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You had a secret crush on your super hot roommate. You were sure heâd never find out. Until tonightâŚyou woke up on him licking your pu&&i...đđ -------------------------------------------------------- Jessica's Pov âMhmmâŚâ I let out a soft m0an, my fingers kneading my br3asts as waves of pl3asure rippled through me. The rose vibrator hummed relentlessly against my c1it, drawing stars across my vision, but in my fevered imagination, it wasnât siliconeâit was Aaronâs mouth, his t0ngue teasing me with a wicked precision only he could dream up. Heavens, the thought of him, my roommate, my eternal crush, had me teetering on the edge. âYes,â I hissed, cranking up the speed, my hips bucking involuntarily. I was so close, stars bursting behind my eyelids, whenâdamn itâthe jingle of keys shattered the silence, followed by the unmistakable creak of the front door. No. No, no, no. Not again. This was the second time this week heâd ruined my org@sm. I flicked off the toy with a frustrated groan and shoved it under my pillow, my chest rising and falling like Iâd just hauled up a flight of stairs. Sweat beaded on my forehead, even though the room was cool from the slightly open window, and blasting air conditioner. I froze, my eyes glued to the ceiling as I listened to his heavy footsteps thud closer. Our bedroom door creaked open, and I slammed my eyes shut, my heart slamming against my ribs. Please donât smell it, I begged silently. The air was thick with my scent, musky and unapologetic. Could he? Guys were supposed to have that sixth sense, right? And worseâŚ..what if heâd heard me m0aning his name earlier? That would be mortifying. âQuit faking it, Jess. I know youâre wide awake.â His voice rolled over me like dark honey, deep enough to drown in, vibrating through the quiet room and straight to my already throbbing pussi. I stayed perfectly still, holding my breath, hoping heâd buy it and leave. The silence dragged on, and I figured heâd given up, stalked off to the bathroom or the kitchen. I cracked one eye open to peek, and there he was, his gorgeous face hovering inches from mine, those honey-brown eyes sparkling with an infuriating mix of mischief and mockery. A squeak escaped me, half-yelp, half-laugh, and I slapped my palms over my burning cheeks. âJesus, Aaron! Personal space much?â He chuckled, low and rough, pulling back just enough to loom instead of invade. âWhy are you still awake? I thought you had that big test tomorrow.â He straightened up, his tone casual, like he hadnât just scared the life out of me. I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, trying to hide how flustered I was. He turned away then, thank God, yanking off his jersey in one smooth pull. Sweat glistened on his inked muscles, the tattoos flexing as he movedâdragons and symbols that told stories I was dying to trace with my fingers. I heard my pussi purr, and I pressed my knees tight to prevent the juices from coating my bed. Down, girl. Not now. Iâve been in love with Aaron Tyrone for what feels like forever. Itâs been my quiet curse since we were kids scraping knees in the neighborhood. He was the villain in my story back thenâmy next-door bully, the one everyone whispered about like he was cursed. âBad news,â theyâd say, crossing the street to avoid him. But my bruised little heart? It latched on anyway, because it was the only attention I ever got from anyone. At home, I was invisible. My dad poured all his love into my step-siblings, and my stepmom never missed a chance to remind me I was âbad luckâ because Mom died giving birth to me. I was the shadow girl, overlooked and forgotten. And yeah, Aaron was hotâeven at twelve, with that jaw already cutting edges, dark hair flopping over his forehead until heâd shove it back, revealing those endless brown eyes that could pin you in place. Straight nose, lips made for sinâIâd replayed kissing them in a million stolen dreams. He bullied me, sure, but heâd muscle in like a guard dog if anyone else tried: âBack off, sheâs mine to mess with.â Toxic as hell. I knew it, I should have bolted. But that possessiveness? It hooked me deep, and damn if I didnât crave the burn. How we ended up roommates? Pure desperation. College dorms filled up before I could snag a spot, and apartments were insanely pricey. Where was I supposed to get the cash? Dad? Puh-lease. I had no friendsâthanks to my locked-away childhood that made Rapunzel look free-spirited, and sharing with a stranger sounded like a nightmare. Aaron lived near campus, so I swallowed my pride and asked him for help. He grumbled, but he said yes. Turns out, under that mean streak, heâs not entirely heartless. Living with him, though? Torture. Sleeping just feet away from temptation every night pushed me over the edge. I deflowered myself with toys just to cope, imagining it was him. How do you sleep next to fire and not get scorched? âAre you even listening to me? Whatâs got you spacing out?â He snapped his fingers in front of my face, jolting me back. âHuh?â I blinked, my gaze locking onto his eyes. They were warm as bourbon, sucking me under like quicksand. I could drown happily there. He huffed, and raked a hand through his tousled hair, leaving it even messier. Sexy bedhead on steroids. I thought. âI said, I need you to come somewhere with me this weekend.â âA date?â The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my heart leaping stupidly. His face crumpledâsurprise? Irritation?âand he barked a laugh that didnât reach his eyes. âIn your dreams, maybe.â The words landed like a gut punch, but I played it off, rolling my eyes with a snort. âOuch. Way to crush a girlâs ego at midnight.â Inside, though? It hollowed me out, but Iâd take scraps over nothing. âMy grandpaâs throwing this big family dinner. Everyoneâs gonna be there.â He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, looking effortlessly sexy in just his shorts. I arched a brow, folding my arms to match him. âAnd Iâm invited becauseâŚ?â âI want you there.â His tone was firm, almost commanding, but that didnât make it any less vague. I rolled my eyes. âThatâs not exactly a reason, Ronnie.â He scowled, his jaw tightening. âDo you really love getting on my nerves? Iâve told you a million times to stop calling me that.â I snickered, shrugging. âYou get on mine all the time. Fairâs fair.â He glared, those heated eyes boring into me, and I felt my cheeks flush. I cleared my throat to break the tension. âFor real, though, why me? Why drag your roommate to a family thing?â My voice came out softer than I intended, almost vulnerable. âFiona and Eric will be there.â His voice flatlined, face a blank slate, but I caught the glimpse of an old wound reopening. Ah. His ex and his cousin. Fiona cheated on him with Eric, shattering Aaron in ways he never admitted. I never got what he saw in herâbeyond her mean-girl vibe, she wasnât even that pretty. Maybe it was her big, unhinged boobs. Or maybe he just liked the thrill of the chase. Or⌠right, her familyâs money. But no, Aaron wasnât that shallow. At least, I wanted to believe he wasnât. His family, the Tyrones were loaded, hockey royalty in the US, though Aaron bucked tradition by choosing basketball over the family sport. That choice pissed off his stoic grandpa, creating this massive rift, but Aaron didnât budge. He chased his dreams with that fierce determination I secretly admired. âSo, you up for it?â he asked, one perfect brow arched in challenge. I swallowed, piecing it together. The fake girlfriend act. âYou want to use me as a rebound?â The words slipped out, laced with hurt I couldnât hide. He tilted his head, scanning me slow, like he was weighing my soul. âYeah. Just for the weekend.â It felt like a knife twist in my chest, but I nodded anyway, forcing a smile. God, I wanted to grab his shirt, beg, Make it realâjust once. But desperate girls get doors slammed, so I bit it back. âOkay,â I whispered. A smirk tugged his lips, and he reached out, ruffling my hair like I was his pesky little sister. âPerfect. Weâll hit the stores tomorrow, I canât have my âgirlâ rolling up in those tragic hoodies and sweats. Time for an upgrade.â He turned and vanished into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Alone, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. Why did loving him have to hurt so damn much? Chapter 2 Jessica's POV âTake a break, weâll reassemble in thirty,â Aaronâs smooth, commanding voice echoed across the court, cutting through the squeak of sneakers and the thud of basketballs. The college players scattered like leaves in a gust, grabbing towels and water, their chatter filling the gym. Aaron stayed rooted in the center, chugging from the bottle Iâd slipped into his gym bag that morning. He is such a stubborn ass. Earlier this morning, heâd grumbled about not needing it when I offered, but there he was, guzzling it down like it was liquid gold. Lucky for him, my love made me a fool whoâd bend over backward, even if he didnât deserve it half the time. I watched from the libraryâs massive window, perched on a stool with a forgotten textbook in my lap. The view overlooked the court perfectly, and I couldnât tear my eyes away from how he owned the spaceâbarking orders, demonstrating shots with effortless sexiness. Students hung on his every word, launching balls toward the hoop like disciples following a prophet. Aaron coached part-time at Arcadia Hills College, a gig that always puzzled me until I pieced it together: he wanted to nurture the next generation, help them chase dreams like he was chasing his. Soon, heâd ditch Florida for LA, signing with some top-tier team, and damn if I wasnât rooting for him harder than anyone. Iâd be glued to every game, cheering from afar. Weird, right? Anyone sane would call me deranged because I was wishing the moon for the guy whoâd tormented me since we were kids, chipping away at my confidence like it was his hobby. But love doesnât play by rules, especially not mine. Maybe I lost a screw when Mom died; her spirit taking a chunk of my sanity with her. Loving Aaron was my beautiful madness. âHow does it feel sharing an apartment with him?