JASMINE'S POV
"Jasmine," he said, pushing off the car with that slow, practiced smile I used to think was charming.
I didn't stop walking.
"You look… married."
Still, I didn't answer.
"I mean that in a good way," he added, trailing after me like a shadow that didn't know when to leave. "Polished. Collected. Dangerous. I like it."
I reached my car and opened the door.
He stepped in closer and rested a hand on the roof, leaning down like this was some rom-com reunion scene. "Just hear me out."
"No."
"It's not too late."
I turned slowly. "Yes. It is."
He flinched, just slightly, like he hadn't expected me to say it like I meant it.
"I don't know what lies my uncle has fed you," I continued coolly, "but this? Whatever fantasy you're still clinging to? Let it go."
"You don't love him."
"You don't know me," I shot back.
A long pause stretched between us.
Then his expression changed into something meaner. "You're not as different as you think, Jasmine. You like power. You like control. You just needed someone who played the game better than I did."
I smiled sweetly. "You're right. I did. And I found him."
The insult hit harder than it should've, but he covered it quickly with a smirk. Classic Alex. Lose ground, act like you gave it away.
He stepped closer, voice dropping like it could still charm me. "You think that man's going to protect you? He doesn't know you like I do. Doesn't know what you need."
"Oh really? And I'm assuming you know what that is, right?" I asked sharply.
"You need stability. Reality. Not some whirlwind fairytale with a man who's going to burn out the moment you stop being exciting."
"I didn't realize you were writing poetry now," I said. "Are you done?"
He reached out, brushing his fingers down my arm. It was a soft touch—meant to feel familiar. Comforting. But it wasn't. It was ice.
I jerked back instantly. "Don't touch me."
He raised both hands in mock surrender. "See? You're already running."
I didn't dignify that with a reply. I got into the car, slammed the door shut, and rolled the window down just enough to glare at him.
"You want to pretend you matter, Alexander?" My tone was sharp and clean. "Try therapy."
Then I drove off.
My pulse was in my ears the whole way back.
I hated that he touched me.
I hated that I let it happen.
And I really, really hated that somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered, What would Aiden say if he knew?
—
By the time I pulled back into the Frost estate, the sky had turned molten. Sunset spilled gold across the courtyard, the kind of light that made everything look softer than it really was.
But I wasn't soft.
Not at all.
I was breathless.
And annoyed.
And somewhere, deep down, shaken.
I didn't even bother to announce myself as I walked inside. The silence of the house felt heavier than usual, pressing in around me as I made my way toward my room.
When I arrived, the door was slightly open.
Inside, Aiden was standing by the window, facing away from me. I couldn't tell what he was looking at outside, but he held a glass of wine in one hand, while his other hand hung at his side, tight and clenched.
I stopped in the doorway, not saying a word.
He didn't turn around.
Didn't speak.
But his shoulders went tight—just a fraction.
His head tilted, and his voice, when it came, was low and controlled. "You smell like another man."
My blood froze in my veins.
The weight of that sentence pressed into my ribcage like a vice.
I stepped inside slowly as I ignored my heart and replied. "I was with my uncle."
He turned.
Finally.
And the moment our eyes met, I knew.
Something had shifted.
His gaze dropped to the choker at my neck, the crest he'd fastened there just hours ago. His expression—normally a mixture of amusement and calculation—was unreadable.
"You weren't just with your uncle."
I swallowed. "If you're suggesting I did anything—"
"I'm not suggesting." hr cut in before I could finish. "I'm stating."
He stepped forward, and the room suddenly felt too small… too warm… too… still.
"You let him touch you."
I blinked. "I didn't—he brushed my arm—"
"You didn't push him fast enough."
I stiffened. "You're being ridiculous. You were not even there."
"I didn't need to be."
He moved again, fast and smooth, closing the distance between us in two strides.
And then, with a thud, his hand hit the wall beside my head—caging me in without touching me. His body loomed, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him.
His voice dropped low, dangerous and soft all at once. "I don't like being tested, Jasmine."
I swallowed, taking a deep breath to calm myself before I retorted. "What if I like testing you?"
He didn't reply immediately but when he did, it sent shivers down my body. "Test me again and see what happens."
My voice shook. "You're jealous."
He leaned in, breath brushing my jaw. "I don't get jealous, wifey," he murmured. "I get territorial."
That one sentence sent heat rushing through my veins like fire under my skin.
I hated that it affected me.
I hated even more that I wanted him to do something about it.
I should have stepped back. I should have slapped him or just walked out. But I didn't. I couldn't.
Everything around me felt unsteady, like the world had tilted on its axis. My heart? It felt like it had vanished, lost somewhere between my ribs and the floor.
Something about the way he looked at me—like I was already his, and he was just waiting for me to admit it—shattered every wall I thought I had in place.
Then, before I had a chance to say anything or even blink—he kissed me.
It wasn't careful.
It wasn't soft.
It was sober, slow, and devastatingly deep.
It was a statement.
His mouth claimed mine like he'd waited too long and wasn't going to rush it now. Like I was something sacred; like I was his.
And worst of all?
I kissed him back.
Without thinking, my hand found its way to his shirt. I was caught between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him closer.
The kiss felt intense, breaking down all the walls I had built around myself.
His other hand moved to the back of my neck, his fingers brushing against my choker. It didn't seem fair how perfectly he fit against me—everything about it felt completely right, even if it was driving me a little crazy.
I kissed him back.
God help me, I kissed him back.
And when he finally pulled away, just barely, his lips still brushing mine, I could feel his smirk as much as I could hear it.
"Only I have the right," he murmured, "to get this close to you and from the way you reacted, it's obvious you'd prefer it that way."
My fingers gripped the front of his shirt. "I only kissed back because you caught me off guard."
"Mmm." He raised a brow. "Want me to do it again? Just to make sure?"