"I want to see what my wife looks like wearing my family crest," Aiden said, stepping closer. His voice was low and steady, each word landing like a gentle command.
I stared at him, still holding the choker. The leather felt soft in my hand, and that obsidian pendant looked like it had been pulled straight from an old, dark book.
"I can't accept this," I said, more to myself than him.
"You already have," he said simply, reaching for it.
I didn't stop him.
His fingers brushed mine as he took the choker, and even that slight touch made my pulse lurch. I held perfectly still as he moved behind me. His hands were steady, confident, and far too gentle as he slid the leather around my neck and fastened the clasp.
It fit like it had been made for me.
I could feel the cool weight of the pendant resting just above my collarbone. It wasn't just a piece of jewellery—it's like telling the world that I belonged to someone special.
Aiden stepped back, observing me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression of his.
And then, slowly, a smile curved his mouth. "Perfect," he murmured.
I rolled my eyes, trying to pretend my skin hadn't just erupted into goosebumps. "It's dramatic."
"It's ours."
"I didn't agree to this," I muttered, turning slightly.
"You wore it," he pointed out.
"I didn't have a choice."
He grinned. "Didn't hear you complaining."
I narrowed my eyes. "Don't get used to it."
He stepped forward again, eyes still locked on mine. "Fine. But I think a kiss is fair compensation."
I blinked. "A kiss?"
"For complementing your beauty with this piece."
"You hope," I smirked. "It'll take more than fancy jewellery to sweep me off my feer, Mr. Frost."
He tilted his head. "We'll see about that."
He chuckled slowly, and then his expression shifted. "Speaking of sweeping off... what happened to the painting in the hallway?"
I blinked, schooling my expression. "What painting?"
Aiden narrowed his eyes. "Don't play coy with me."
I widened mine, all innocence. "I genuinely don't know what you're talking about."
He crossed his arms, one brow rising. "Really?"
I shrugged.
"Oh… I see how it is." He shook his head, dipping one hand in his pocket. "Anyway, I actually think it's cool. Bold, chaotic, somehow annoyingly… fitting. The house could use a little change."
I blinked. "Really?"
He nodded once. "Yeah. Adds some life to the place."
I smiled sweetly. "Glad you think so."
Wait till you see the wine arrangement and your closet, I added silently. Bold? Yes. Chaotic? Yes. Fitting? Well…
If he survived that, he deserved a medal.
He stepped closer again, but this time there was something different in his gaze—softer, like he was seeing something more than just the chaos I caused. "I was just about to invite you to lunch. Join me?"
My lips twitched. "Is that a request or a royal decree?"
"It's me being hungry. And polite."
"Well," I said, glancing at the mirror where the choker gleamed dark against my skin. "I suppose your 'wife' could eat."
"Generous," he murmured, extending his arm.
I took it, ignoring the way my stomach fluttered for no good reason.
—
Lunch was on the sun terrace—a smaller, slightly more casual part of the mansion that overlooked a courtyard blooming with fresh lavender and climbing ivy. It was annoyingly romantic.
Aiden had apparently made arrangements before coming to find me, because a three-course spread had been laid out, complete with fresh bread, grilled chicken with citrus glaze, and the kind of sparkling water that came in glass bottles with fancy labels.
We ate mostly in silence. Not awkward, just… oddly domestic.
I hated how easy it was to fall into it.
Until my phone buzzed.
A message.
From him.
I stared at the screen:
Uncle: Stop by the old estate later. We need to talk.
I didn't hesitate. I typed a reply: Sure.
Not because I missed him. But because I needed to remember who I was before all this.
Before the mansion.
Before the choker.
Before the kisses I still hadn't stopped thinking about.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and stood. "I need to visit someone," I said lightly.
Aiden looked up, brow raised. "Now?"
"Yeah. My uncle. It won't take long."
He stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his sleeves. "Then let me send you with a gift."
I blinked. "A gift? I don't think that's necessary."
"It's just wine," he said. "Something rare. He's still a Heart, after all."
I followed him back into the house as he led us to the wine cellar. The moment we descended the stairs, he stopped short.