â The question yanked me from my reverie, and I yelped, flailing like a cartoon character. My stool wobbled, and my forehead bumped the glass with a comedic thump. I clutched the thick curtains for balance, only for them to billow uselessly as I nearly face-planted. âOops! Iâm so sorry, I didnât mean to scare you!â I rubbed the budding ache on my head and spun to face Debbie, the campusâs favorite punching bag for laughs. If I was awkward in high school (and okay, maybe still a tad now), Debbie was the queen of geeks: frizzy dirty blonde hair escaping a messy ponytail, braces flashing with every word, coke-bottle glasses magnifying her wide eyes, acne-scarred skin, and that lanky height that made her tower over everyone like a giraffe in sneakers. But strip away the worldâs cruel beauty checklist, she was stunning in her own way: kind eyes, a warm vibe that peeked through if you bothered to look. Societyâs beauty standards were just a rigged game anyway. Superficial and impossible. I managed a small smile, trying to shake off the embarrassment. âHey, Debbie.â She shyly mirrored it, her fingers twisting together, weight shifting from foot to foot like she was debating running away. âHowâd you know I live with him?â I asked, keeping my tone light. She let out a nervous giggle, relaxing a fraction, probably sensing I wasnât the judging type. âItâs not exactly a secretâŚâ She trailed off, squinting as she fished for my name. âJessica,â I supplied softly. âSorry.â She scratched the back of her neck, cheeks flushing. âSo, are you guys, like⌠do you two, you knowâŚâ Her words fizzled out, but the implication hung there, awkward and prying. I raised a brow, not thrilled. âDonât you think thatâs a weird thing to ask a stranger?â Deep down, though, a twisted part of me wished it were trueâthat we were more than roommates, more than this endless push-pull. âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to.â The air thickened with her discomfort, and I didnât want to marinate in it. Who knows what sheâd blurt next? Maybe ask if we took a shit together or something equally mortifying. âThanks for saying hi, Debbie. See you around.â I flashed another quick smile, grabbed my bag from the nearby chair, and slipped past her, escaping the library stuffy air. Outside, I yanked my hood up, shielding my face, and kept my head down as I hustled across campus. I was lost in a swirl of thoughts, eager to hole up in the apartment and lose myself in a bookâs pages, forgetting the world for a bit. Then, out of nowhere, a firm grip snagged my arm. I barely had time to gasp before I was hauled sideways, yanked into a cramped, dimly lit space that smelled of chalk and old mopsâa janitorâs closet? The door slammed shut, and my back hit the wall with a thud, knocking the breath from my lungs. My heart sprinted, faster than a ticking second hand, pounding in my ears. My eyes squeezed shut in panic. When I pried them open, Aaronâs honey-brown gaze locked onto mine, pinning me harder than any wall ever could. He was dangerously close, one ripped arm braced above my head, his body heat radiating through the thin air between us. His scentâsweat mixed with his cologne, flooded my senses, turning my brain to mush. âWhat the hell, Aaron?â I stammered, voice shaky, staring up at him like a deer in headlights. He didnât answer right away, just held my gaze, leaning in until our breaths mingled, faces so close I could count his lashes. My mind raced: Is this it? The The kiss Iâd fantasized about a million times? Had he finally woken up, seen me as more than the girl next bed? But no, of course not. He pulled back slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. âSo, howâd the test go? You were buried in books all week.â Disappointment sank like a stone in my gut, but I gulped it down, and rolled my eyes to mask the sting. âAw, thanks for the concern. But we both know thatâs not why you kidnapped me into a closet. And if anyone saw? Theyâd get the wrong idea. Hotshot basketball coach sneaking off with the hoodie girl? Headline news.â He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that unleashed a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, fluttering wildly. âDonât play coy, Jess. Youâd eat up those rumors like candy. Hell, youâre probably praying they turn real.â My pulse skyrocketed, throat tightening as I struggled to swallow. The way he said it, so cocky, like he had me figured out. âDonât flatter yourself, thatâs not true.â I shot back, the lie tasting bitter because yeah, it was killing me how much I wanted exactly that. âYeah, keep telling yourself that.â His whisper brushed my ear, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that screamed certainty. It hit me then: Does he know about how I feel towards him? All the teasing, the âharmlessâ bullyingâmaybe itâs because he senses my feelings, toys with them like a cat with a mouse. That would be the ultimate humiliation, worse than any childhood taunt. I shoved against his chest, and spun around to leave, but he caught my wrist, yanking me back until I collided with his solid frame. His arm banded around my waist, firm and warm, holding me captive. My hands flattened on his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heart under taut muscle, while mine roared in my ears. The closet shrank around us, walls closing in, air charged and suffocating. âYou werenât at the court today. Why?â His voice dropped, eyes searching mine like he was digging for buried treasure. I hesitated, caught in his gaze. âI had some research to do in the library,â I murmured, so softly that if we werenât this close, the words wouldâve dissolved into nothing. He leaned in again, closer, my lips parting on instinct, breath hitching. But instead of the kiss, he tugged my hood off, letting my hair tumble free. âIâve told you to stop hiding under that thing, Jess. Why so stubborn?â I blinked, the spell shattering, and pushed him away, harder this time, creating precious space. âItâs my choice, Aaron. You donât get a say in how I dress. Youâre not my boyfriend.â He arched a brow, that infuriating smirk curling his lips. âOh? Pretty sure I asked you to play the part just the other night. Jealous type might disagree.â I rolled my eyes. Honestly, knowing Aaron had turned eye-rolling into my default response, more frequent than breathing. âFake girlfriend, genius.â I plastered on a sarcastic grin. âAnd FYI, your proposal sucked. No flowers, no charmâŚ. zero effort. Ugh!â He smiled, biting his lower lip, a move that drove me crazy. âFYI? Seriously, Jess? What is this, 2025?â he teased, his tone playful and laced with laughter. We stared, the tension crackling like static, until hallway chatter and footsteps filtered through the door, bursting the bubble. âSee you later, Aaron,â I whispered, turning to slip out. âIâll be crashing at Jasonâs tonight,â he called after me. âDonât bother making dinner for two. Oh, and I left my card, buy whatever you want for the trip tomorrow.â I whipped my head around, but he was already facing away, tugging his Jersey off. I stared a beat longer, then left. My heart echoed in my chest with every hurried step, and I wonderedâwould I ever catch my breath around him? Chapter 3 Jessica's POV âJess, seriously, what the fvck is taking you so long? Are you trying to wash away your sins under the shower?â Aaronâs growl rumbled through the bathroom door, thick with exasperation, like Iâd been in here for hours instead of twenty minutes. I ignored him, rolling my eyes at the steam-fogged mirror. Well, technically, I was scrubbing away every last bit of grime down there, just in case⌠you know, we got sloppy drunk at this family reunion blowout, or some sneaky cousin spiked our drinks with an aphrodisiac, and boomâthings heated up fast. Ridiculous, right? My brain was a romance novel on steroids these days. I shook my head at myself, my cheeks burning, but damn if I didnât secretly root for that wild plot twist to happen. âWhat has become of me?â I mumbled under my breath, the hot spray pounding my skin like a reprimand for my overactive imagination. âJess, if you donât come out in the next thirty seconds, I swear Iâll storm in and haul you out myself,â he threatened again, his voice edging into that deep, commanding tone that always made my toes curl. What the hell was his deal? We had a full hour and a half before we needed to leave. Or was there a broadcast of a traffic apocalypse I know nothing off? I wiped between my pussi with the special towel I kept just for it, then stepped back under the cascade to rinse off the last suds. Satisfied everything was clean, I turned off the water and padded to the full-length mirror, fogged at the edges but clear enough. I scrutinized my legs, and ran a hand over the smooth skin to check for stubble, then⌠yeah, everything else down there. Smooth as silk. I moved on to inspect my armpits when his countdown kicked in. ââŚ18, 17, 16, 15âŚâ Panic spiked through me. I darted around the spacious bathroom, dripping water everywhere, hunting for my towel. It wasnât on the rack. Shitâhad I forgotten to bring one in? Asking Aaron now would just piss him off more. I yanked open the cabinet, but I found it empty, the spares usually there werenât. Iâd meant to grab them from the laundry room yesterday. Damn it. I had one last option, but it was risky as hell. ââŚ5, 4, 3âŚâ I snatched his large white towel from the hook, the one that smelled intoxicatingly like himâfresh cologne mixed with that unique Aaron musk, and wrapped it snugly around my body. It dwarfed me, soft against my skin. His countdown hit zero, and the doorknob rattled aggressively. I unlocked it just in time, and he shoved the door open, standing there like a bouncer at a club with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes raked over me, slow and appraising, finally settling on my heaving chest where the towel clung a bit too tightly. He was already dressed to kill: a simple black T-shirt hugging his muscles, beige pants that looked effortlessly stylish, hair styled just right with those long strands pushed back. He had his stud earrings in today, glinting under the light, and a silver cross pendant dangling against his collarbone. I couldnât help it, I drank him in, my soul feasting on his appearance despite the tension. But I snapped out of it first. âMy eyes are up here, Ronnie,â I teased, arching a brow. âAnd why the hell were you counting down like weâre in boot camp? We still have, like, an hour and a half left.