Aria hated being part of her father's charitable foundation.
Too many people pretending. Too many fake handshakes, practiced laughs, and eyes that looked right through you unless you had a title or a trust fund.
But her father insisted she be "seen."
And being seen meant the right photos in the right papers. It meant staged smiles and flattering angles—being positioned in a way that said: look at how well-adjusted the heiress turned out. It wasn't about helping people. It was about optics. Narrative. Control.
So she went.
She showed up. Smiled. Nodded.
Endured the comments about her dress, her skin, her resemblance to her father. Endured the fact that they were holding this "donation drive" in a luxury mall, where the price of a single handbag could fund a small clinic.
Jaxon followed like a shadow, dressed in clean, quiet black—civilian, technically, but there was nothing casual about him. Even with the sunglasses and the hands in his pockets, he carried the kind of stillness that made people step aside without knowing why.
He stood out by trying not to.
They were halfway through the second-floor event space, weaving through tables stacked with silent auction items and overpriced wine, when it happened.
"Jaxon?"
A woman's voice. Clear. Familiar. Sharper than the music.
He froze.
Not overtly—barely a shift—but Aria saw it. Saw the moment his spine locked, the breath that stopped just short of exhale.
He turned.
The woman walking toward them was tall, composed, with a kind of alert calm that didn't come from yoga or green juice. She moved like someone trained to enter a room three steps ahead of everyone else.
Soldier. Instantly obvious.
And she was smiling at him like she knew a version of him Aria hadn't seen yet.
"Didn't think I'd ever see your ghostly ass outside a war zone," she said, crossing her arms.
Jaxon's jaw flexed. "Maris."
The name dropped between them like a match into dry grass.
Aria blinked. Glanced between them. Then offered a polite, practiced smile—tight-lipped and sharp around the edges.
"And you are?"
Maris didn't hesitate. "Someone who used to trust this man with her life."
She stepped closer. Confident. Curious. Not hostile—but not neutral, either.
"Army. Special ops. He ever tell you about that?"
"He's not very chatty," Aria replied smoothly.
Maris tilted her head. "No, he's not. Unless he wants something. Then he's all eyes and secrets."
Aria's smile held. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
Jaxon stepped in before the tension turned into something less polite. "Maris, this is Aria Langford. Aria—"
"I got it," Aria said, cutting him off as she turned away. "Combat stories. I'll let you catch up."
She didn't stalk off.
But she didn't dawdle, either.
Jaxon watched her go.
So did Maris.
When Aria disappeared into the crowd, Maris looked back at him, one brow raised.
"You're in deep," she said, voice low. "That your girlfriend?"
"It's not like that."
Maris smirked. "Jax. You're standing there like a man who just watched his future walk away in four-inch heels."
He exhaled through his nose. A measured breath. Controlled.
"What are you doing here?"
"My uncle's one of the sponsors," she said. "He dragged me in last minute and mentioned I should introduce myself to your not-girlfriend. Said she was important. Didn't say why."
She glanced at his all-black, low-profile attire.
"Also... why do you look like a high-end security guard?"
Jaxon said nothing.
Didn't need to.
Maris shook her head, the smile slipping a little.
"You didn't."
He didn't flinch.
She stepped closer.
"Don't tell me you walked away from your inheritance, your contacts, everything, just to play shadow to some spoiled rich girl."
"Watch it," he said, tone low.
"Touched a nerve?" she asked softly. "Look, I'm not judging. I know you. You don't move without purpose. But this?"
She hesitated. Then added, "Careful, Jaxon. I don't want to hear your name attached to something messy. And you and her?" She nodded toward where Aria had gone. "That's a hurricane waiting to happen."
With that, she tapped his arm twice and walked off, disappearing into the crowd like she'd never been there at all.
And Jaxon stayed where he was, surrounded by wine glasses and false smiles, wondering which would break first—his silence or her trust.
***
She didn't go far.
Just far enough to be out of sight. To breathe.
Aria stepped behind one of the column displays near the auction tables and took a slow sip of sparkling water from a glass someone had handed her without asking.
Her hand shook.
Not enough for anyone to notice.
But enough for her to notice.
She hated that.
Hated how steady that woman had been. How casually she'd said "used to trust him with her life" like that was a normal sentence. Like Jaxon hadn't been standing there with his jaw tight and eyes unreadable, letting someone else speak for him.
And Special ops? He'd never told her that.
She hadn't asked, sure. But he could've said something. Anything.
Instead, he just stood there—silent, stone-faced, letting her walk away while a stranger handed her pieces of him he'd kept locked away.
Aria clenched her jaw.
That wasn't jealousy.
That was betrayal wearing jealousy's perfume.
Because it wasn't the fact that he had a past—it was the fact that he was still choosing to keep it from her. Every day. Every conversation.
And she wasn't stupid.
She saw how he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
Like she was more than the job.
Like she was more than some protected asset or a line in a contract.
Like she was his.
So why the silence?
Why the secrets?
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
Maybe it was stupid—getting this worked up over a conversation with a stranger in a hallway. But Aria had grown up around masks and manipulation. She could read tension like a language. And that woman—Maris—had spoken volumes without saying much at all.
Trusting him with your life? That your girlfriend? She muttered, mimicking Maris.
Aria scoffed under her breath.
She didn't want the label. But she sure as hell didn't want to be the question mark either.
Not when it felt like Jaxon was writing whole chapters behind her back.
She turned away from the column, steadying herself.
Time to get back to the charade.
She'd play the polished daughter. Smile for the cameras. Shake hands with people who didn't care about anything beyond her last name.
But when she got Jaxon alone again, she was going to ask.
And this time, she wasn't going to let him dodge it.
***
The ride back was silent.
Not the easy kind, either.
The kind that buzzed with everything unsaid.
Jaxon drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting too still on his thigh. Eyes forward. Jaw locked. Not even pretending to make small talk.
Aria didn't look at him.
Didn't need to.
She could feel the weight of his silence pressing against her skin like armor—meant to deflect, meant to distance.
Too bad.
Because she was done playing quiet.
"Is that where you were before this?" she asked finally. "The army?"
He didn't answer right away.
Just kept driving, as if the road in front of him could somehow outrun the question.
"Jaxon."
"Yes," he said, voice low. "Afghanistan. Then Africa. Then classified places I'm not allowed to talk about."
She turned her head slowly. "But you can tell her."
He glanced at her. Just once. Just enough to register the edge in her voice.
"Maris was on my team. We went through things together most people wouldn't understand."
"Right," Aria said. "And I guess I'm 'most people.'"
He exhaled. Sharp. Controlled. Like a man trying to keep the lid on something boiling.
"You're not."
"Then why do I keep learning more about you from everyone but you?"
Jaxon didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
Because silence, it turned out, was just another kind of answer.
She folded her arms, leaning back against the seat like it could hold her up better than he could.
"Is this all just an assignment to you?" she asked. "Protection detail? Another job?"
He didn't look at her.
Didn't speak.
Didn't deny it.
And that—that—hurt more than she wanted to admit.
She turned her face toward the window, swallowing the sting in her throat.
"I meant what I said," she added quietly. "About not wanting safety."
Jaxon's hands flexed against the steering wheel.
"I know."
"And you still won't tell me the truth?"
"It's not that simple."
"Yes," Aria said. "It is. You either trust me or you don't."
They pulled up to the estate gates.
She didn't wait for them to open fully.
As soon as the car stopped, she opened the door and stepped out.
Didn't slam it.
Didn't say goodbye.
She just walked up the steps without looking back.
And for the first time since he'd been assigned to her, Jaxon didn't follow.