I could feel the shift in energy.
His gaze swept over the shelves—no longer arranged by vineyard or region, but by year. My masterpiece.
A beat passed.
Then he turned slowly, expression unreadable.
"Walter," he said coolly, and the butler appeared like a summoned ghost.
"Yes, sir?"
"What happened here?"
Walter bowed his head slightly. "My apologies, Mr. Frost. We had no choice. Boss lady said she wanted to rearrange it. We… complied."
Aiden turned to look at me.
I shrugged, all fake innocence. "Oops. I was… bored."
He exhaled once, slowly. "Of course you were."
Then, to Walter: "Bring up the 1870 Château Lafite Rothschild. Unopened. We'll send that."
Walter vanished to do his bidding.
I looked at Aiden. "You're seriously sending a bottle worth more than some people's annual income?"
"He's your uncle. It's diplomacy." He narrowed his eyes. "And we'll talk about your boredom when you return."
"Looking forward to it," I said with a smirk.
He stepped closer again, and just for a second, the amusement faded from his face. His hand lifted toward my jaw, but then he stopped short and dropped it.
"Be careful," he said softly.
I paused. "Always."
But the way his eyes lingered on me?
That was new.
That was dangerous.
And I wasn't sure if I was walking out of this house with the upper hand… or if I'd already lost it the second I put on that damn choker.
—
The old estate looked the same as always—cold, stately, and empty.
The heavy gates creaked open as I drove in, the gravel crunching beneath my tires reminding me of memories I thought I had forgotten. When I got out of the car, I smoothed down my blazer, adjusted my choker necklace, and took a deep breath to steady myself.
This is just a visit, I reminded myself. Nothing more.
But the moment I stepped into the drawing room, I knew something was off.
Uncle Vale stood at the bar cart, pouring two glasses of aged whiskey like we were about to toast a business acquisition. He turned with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Jasmine," he said, offering one of the glasses. "You look… prosperous."
I took the glass but didn't drink. "You asked me to come. I'm here. Let's not pretend we're close."
He chuckled. "Still as direct as ever."
"What do you want?" I asked.
Vale gestured toward the couch. "I wanted to see how you were settling in. Marriage seems to agree with you. Aiden Frost is quite the… upgrade."
I bit back the insult brewing on my tongue. Hell, it's just days.
He leaned forward, resting an arm along the back of the couch. "Honestly, Jasmine, I'm glad you landed well. You always had potential. It just took the right man to unlock it."
Like I'm a vault, I thought bitterly.
"And Alexander?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral. "Was he the wrong man when you picked him for me?"
"Alexander," he sighed, like the name pained him. "Had vision. But no timing. Too soft on you."
I stared at him.
He really said that. Out loud.
"Right," I said coolly. "Because timing and control are more important than, say… trust?"
He ignored the jab. "Aiden, though—he's sharp. Strategic. He sees the value in you."
My jaw tightened. "The value in me?"
"Professionally, of course," Vale's tone dripped with faux reassurance. "Heart Enterprises is still standing today, Jasmine. With you as CEO and Aiden at your side, the investment was a win for everyone. I want to set up a meeting. Aiden and I need to talk."
I set the whiskey down without taking a sip.
"You want a meeting," I repeated. "To gain leverage."
Uncle Vale didn't deny it.
He gave me a rueful smile instead. "Alex still believes this marriage isn't real. That there's a window. I don't discourage the hope. Keeps him hungry."
I laughed—once, bitterly. "You're delusional if you think he has a shot."
"People change, Jasmine."
"Not him," I snapped. "And definitely not you." I stood up. "I'm done here."
"Think about the meeting," he called after me. "This doesn't have to be war."
"It never was war," I muttered. "You just hate when women win."
I left before I said something I couldn't take back.
But I didn't leave fast enough.
Because waiting outside, leaning against a sleek black car like he was posing for a magazine cover he didn't deserve, was Alexander.
His hair was slicked back like always, not a strand out of place. Designer jacket. Smug smile. And that same fake confidence he wore like cologne.
"Jasmine," he said, pushing off the car with a slow, practiced smile.