â I glanced at the clock on my nightstand for emphasis, water dripping from my hair onto the floor. He didnât speak, just kept staring, his gaze intense and unblinking, like he was memorizing me. What was running through that head of his? âWhy are you using my towel, Jess?â he finally asked, his voice low and neutral. I shifted, clutching it tighter. âI forgot mine, and the spares are still in the laundry. If Iâd asked you to grab one, youâd have bitched about me not finishing my shower.â I scowled, mumbling the explanation. He didnât respond, just eyed me up and down again, his expression unreadable. It bugged me not knowing if he was judging, annoyed, or⌠something else. I brushed past him, heading for the closet to get dressed, when his words stopped me cold. âMake sure you wash it when youâre done.â I whipped around, searching his eyes for a hintâdisgust? Teasing? But they gave away nothing, blank as a fresh canvas. Did he think I was dirty? That sharing his stuff grossed him out? Or was it teasing, his subtle bully mode? I decided not to overthink it, pushing the door open and stepping into the walk-in closet before he could see the sting in my eyes. Inside, alone with the rows of clothes, a single tear escaped, trailing hot down my cheek. Is love supposed to hurt like this? Sharp and constant, like a thorn you canât pull out? I wouldnât know; Iâd never felt real love or affection growing up. No hugs from Dad, no kind words from my stepmom. Just neglect and shadows. So maybe this was normal. Maybe it was all I deserved. I wiped my eyes roughly and took a deep, steadying breath. Iâd survived four years of this push-pull with Aaron, hell, longer if you counted our childhood. I could handle eight more months. I dried off quickly, slathered on my favorite lotion to soothe my skin, then slipped into the sleeveless chocolate-brown dress Iâd picked out. It hugged my curves like a second skin, the fabric clinging to my wide hips and rode up to reveal my thick thighs, the ones I always hid under baggy pants. Uncomfortable didnât seem fit to describe the dress; I felt exposed, and vulnerable. But it was the only thing that seemed appropriate for meeting his fancy family, and Iâd stuck to a budget. Aaron could afford extravagance, but overspending on his dime felt wrong. He was already doing so muchâletting me crash here rent-free for years, covering bills without a word. Gratitude didnât cover it; heâd saved me from the streets. Staring at my reflection, I sighed. Once I had real money, surgery for reduction was top of the list. Doing my makeup was next, but I was hopeless at it. Eyeliners and gloss were my limits. Hopefully, Aaron wouldnât rag on me for looking plain. I stepped out, and the door clicked shut behind me. He was lounging on his bed by the window, scrolling through his phone, the evening sunlight haloing him like some brooding god. The sound drew his head up, and his eyes swept over me, slow and thorough. I fidgeted, tugging the hem, bracing for the hip/thigh roastâhis go-to tease. âI, uh⌠this was the only outfit I liked. It was affordable and fit okay. Sorry, Iâll change or throw a jacket over it,â I rambled, turning back toward the closet. His hand caught my wrist, spinning me into his chest with a gentle tug. I stumbled into his chest, the solid warmth of him stealing my breath. Our eyes locked, the intensity making my pulse race, and he reached up, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face. My whole body ignited, heat blooming despite the blasting AC. âItâs beautiful,â he said softly. âYou look gorgeous in it.â My heart leaped into my throatâor maybe straight out of my ass, who knows? It was pounding so hard I could barely think straight. This was the first ever direct compliment from Aaron, no sarcasm, no backhanded jab disguised as teasing. And the kicker? I could hear the sincerity threading through his tone, warm and real, like he actually meant it. Not the bully from our past, not the roommate who poked at my insecurities for fun. This was something new, vulnerable almost, and it terrified me as much as it thrilled me. âHuh?â I blinked, dumbstruck. He released me slowly, held my wrist and guided me to the vanity table. âSit.â The command was simple, but it sent a thrill through me, turning my legs to jelly. I obeyed without a word, sinking onto the vanity stool, my legs still a bit shaky from his compliment and the way his touch lingered. He rummaged in a nearby chest drawer, and pulled out a sleek black box. Curiosity gnawed at me as I watched. He unlocked it with a soft click, revealing an array of makeup: palettes from brands like Dior and MAC, liners, shadows, lipsticksâall high-end stuff that probably cost more than my monthly diner tips. My jaw dropped a little. âWhen did you get into makeup, Aaron?â I blurted, eyeing the contents. A small smile tugged at his lips. âWhen I got stuck with a roommate who couldnât even nail a basic lip combo.â He was mocking me, but playfully. My mind flashed back to a particular awkward day; the company picnic my boss at the diner had hosted. Iâd tried to make an effort, to look a little less tired and plain. But after several failed attempts, Iâd given up and settled for a simple gloss. Aaron had been right there in the living room, hunched over his laptop with headphones clamped on, totally zoned out. Or so Iâd thought. âHow did you even know about that?â I asked, surprised. He rolled his eyes, his smirk deepening. âFour years sharing this place, Jess. Even the damn furniture knows your strengths, and your epic fails. Now shut up and let me work.â He selected a lip liner, his warm fingers sliding under my chin to tilt my face up toward the light. Did he really buy all this, and learn how to use it just for me? The thoughts of that made my heart thundered so loudly I swore the neighbors could hear it through the thin walls. His breath fanned my skin as he leaned in, focused on drawing precise lines on my lips. Every cell in my body screamed to reach up, grab his neck, and close the gap between usâpull him into the kiss Iâd fantasized about a thousand times. And God, the way he looked focused wasnât helping: brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched, those honey-brown eyes locked on my lips with an intensity that made the hair on my skin to stand at attention. Aaron was going to be the death of me someday, I was sure of it. And the crazy part? Iâd thank him. Chapter 4 Jessicaâs Pov âHow much longer, Aaron?â I hissed, annoyance creeping into my voice. Weâd been on this endless stretch of highway for nearly two hours now, and heâd conveniently forgotten to mention the drive would feel like a cross-country marathon. âIf you ask me that one more time, Jess, Iâll pull over and leave you on the side of the road,â he snapped back, his eyes glued to the asphalt ahead. I bit back a retort, stealing a glance at him instead. He looked goodâtoo goodâlike heâd stepped out of one of those brooding hero ads. The way the late afternoon sun slanted through the windshield, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. I wished I could just blurt out what was really swirling in my head: âStop being such an ass and tell me you feel this pull too, or at least turn on some music to drown out the silence.â But nope. I just huffed dramatically and turned away, fixing my gaze on the rolling hills blurring past. The city had vanished in the rearview long ago, replaced by lazy suburban sprawlâfarmhouses with wraparound porches, vast cattle ranches where cows grazed around. The fading sun painted everything in a flaming orange glow that screamed old-school Texasâpeaceful, nostalgic, like weâd tumbled into a â90s Western. It was almost soothing, if not for the tension coiling between us. âCan we roll down the windows?â I asked, still not looking at him, my voice softer now, laced with the fatigue. I half-expected him to ignore me or grumble about the wind messing up his hair, but he didnât. The AC hummed to a stop, and he cracked the windows, even sliding open the sunroof. A rush of cool evening air flooded in, tangy with earth and wildflowers. I propped my chin on the door rest, letting my eyelids flutter shut as the breeze tangled my hair and soothed the itch under my skin. For a moment, it was perfect; just the whoosh of wind, the hum of tires on pavement, and a fleeting illusion of eternal peace. I didnât mean to doze off. The view was too pretty to waste, but exhaustion from the dayâs activities caught up to me. One minute I was tracing lazy cloud shapes; the next, everything faded to black. Aaronâs Pov âJess, pull your head in, weâre hitting a bumpy stretch,â I said, keeping my eyes locked on the winding road ahead, the gravel already crunching under the tires. There was no response. Not a twitch, not even a sarcastic eye-roll from the passenger seat, and It pissed me off. Why was she so damn stubborn? Always pushing back, always testing the edges of my patience like it was a game only she knew the rules to. âJess,â I growled, the word coming out sharper than I meant, infused with that frustration she somehow always dragged out of me. Still nothing. I blew out a frustrated breath, and eased off the gas, hitting the brakes until the car rolled to a dusty stop on the shoulder. The engine ticked softly in the sudden quiet as I twisted in my seat, ready to scold herâtell her she was impossible, infuriating, a walking headache. But then I saw her: Her head was lolled against the door, lips parted in the softest breath, lashes fanned out like dark wings on her