strong wine with your dad raised my body temperature. So, I took my shirt off."

He leaned back on his hands, maintaining a steady gaze. "Besides, you were the one who crawled over here and hugged me in the middle of the night. My shirt being off has nothing to do with you crossing the line."

Elena's face burned hotter. She wanted to argue, but she had no defense. She remembered the solid, comforting warmth she had clung to in her sleep.

Internally, Kaelen was ecstatic. Feeling her soft body pressed against him all night had been a test of endurance, but he wasn't about to complain about the physical closeness. He enjoyed seeing her flustered.

"Also," Kaelen added, lowering his voice with a serious edge, "why did you scream so loud?"

Elena swallowed hard, her wide eyes darting to the locked bedroom door.

"Think about it," Kaelen reasoned, gesturing toward the hallway. "You wake up, scream my name, and call me a bastard. What do you think your parents are going to assume happened in here?"

The remaining color drained from Elena's face as the implication hit her like a physical blow. The unbuttoned nightgown. The shirtless man. The scandalous morning scream.

Right on cue, three sharp, urgent knocks hammered against the bedroom door.