cheeks. She was out cold, asleep against the door like the world had paused just for her nap. How the hell was that even possible? Head bobbing with every bump, wind whipping her hair into a frenzy, and she crashes out like itâs a damn hammock on a beach. Every damn day, Jessica Reid proved why she was wired different, unique in ways that snuck up and punched me in the gut. Iâd thought I had her mapped after living with her under the same roof, but nope, sheâd unlock another facet, like today, dozing off mid-ride as if defying physics was her superpower. I reached over, my hand wrapping gently around her soft arm, and tugged her back from the door. She stirred with a sleepy mumble, something incoherent about âcookiesâ or âmonsters,â her head lolling to the side before settling against the headrest. She remained knocked out. Classic Jess: she could crash anywhere when exhaustion hit, even if it was the ninth circle of hell. She was stubborn in sleep, too. Cursing softly, I killed the engine and hopped out, the cooling evening air nipping at my skin, carrying the earthy smell of fields and pines. I circled to her side, popping the door open with a quiet creak. She didnât budge, so I slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her like she weighed nothing. God, she fit against me perfectly, her body molding to my chest as she nestled in with a contented sigh, mumbling nonsense again. Her scent wrapped around me, a soft mix of vanilla lotion and sun-warmed skin, and for a second, I just stood there, holding her in the fading light, the world narrowing to the steady rise and fall of her breath. Shaking off my thoughts, I juggled the back door open with my elbow, then eased her onto the wide leather seat, laying her down as gently as I could. The dress sheâd fought so hard to downplay rode up in the shift, revealing those smooth, beautiful thighsâgolden in the sunset glow, curves that begged to be traced. I shouldâve looked away. Hell, I tried toâforce my eyes back to the road, the dashboard, anything. But I couldnât. She was a vision to behold, even unconscious. Itâs been four years of this torture: overlooking the treasure sleeping mere feet from my bed, sharing breaths in the dark. Iâd tried to tune it out, but failed miserably. Her scent lingering in the mornings, that faint vanilla trail pulling me from sleep. The little giggles turning into snorts when she got lost in one of her novels, curled up on the couch like a cat in a sunbeam. The way she cared without fanfare: slipping those water bottle into my gym bag, cooking meals that warmed more than my stomach, sneaking to the court bleachers to watch from the shadows, her face lighting up when I nailed a shot. I saw it all. Jessica had turned into my obsession, a subject Iâd majored in secretlyâlike prepping for a final where acing it meant decoding her soul. Every detail about her is engraved in me: my soul, my brain, my blood, my damn marrow. From the freckles dusting her nose, the way her laugh crinkled her eyes, how her fingers twisted in her lap when she was nervous. Her soulful blue eyes, lighting up like summer skies whenever I brought home something smallâa coffee from her favorite spot, a dog-eared book I pretended to âfindâ at the store. She was grateful for crumbs. I hear her muffled sobs some nights, probably stressing over âowingâ me, cries she thought didnât reach my ears. But I didnât want repayment. Never had. And I couldnât explain why, not even to myself. Sometimes I wonder if she knows how much I notice. When I caught Fiona riding my cousin that night, I swore I was done. No more love, no more emotional crap. Women were for the night, nothing deeper. But life? That bitch loved her jokes. The universe dropped the one girl Iâd spent years teasing, tormenting, right back at my doorstep, wide-eyed and desperate for a roof over her head. Jess had never been ugly. Christ, she was the kind of beautiful that could eclipse any beauty standard, the sort that lodged in your chest and stayed, generation after generation: full lips begging kisses, eyes holding oceans, a body sculpted for worship. Too bad she buried it all under hoodies and baggy pants, armor against the world⌠and against assholes like me, whoâd helped forge her insecurities. I canât justify what I did back then. I was a punk kid, a full-blown jerk who got off on the power trip of making eyes water, thinking it made me tough. Jess was collateral, an easy target for my cruel entertainment. Sometimes, late at night, Iâd replay it all: the teasing, the laughter, the way she looked hurt but tried to smile anyway. And Iâd hate myself for it. If I could crank back the clock, and erase those scars Iâd left, I would. Iâd tell her then what I barely admit now: Youâre stunning, Jess. That body of yours? Itâs a masterpiece. Hips Iâd kill to grip during a slow dance, thighs Iâd bury my face in until you forgot your own name, an ass that haunts my dreams like the perfect pillow after a long day on the court. What I feel for Jess, I donât know. Itâs an infatuation, raw and unnamedânot love, not hate, just this magnetic pull that defies labels. I crave her presence like oxygen, the way she makes the house feel like home, and her existence that lit up the corners of my world I didnât know were dark. I want to keep her smiling for real, make her feel safe and worthy, make her understand that she deserves the world. But Iâm held back by my own fears of hurting her. I notice how her eyes go soft when sheâs around me, that crush growing quiet but strong, a secret she protects fiercely. Maybe itâs even deeper than a crush now. And if I encourage it, build it up, only to let it crash? Iâd break her heart completely. Her family doesnât give a damn about her, and thatâs a big reason I quit being mean to her years ago, once I saw how deep it cut through her already empty life. Jessica needs real love, the kind that floods in full, from someone whole, not cracked like me. Fionaâs betrayal still has hooks in me, old pieces I canât shake loose. My heartâs a total messâtwisted up in ways I canât even sort out or explain without sounding like a loser. But one thingâs crystal clear: Iâd protect Jess with everything Iâve got, even my life. In eight months, sheâll wrap college, launch into whatever wild dream sheâs chasing (journalism, probablyâexposing truths like she unearths mine without trying). Sheâll move from this apartment, from me, and good for her. Maybe sheâll find someone who looks at her the way she wish I could. Until then, weâll keep up this little game; the fake dating, the teasing, the banter that makes everything feel less complicated than it is. Let fate roll the dice, Iâm dying to see where it lands. I pressed a soft kiss to the back of her palm, her skin warm and soft against my lips, then eased it down to rest on her stomach. I got back behind the wheel, opened a bottle of water sheâd thoughtfully packed for us, and took a long gulp before starting the engine again. I pulled back onto the road, the manor just thirty minutes out now. Whatever waited thereâfamily interrogations, Fionaâs taunting smile⌠Iâd face it. For her. For us, even if it was pretend.
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Chapter 1 What Is the Gender? Twenty-five weeks pregnant, Sloane Powell caught her husband cheatingâright outside the hospital. A tall, striking man in a black overcoat was shielding a soft, delicate-looking girl in his arms. The girl wore a white fox-fur coat. Her cheeks were rosy, her small face tucked into a fluffy wool scarf, her features pretty as a porcelain doll. Sloane clenched her prenatal checkup slip so hard her fingers went white. The cold wind sliced across her face, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing ache in her chest. Jaxson Cole saw her from far away. His expression stayed indifferent, not a trace of shame at being caught. He personally opened the car door for the girl, his demeanor gentle. So the cold, untouchable man at the top of the world could be tender, too. The girl seemed to notice Sloane. She paused, looked at Sloane with confusion first, then turned to Jaxson and asked, âWhy is that old woman staring at you? Jaxson, do you know her?â The wind howled in Sloaneâs ears. She didnât know what else the girl said to Jaxson. But from the shape of her mouth, Sloane could clearly make out two words. âOld woman.â That was supposed to be her. Sloaneâs lips curled into a bitter smile. She was only twenty-four. But sheâd always been a little chubby, with an ordinary face. Wrapped in a black puffer jacket and a black knit hat, her late-pregnancy body was swollen and heavy. Add in the exhaustion on her face, and she really did look like some worn-out woman in her thirties or fortiesâhow could she compare to a young, bright, beautiful girl? Jaxson protected the girl as she got into the car. Sloane stood frozen, watching the vehicle pull away. She and Jaxson had married because of the baby. This forced marriageâto a man like Jaxson, heavenâs chosenâwas a stain on his life. The child in her belly was the tool sheâd used to corner him. He hated her. And she had loved him in secret for eight years. Sloane knew she never deserved him. All she could do was study harder, keep pushing, take him as her lifeâs ideal, and chase after his footsteps. Finally, she got what she wanted. She became his assistant. She could stand close to him. But that night destroyed more than Jaxson. It also tore apart every last shred of pride and dignity sheâd ever had in front of him. She would never forget the way heâd stared at her afterwardâdisgusted, like heâd touched something filthy that made him sick. So, of course, only a beautiful girl like that deserved him. A hot tear slid from the corner of her eye. Then her lower abdomen cramped hard. She hurriedly held her belly with one hand and braced the stone pillar beside her with the other. A passing nurse saw her and rushed over, supporting her and taking her into an exam room. It was just the emotional shockâsheâd stirred the baby. Once she calmed down⌠Sloane left the hospital, driving alone back to Emerald Bay Mansion with a body and soul that felt wrung dry. This was Jaxsonâs villa. Wren Cole, Jaxsonâs grandmother, had arranged for experienced housekeepers from the Cole Estate to look after her. At that moment, the two housekeepers assigned to her were sitting in the warm living room like they owned the place, eating good food and laughing together. When they heard the sound, they turned toward the door. Seeing Sloane back, one of them stood and walked over, asking, âHow were the results?â The attitude was arrogant, the tone dripping with contempt. They were supposed to be taking care of her, but they looked more like they were here to watch her and act like the real masters. Sloane only gave the housekeeper a cold glance and didnât answer, heading straight for the stairs. The housekeeper frowned in displeasure. âIâm talking to you.â Sloane still ignored her. The housekeeper spat toward Sloaneâs back. âFat as a pig. You really think youâre some young mistress of the Cole family? Who are you trying to fool?â Back in her bedroom, Sloane sat on the bed, hollow and lost. Neither Jaxson nor the Cole family had ever accepted her. Wren had been the one to make the decision and force her and Jaxson to get their marriage certificate. But that was only because Noah Cole, Jaxsonâs grandfather, had been critically ill. Sheâd shown up pregnant at just the right time, and theyâd arranged the marriage to bring him good luckâtwo happy events at once. Whether it was coincidence or whether the âgood luckâ was real, Noahâs condition gradually improved. Only then did Wrenâs attitude toward Sloane soften. But everyone else in the Cole family still looked down on her. Todayâs hospital visit had been to confirm the babyâs gender. A girl. Mrs. Coleâs side had probably already gotten the hospitalâs notice. Just then, her phone vibrated. Sloane pulled herself out of her thoughts. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. When she saw the caller ID, she frozeâit was her advisor. She picked up. âProfessor Grant.â âA spot just opened up for advanced study at StanfordâPhD track. You interested?â At Leo Grantâs words, Sloane went still for a long moment. When she didnât answer, Leo continued, âIf youâre not availableââ âIâm in.â Sloane snapped back to the moment and answered with quiet certainty. This time, Leo fell silent. He knew better than anyone how hard Sloane had fought just to be worthy of standing beside Jaxson. Now that she finally had what she wantedâmarriage, a baby on the wayâhow could she possibly walk away? Heâd only mentioned the last slot on a whim, testing the waters. âProfessor Grant,â Sloane said. Leo replied, âCome by my office tomorrow at ten.â âOkay.â He hung up without another word. Sloane set the phone down and let out a long breath. For the first time in a while, it felt like the clouds had parted, letting a sliver of moonlight through. She needed to wake up. A man who didnât love youâno matter what you gave him, no matter if you bore his childâwould never stay. He wouldnât even glance back. Her phone rang again. This time it was Wren, asking her to come back to the Cole Estate. Sloane agreed. It was probably about the baby. Now she finally had a bit of energy. She went to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, sitting at the vanity, Sloane studied herself in the mirrorâpuffy face, dark circles under her eyes, sunken eyelids, cheeks dotted with freckles. Looking this worn down⌠who wouldnât be repulsed? How could someone like her ever deserve to stand next to Jaxson? She put on makeup, slipped into a pink puffer jacket, and pulled on a white beanie. She looked much more presentable. Sheâd planned to drive herself back to the main residence. But the moment she stepped outside, Jaxson called. His voice came through flat and cold. âCome out.â Sloane startled. Wren mustâve told him to come back too. She answered, âOkay.â Outside the villa, his Rolls-Royce sat idling at the entrance. Two hours ago, that same car had picked up another woman and dropped her off somewhere. Sloane took a deep breath, walked over, opened the door, and got in. The moment she sat down, she caught a faint scentâsweet and young. On the seat beside her sat a pink teddy bear, the kind of plushie a girl would adore. When she lifted her gaze, she noticed a hair tie wrapped around the manâs wrist. A quiet claim. Jaxson must really like that girl. Sloane swallowed the sour ache rising in her chest, sat up straight, and buckled her seatbelt. The driver pulled away smoothly. Sloane stared out the window, silent. Before, every moment alone with him had been something to treasure. Sheâd inch closer, start conversations over and over, even if he looked down on her. Because sheâd foolishly convinced herself they were already husband and wifeâthat they had a child, that there was a long future ahead. If she became a good wife, a good mother⌠maybe one day Jaxson would finally turn and see her. But in the end, it had all been lies she told herself. The man didnât care about her feelings. As always, he was detached, asking in a casual tone, âWhatâs the babyâs gender?â Sloane answered, âA girl.â Hearing that, nothing shifted in Jaxsonâs sharp, handsome features. He only said flatly, âAfter the babyâs born, weâll get divorced.â The words landed. Sloaneâs fingers tightened. It felt like a hand had clenched around her heart, making it hard to breathe. This marriage was never meant to last. Sheâd always known. But hearing him say itânow, like thisâstill cut deeper than sheâd expected. She bit her lip and answered, âOkay.â Jaxson turned his head to glance at her, as if surprised sheâd agreed so easily. Chapter 2 He Came Home Early But he didnât dig into it any further. Sloane followed up right away. âTomorrowâs Monday. Do you have time in the afternoon? Why donât we go to Civil Council early and get it handled? It shouldnât matter if we do it two months ahead of time, right?â Even after signing, there was still a one-month cooling-off period. And it wouldnât be long before she gave birth. Jaxson looked at her. She was too calm, too straightforward. Something like scrutiny flickered in his eyes before he pulled his gaze back. âWhenever I call, thatâs the time.â Sloane lowered her eyes and didnât speak again. The car arrived at the Cole Estate. Wren had called them back because of the baby in Sloaneâs belly. The Cole family had more men than women. Wren had two sons. The eldest was Ethan Cole. The younger was Julian Cole. Ethan had two sons. The eldest, Felix Cole, had gotten married a few years ago and had a pair of twin boys. They were five this year. The younger, Miles Cole, was twenty-four and still unmarried. Julian only had one sonâJaxson. So when it turned out Sloane was carrying a girl, both Wren and Noah were overjoyed. âIt really is good news. The moment our little sweetheart arrives, the old manâs illness is basically cured.â Seeing how much her mother-in-law valued the baby, Lyra quickly echoed her, then added a couple of nice words to Sloane. Sloane sat quietly to the side, hands folded, her posture obedient. Looking at herâplump, head bowed, meek as could beâLyra found her hard to stomach. But with Wren right there, she kept it off her face. Wren, however, was in high spirits. She gifted Sloane an expensive emerald bracelet. Sloane blinked, flustered, and immediately tried to refuse, pushing it gently back. Lyra Cole, Jaxsonâs mother, spoke up. âIf Wrenâs giving it to you, take it.â So small-town. So timid. Just like someone whoâd never learned how to carry herself in public. Sloane stopped protesting and accepted the bracelet. âThank you, Grandma.â âTake good care of that baby. Give us a healthy, chubby little one.â Sloane smiled and nodded. She knew Wrenâs kindness had nothing to do with her. Originally, she and Jaxson were supposed to stay for dinner. Until Jaxson stepped out to take a call. Through the glass door, she saw something shift in his expressionâa softness in his eyes, indulgent, almost tender. It sounded like theyâd just gotten a pet. Jaxson murmured the petâs name. Sweetie. If he married the woman he actually loved, she thought, heâd probably make a good father. âMm. Iâll be right there.â He hung up. When Jaxson turned and walked back in from the balcony, he found Sloane standing just inside. She flinched, slow to react, lifting her gaze to meet hisâonly to be met with the cold, distant face of a stranger. Her chest tightened. She managed, âGrandma wants you in the study.â He said nothing. Just walked past her. Sloane stayed where she was, heart clenched in a grip she couldnât loosen. She didnât know how long she stood there before she finally came back to herself. Jaxson reached the study. Wren and Noah were both inside. âJaxson,â Wren began, âGrandma knows you donât have feelings for Sloane. But the babyâs almost here. And Sloane herself is accomplishedâtop university, well-educated, gentle. What this marriage needs right now is stability. Sheâs the most suitable partner for raising children and supporting her husband.â Jaxson said nothing. But the faint furrow in his browâthe tension thereâspoke volumes. How could Wren not see it? Sloane really was plain. Standing next to her grandson, they just didnât look right together. Noah cut in. âRight now, your marriage canât afford any disruptions. If you truly donât care for her, as long as she doesnât do anything reckless, keep things steady for a year or two.â Wren added, âExactly. Too many people are watching you, waiting for a story. Let her raise the child first. Divorce laterâit wonât be too late.â Jaxson was quiet for a long moment. His handsome features revealed nothing. Finally, he said, âGrandpa, Grandma. I understand.â When Sloane saw Wren again later, Wren said simply, âSomething came up at Jaxsonâs office. He had to leave. Iâll have the driver take you home.â Sloane nodded. âOkay.â Before she left that day, Wren reminded her, âEven though youâre pregnant, you still need to exercise more and take care of yourself. Back when Lyra was pregnant, she still had to accompany her husband to events and manage the household. Some things are easy to get, but holding onto them isnât easy.â Sloane understood instantly what Wren meant. Being a daughter-in-law in Cole family wasnât easy. If she wanted to secure her position, she had to change herself. And in her current state, she would only embarrass Jaxson. She had thought about getting betterâworking out, doing yoga, trying to lose weight. But she lacked the drive to keep going. She grew exhausted in body and mind, and her weight only climbed. But Wren was right. She couldnât keep sinking like thisâthough not to secure her place. For her future self. âGrandma, I understand.â Night. What surprised Sloane was that the man whoâd brought up divorce that morning actually came home. âYouâŚâ âMake me a bowl of chicken soup and bring it to the study.â After that, Jaxson went upstairs to the study. Sloane snapped back to herself, went to the kitchen, cooked a bowl of chicken soup, and delivered it to the study. He was flipping through documents in his hand, his features hard and cold, his whole body giving off a distant, untouchable chill. She didnât disturb him. She turned and left the study. Even if he came back, they still slept separately. He slept in the master bedroom on the second floor. She slept in the guest room on the first. The next day. Because Jaxson was home, the housekeeper prepared a lavish breakfast. He sat at the main seat and didnât see Sloane. Usually, when he was home, Sloane not only ironed and prepared the clothes heâd wear the next day, she also made his breakfast herself. She really had been a dutiful, proper wife. But that morning, there were no freshly ironed clothes laid out. And breakfast had been made by the kitchen staff. âWhere is she?â Jaxson asked, irritation creeping into his voice. Maren didnât hesitate to unload her grievances. âI went to wake her first thing, and she just refuses to get out of bed. Every day we have to bring meals to her room. She acts like we donât exist. Ask her what she wants to eatâshe wonât say a word. Weâre not mind readers. Sheâs just pregnant, thatâs all. When Mrs. Cole was expecting you, Sir, she still serve Mr. Cole well. But this one? She acts like sheâs checked into a resort.â Jaxsonâs brow tightened. âGo wake her up.â âYes, sir.â Sloane had actually been awake for a while. She was just waiting for Jaxson to leave. Then the door swung open, and Maren walked in without knocking. Spotting Sloane already seated on the sofa, she let out a sneer thick with contempt. âOh, look at that. The Young Madam, waiting to be invited out of bed.â Sloane lifted her gaze, her voice cool. âIâm not. Are you?â For months, Sloane had kept her head down, never once talked back. Maren hadnât expected that. âIf you keep forgetting your place, donât blame me if I tell Wren exactly how youâve been carrying on.â She was getting divorced anyway. What did she have to lose? With two months left, why keep swallowing insults? Marenâs eyes went wide. âYouââ Just yesterday, Lyra had called and told them to take good care of her. Even if it was a girl, this would be the only daughter of the Cole familyâs third generation. Sloane was luckyâcarrying a girl meant Wren had taken notice. Maren choked back her anger. âThe Sirâs waiting for you in the dining room.â Sloane was surprised. She made her way to the dining room. Jaxson was already eating. He glanced up as she entered. She wore a white knit tunic, the fabric stretched out of shape by her swollen body. Her steps were unsteady, her pace slow, her belly so heavy she looked like sheâd carried multiple children before. Sloane felt his eyes on her and consciously sat far from him. Then she heard his flat, cool voice. âMaren and the others have been with the Cole family for decades. You canât expect them to cater to you in everything. Youâre only pregnant. Itâs not like you canât move.â Only pregnant? Yeah. To him, this accidental child probably meant nothing at all. This sudden scolding of his had to be because Maren had been running her mouth to him. And it wasnât the first time. Sloane stirred the porridge in her bowl, her voice even. âIf they resent having to look after me, then send them back to the main house. I can manage on my own.â After all, she cooked for herself, washed her own clothes, cleaned her own room. The staff only bothered putting on a show when Jaxson was around. Jaxsonâs brows drew together. Sloane recognized that expressionâit was his tell. Displeasure. In work and in life, Jaxson was relentlessly controlling. He didnât tolerate being contradicted. âIâm telling you. Iâm not asking for your input.â Sloane lowered her head and fell silent. Jaxson looked at herâthat flat, hollow expressionâand his jaw tightened. He turned to Maren and the others and told them that from now on, she could handle her own affairs. They didnât need to wait on her. Sloaneâs fingers tightened around her fork. Breakfast ended. Jaxson left. Sloane went to Silverlake University. She arrived at Leoâs office. Behind the desk sat a young man in a tailored suit. His nose was sharp and straight, rimless glasses resting on its bridge, his bearing composed and deliberate. Leo was only twenty-nineâthe youngest full professor in Silverlake Universityâs Finance Department, a near-legendary figure whose name carried weight throughout the financial world. Sloane raised her hand and knocked. Chapter 3 Not a Good Match When Leo looked up and saw the woman standing in the doorway, he froze for a beat. He didnât recognize her at firstâuntil she spoke. âProfessor Grant.â Leo smoothed his expression without a trace and said, âYouâre here.â Sloane took off her mask and walked into the office. âProfessor Grant. Long time no see.â Leo smiled gently. âLong time no see. I almost didnât recognize you.â Sloane hooked her lips in self-mockery. âWith how I look now, I almost didnât have the nerve to come see you.â Leo stood and came around from behind the desk. âItâs normal for your figure to change during pregnancy. Once you have the baby, itâll get better.â âSit.â Sloane sat on the sofa. Leo poured her a cup of warm water. âWarm up.â Sloane took it. âThank you.â Leo glanced at her swollen belly. âHow many months?â âTwenty-five weeks,â Sloane said. Leo said, âThen when school starts at the end of January next year, youâll be right at your due date.â Sloane pleaded, âI want to ask you for help, Professor. Can I delay enrollment?â Having a baby was unavoidable, but she really didnât want to miss this chance. Leoâs face turned serious. âWhy do you want to go?â Sloane lowered her eyes. âAfter the baby is born, Jaxson is planning to divorce me. I donât want to keep this twisted connection going either. I want to start over and live my own life.â Six months wasnât long. It wasnât short. But for her, it felt as long as an entire lifetime. Leo couldnât help frowning. The sunny, lovable girl from back then had changed beyond recognition in such a short time. You could imagine what kind of tormentâbody and soulâsheâd been through. âIâm relieved youâve thought it through and decided to pull yourself together,â he said. âYou and Jaxson really arenât a good match. From now on, youâll definitely meet someone who truly loves you.â Sloane kept her eyes lowered and nodded. Back then, Leo had opposed her going to Jaxsonâs side as his assistant. But she insisted. In the end, she crashed headfirst until she was bleeding. She suddenly asked, âIn your eyes, Professor Grant, what kind of person is Jaxson, really?â Leo fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, âSomeone who will do anything to reach his goals. Profit above everything else. He probably wonât have love.â âIs that so?â Yet the tenderness he showed that girl couldnât be fake. Maybe only someone who loved to the point of ruin would lower himself like that. Only a beautiful, stunning woman was worthy of him. Sloane didnât ask anything else. âSince youâve decided,â Leo said, âwhen the time comes, I can help you apply to delay enrollment.â âThank you, Professor.â Leo had her fill out an application form. Sloane finished filling it out. âAfter the baby is born, will you leave her with the Cole family?â Leo suddenly asked. Sloane tugged her lips helplessly. Even if she wanted to take the child, it would be impossible. She could only be the one who let this child down. âThe Cole family should take good care of her.â Leo didnât press further. âI happen to need an assistant. Just for a month. Want to try?â Sloane agreed without hesitation. âOkay.â Ever since she got pregnant, Jaxsonâs side had transferred her to an insignificant position in the secretarial office. Overnight, she fell from CEO assistant to a nobody, and all her effort turned to foam. She really did need a new job to distract herself, to make her life move again. It would also be the perfect way to prepare in advance for further study later. And sheâd taken the day off anyway. Sloane stayed on and began working as the professor's assistant. She had been Leo's student originally, and after those months of intense, high-pressure work at Jaxson's sideâeven though she'd spent the last few months in a fogâshe still picked things up quickly. Handling the tasks came easily. For the first time in a while, Sloane felt a flicker of clarity, like she'd found herself againâfound the real value of her own existence. Just like Leo always said, she was meant to thrive in a professional setting. Love was never supposed to be the only thing in life. That night. Jaxson didn't come home. Same as alwaysâhe only showed up once in a while. Only this time, she didn't care anymore. The next day. She drafted her resignation letter ahead of time. Jaxson oversaw the Cole Group's financial sector, including its banks and investment funds. In an industry soaked in betrayal and cutthroat ambition, where reputation and wealth were everything, the fact that he'd inherited the Cole family's core enterprisesâand kept acquiring and expanding without pauseâproved not only that he had an exceptional mind and ruthless instincts, but that he also possessed a cold, unyielding heart. Sloane arrived at the office and happened to see Jaxson stepping out of his car. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharp suitâdevastatingly handsome, commanding. Wealth and status only sharpened his appeal, giving him a mature, almost magnetic presence. "Mr. Cole." Employees lowered their heads in respect as he passed. Sloane snapped out of it and quickly dipped her head too, stepping back a pace. The man walked past as if she weren't there and strode into the building. Sloane handed her resignation letter to Thea. Thea was Jaxson's secretary. She used to be Sloane's subordinate. Funny how things turned out. Now Sloane reported to her. When Sloane had been abruptly demoted, the whole department had been stunned. Right after college, she'd been made the CEO's assistant. That role demanded more than competenceâappearance mattered too. And Sloane, whether in looks or figure, was unremarkable. Yet she'd still been chosen, which said something about her ability. The CEO, notoriously hard to please, had even praised her more than once. But Thea knew the real story. Sloane was just a frog dreaming of swan meatâtrying to sleep her way up. No matter how capable, she still wasn't decent. That was exactly why. Mr. Cole despised her down to his bones. Thea glanced at the resignation letter, her eyes flicking over Sloane's pregnant belly. Her lips curled. "People should learn their place. Take a good look in the mirror. Don't think carrying a baby buys you a ticket up. Do you even know what kind of family the Coles are? What kind of standing you have?" The fact that she and Jaxson were already legally marriedâno one in the company knew. Chapter 4 I Donât Want to Hear Your Excuses âHave the financial report analysis for Vegas Partners done before lunch break ends.â Sloane went back to her desk. Even though sheâd been transferred to the secretary department as nothing more than a low-level clerk, Thea still dumped a pile of work on herâtasks that were never supposed to be hers. And Sloane accepted every single one. She stayed at the company like this, working herself to the bone, but it was just her own self-deception. Jaxson was never going to spare her a second glance. After finishing the report analysis, Sloane handed both the electronic file and the printed copy to Thea, then ordered delivery. The company had a cafeteria, but she always brought her own lunch. She didnât want to go somewhere crowded. She didnât want peopleâs eyes weighing her up and down. She didnât want to socialize. She only wanted to be alone, quiet, and undisturbed. But she hadnât prepared lunch this morning, so she made do with delivery. While she waited. A couple coworkers returned to the office after eating, walking in while chatting excitedly. âMr. Coleâs girlfriend is so youngâsheâs still at college, right?â âProbably. Sheâs seriously gorgeous, like a doll.â âAnd the way the CEO looked at herâso soft it was practically dripping. Who knew someone as stern as him could be that devoted? Itâs literally the real-life romantic novels!â The two of them talked as they came in, then noticed Sloane at her workstation, sitting there like a stone statue. Ever since sheâd been transferred to the secretary office, she barely spoke to anyone outside of work. Lately sheâd gotten more and more withdrawn, wearing a mask all day like she couldnât show her face. It was hard to imagine that just over half a year ago, sheâd been the CEOâs glorious, untouchable assistant. After getting the delivery driverâs call, Sloane stood up. When she went downstairs to pick up her food. She happened to run into two hotel staff carrying boxed dishes, asking the front desk for directions. The receptionist swiped a card for the CEOâs private elevator. Sloane saw the bottle of red wine in one staff memberâs hand. Just that single bottle cost around two million dollars. Two millionâpocket change to Jaxson, money he could earn in less than a minute. She carried her delivered braised pork rice back upstairs. At two in the afternoon. Thea came to her and said, âMr. Cole wants to see you.â Sloaneâs heart jumped. A vague, terrible premonition rose in her chest. And sure enough. The moment Sloane stepped into the CEO's office, the weight of the room pressed down on her like a physical force. She walked to the desk and said, "Mr. Cole." When Jaxson looked up, his handsome face was cold and hard. Without a word, he hurled a file folder at her. It struck her square in the face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced across her cheek. A sting flared instantly. She stared at the documents scattered at her feetâher report from this morning. One hand braced against her stomach as she bent down awkwardly to gather them. The man's dark eyes tracked the way she held her belly, the slow, careful way she crouched. Sloane scanned the report in her hands and spotted several incorrect figures immediately. She said, "Mr. Cole, this isn't the report I wrote." "Enough. I don't want to hear excuses." Sloane's grip tightened on the papers until her knuckles went white. Jaxson knew her capabilities. He wasn't refusing to listenâhe was choosing to believe she'd failed. To be hated this much by the man she loved... she was pathetic. A joke. She drew a slow breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and forced the words out. "I kept a backup. I can send it to you now. After you've seen it, you can tear into me then. It won't be too late." Jaxson's eyes narrowed. Displeasure flickered openly across his face. Sloane's nerves pulled taut. Deep down, she was afraid of Jaxsonâthe kind of fear you have for someone with power, especially when his expression went cold. She almost never dared to contradict him. But now she forced herself to stay steady. They were getting divorced anyway. She'd give him what he wanted. After this, she'd never set foot here again. She'd stopped hoping for anything from him. So what was there to be afraid of? "You think you've been wronged?" His voice was ice, edged with mockery. Sloane met those sharp, black eyes. Her nails pressed into her palms as her voice came out heavier. "You didn't even ask what happened before you blamed me. Don't I deserve to defend myself?" Jaxson's expression turned arctic. "Then that's something you deserve." A violent pain ripped through Sloane's chest. The color drained from her face. Then. The lounge door opened. A young girl stepped out in a pink satin slip dress. Her long black hair gleamed, her skin almost luminous, her features so delicate they were impossible to look away from. âJaxson!â Her voice was like a gentle spring rainâsoft, warm, and tender. Sloane finally saw the girlâs face clearly. She really was stunning enough to make anyone feel inferior. Sloane only looked once before the man barked harshly, âGet out!â Sloane pulled her gaze back, swallowed the surge of emotion, turned around, and walked out. The moment she left the office. She heard the girl soothing him gently, and the man quickly calmed down. Sloane lifted her chin, forcing the tears in her eyes back down. She went to the deserted stairwell corner. One hand held the railing. Her emotions finally snapped, and tears fell in a steady stream. The pain in her heart twisted so hard her stomach churned. To rip an eight-year love out of her heart completely was no different from carving bone and stripping flesh. But it was fine. Everything would get better. She would forget him completely. She didnât know how long passed. When she finally calmed down and went back upstairs toward her workstation, she ran into the girl walking toward her. The girl was dressed head to toe in custom designer brands, exquisite from hair to heelsâclearly someone raised in luxury and spoiled with love. Adrian escorted her personally. He was Jaxsonâs special assistant. Seeing Sloane, the girl smiled and walked over, stopping in front of her. In a gentle voice, she said, âItâs okay now. Jaxson wonât blame you anymore.â As she spoke. She reached into her bag, took out a pearl, then took Sloaneâs hand and placed it in her palm. âThis is for you. Donât be sad. And remember to treat the cut on your face. It wonât look good if a girl has a scar on her face.â What a beautiful, kind girl. Compared to someone glowing with youth like her, Sloane felt like a clown living in a dark world. When Sloane didnât respond at all. Adrian frowned and reminded her coldly, âArenât you going to thank Miss Reed?â So her last name was Reed. Liora Reed withdrew her hand. âItâs fine. Letâs go.â The two of them left. Sloane stood where she was, staring at the silver-blue Australian white pearl in her palmâflawless, as pure as that girl. She just didnât know whether Miss Reed understood the fact that Jaxson was already married. Back at her desk. She printed the original document again and delivered it to Thea. When Thea saw her, there wasnât a trace of shame on her faceâonly smug satisfaction. âDid you see it clearly? Thatâs what a girl whoâs worthy of the CEO looks like.â Sloane slammed the materials down in front of her. âSo Iâm not worthyâand youâre not either. You can only pull trashy little tricks like this. Youâll never have a future in your life. Youâre already in your thirtiesâhurry up and find someone to marry. Stop day dreaming.â Chapter 5 Look Similar Theaâs face changed in an instant. She slammed her palm on the desk and shot to her feet. âSloane!â Sloane couldnât be bothered to respond. She turned and walked away. Back at her workstation. Sloane pulled out a small mirror and looked at the faint blood mark on one side of her cheek. It wasnât deep. She wiped it once with a damp tissue. No need to do anything else. With a face like hers now, what did one more scar matter? And then she thought of that girl again. Somehow, she looked familiar. Near the end of the workday. Sloane got a call from her dad. Ezra was back, and he wanted her home for dinner. Sloane brightened. âEzra is back? Didnât you say heâd be home on the fifteenth?â Her father said, âHe wrapped up work and came back early.â âOkay. Iâll come home as soon as I get off.â Sloane drove back to the Powell family house. Their place was in a mid-range complex in the west side of the city, a spacious secondhand condo theyâd bought earlier this year. Her father ran a mid-sized real estate company. They werenât some elite dynasty, but theyâd always lived comfortably, so Sloane had grown up in a well-off life. But the market had turned cold. More than half a year ago, a failed investment blew a hole through the companyâs finances, pushing it to the edge of bankruptcy. When her father found out she was pregnant with Jaxsonâs child, he hadnât forced her to march up to the Cole family and demand an answer. Watching her father grow older and more worn by the dayâso desperate he was already selling off assets just to pay debtsâSloane finally made her choice and went to the Cole family. Back then, sheâd had her own selfish reasons. It wasnât only for her father. It was for herself, too. She did get what she wanted. The Powell family cleared the debt because of a huge bride price from the Cole family. But sheâd paid the price she was supposed to pay. So the pain she suffered now⌠it was all her own doing. She couldnât blame anyone else. Back at the Powell House. Nora came out of the kitchen. âSloane, youâre back.â When Sloane was nine, her mother divorced her father. Her mother took her brother and left Sloane behind. Later, Nora met her father, but the two of them never got a marriage license. They lived together like partners. At first, Sloane didnât accept herâshe even hated her. But little by little, she felt Noraâs kindness. And Ezra treated her so well. After losing her brother, sheâd gained a new one. âAunt Nora, where are my dad and them?â âThey should be on the way. Theyâll be back soon. Go rest for a bit first.â âOkay.â Sloane went back to her room. Even though she was married, her father had always kept a bedroom for her, renovated in the style she liked. Back in a place that belonged to her, all the exhaustion and bitterness inside her vanished in a single breath. She sat on the edge of the bed and saw the photo album on the nightstand. She reached for it and opened it. The very first photo was a torn family portrait. The picture was old. She had been eight that year. Her young, handsome father held her in his arms. Beside him stood her brotherâheâd been fourteen. On the other side was her mother. She was the one who had ripped the photo. Because sheâd hated her mother for taking her brother and abandoning her and her dad. Time had passed, and now that ripping, splitting pain no longer existed the way it used to. She turned to the next page. In the photo, a teenage girl looked bright and beautiful. She wore a long white dress and a light-brown woven little square cap, standing beneath golden ginkgo trees. The sunlight fell perfectly over the girlâs radiant smile. Long black hair. A small oval face. Features that were vivid and striking, moonlit and mesmerizing. Especially those eyesâsparkling like stars in the sky. But later, sheâd gotten seriously ill and had to take steroid medication. Her body slowly gained weight. No matter how she tried to lose it, nothing worked. She could only rely on starvation and exercise to keep herself from getting even bigger. All at once, Sloane thought of the girl from today. Her features looked somewhat like the girl in this photoâespecially those eyes. Chapter 6 Far Out of Her League Knock, knock, knock. "Sloane, your dad and brother are back," Nora called through the door after knocking. Sloane didn't think much of it. She set the photo album down, got up, and walked out. The moment she saw the two men coming in, her face lit up. "Dad, Ezra." Ezra and Silas Powell both looked at her. "Sloane, I brought you something. Come see if you like it," Ezra said, motioning her over. Sloane hurried toward him, delighted. "What is it?" Ezra carried in several bags and set them on the coffee table. Then he pulled out a designer jewelry box and handed it to her. "Open it." Sloane took it happily. Inside lay a beautifully crafted gold bracelet. "Thank you, Ezra. I love it." "Glad you like it." Ezra reached out and ruffled Sloane's hair with easy affection. He'd also bought Nora a different gold bracelet that suited her, along with skincare sets for both women. For Silas, he brought tea and liquor, plus local specialties. The atmosphere was warm, easyâthe way home should feel. Only here did Sloane feel like she could finally breathe. "Sloane, when are you due?" Ezra asked, concern creeping into his voice. Her belly really did look like someone else's late-term pregnancy. "Two more months," Sloane answered. "Sloane must be carrying a girl," Nora said with a smile. Sloane nodded. "It is a girl." "You checked?" Silas asked. Nora seemed to catch something and tensed up alongside him. "Yeah. But Wren cares a lot about this baby," Sloane said. Silas finally let out a breath. "Good. As long as there's a child, you and Jaxson will slowly work things out down the road." Sloane lowered her eyes. Her chest tightened, heavy and aching, and for a moment she didn't know how to respond. Jaxson had already brought up divorce. But she couldn't hide it forever. And she'd already decided to move out of Emerald Bay Mansion and come home. Forget it. She'd tell them after dinner. Nora prepared an elaborate meal. Ezra had partnered with a friend to start a tech company. Two years ago, when the business was just getting off the ground, Silas hadn't hesitatedâhe'd given Ezra startup capital. The company was doing extremely well now, focusing mainly on AI. This trip had been for a partnership deal, and it had gone smoothly. Silas, meanwhile, was in the process of selling off his own company. Before, thanks to the bride price from the Cole family, the company had managed to stay afloat. But the economy was struggling now, and pivoting had proven nearly impossible. The business simply couldn't survive. He was getting older, with far less energy than before. He believed strongly in Ezra's company. Ezra's company would enter its financing stage by the end of the year, so it was the perfect time to sell his own business and invest everything into Ezra's. Then he shared another piece of good news: Silas was going to officially get the marriage license with Nora. Nora's eyes immediately welled up. Years of standing by his side had finally led to this. Sloane had no objections. She knew her father had held back all these years because, deep down, he still missed her mother. She'd never understood why her mother had divorced and left a man as good as him. But now it didn't matter. On a day like thisâ She couldn't bear to ruin the mood. But in the end, she still said it. âDad. Aunt Nora. Ezra.â She forced the words out. âJaxson is planning to divorce me.â The moment it left her mouth, the dining room went dead silent. Everyoneâs expression turned heavy, especially Silas. He lowered his head, his face tight. The result wasnât exactly a shock. Only the speed of it was. The Powell family and the Cole family had become in-laws, but there had been no weddingâjust a marriage certificate. In the past six months, the two families had had no contact at all. Jaxson had never once stepped into the Powell family home. No matter the holidays, the Cole side never sent gifts. Every time Sloane came home alone, Silas and Nora would prepare holiday gifts and have her deliver them to the Cole family. When she brought them over, Wren would accept them politely, but Sloane knew she handed them straight to the staff at Cole Estate. Lyra, on the other hand, had a servant throw them directly into the trash right in front of Sloane, telling her not to let her family send that kind of low-class junk again. Jaxson only reminded her not to do something so pointless. In a marriage that unequal, going their separate ways had always been a matter of time. Sloane pressed her lips together and continued, âBut weâll wait until after the baby is born. And I already agreed to Professor GrantâIâm going to Stanford University for advanced study next February.â Ezra was the first to break the suffocating silence. âGoing for advanced study is good. Sloane, youâre so outstanding. You shouldnât be trapped in a marriage. No matter what you decide, Iâm backing you.â Sloane smiled and nodded. âThanks, Ezra.â Silas sighedâa sigh full of endless helplessness and guilt. âThen divorce. Itâs all Dadâs fault. People like us⌠ordinary folks⌠we really canât reach a family like the Coles.â Sloaneâs eyes burned red. All the pain sheâd endured lately suddenly felt small compared to this. She had her family. They were her shield, her support. With them behind her, there was no hurdle she couldnât get over. Seeing her like that, Nora quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped at Sloaneâs reddened eyes, soothing her. In the end, the family still finished this dinner with smiles. At the same time. In the southern suburbs, at Cloud Peak Oneâan area that had existed for over twenty years, an old-money neighborhood with aging infrastructure. A Bentley slowly stopped at the gate of Villa 12. This villa was the one the Powell family had sold. The car window slid down, revealing a handsome, flawless profile. He looked into the villa. Inside, the lights were blazing. Warm yellow streetlight fell into his eyes, unable to hide the complexity and loneliness there. He pulled his gaze back and lit a cigarette. Then his phone vibrated. He picked up and answered, his voice gentle. âWhatâs wrong, Liora?â Lioraâs sweetly complaining voice came through. âDeclan, when are you getting here? Iâm starving. And Jaxson wonât even let me eat first.â Right after that, a low, indulgent male voice sounded on the other end. âWho was it that told me to remind her to watch her mouth? Now sheâs blaming me?â Liora huffed. âIf youâre hungry, eat first. Iâll be there soon,â he said. He hung up. Declan stubbed out the cigarette. Then, one last time, he looked out the window. He raised the window and drove away from the villa.
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