I settled into the sunroom chair, maintaining my perfect posture, the phantom familiarity of the General's face still scratching at the back of my mind. It was a file I couldn't open yet, but the instinct to move on was paramount. The General, in his pristine chair, was asking about Jackson's "appetite for risk."
I was about to deliver a precise, diplomatic answer about corporate governance when I caught sight of Jackson. He was hovering near the doorframe, a physical study in barely controlled nerves. His hands were clasped too tightly behind his back, his shoulders drawn, and the muscle in his jaw was ticking. He was utterly exposed…not to his parents, who were blinded by the façade, but to me.
He was nervous. Terribly, beautifully nervous. Not about his father's scrutiny, but about my performance. He was terrified I would break the illusion and expose the war he was hiding.
When Jay sat down next to me, my internal strategy shifted instantly. I didn't need to expose his ruthlessness right now. I needed to reward his fear and cement his submission.
I slid my hand off my lap and reached for him under the small, antique table separating our chairs. My fingers found his cold, rigid, and clammy….and I gripped them tightly, a silent, powerful anchor.
Jackson's head snapped toward me, his beautiful brown eyes widening with surprise. He wasn't expecting comfort… he was expecting a public execution.
"Jackson's appetite for risk, General?" I repeated, my voice now lighter, infused with a sweetness that completely masked the predator beneath. "It's certainly aggressive, but I think he reserves his greatest risks for his private life."
I squeezed his hand again, and his tension began to visibly bleed away. His fingers softened, instinctively interlocking with mine beneath the linen tablecloth.
I turned fully toward the General and Eleanor, launching into a complete fabrication. "For instance, our first proper date. He completely surprised me. It was this perfect, absurdly romantic night…nothing like the business dinners we usually endure."
I fabricated the scenario with flawless, loving detail. "He rented out the entire top floor of an observatory at midnight. No staff, just candles, and a tiny, ancient telescope. He had managed to track down a bottle of my favorite wine, and he spent three hours pointing out constellations and telling me the mythological, highly dramatic history of each one. It was all so deliberate, so unlike the focused CEO everyone sees. He knew exactly how to make me forget the world for a few hours."
Eleanor's face softened into a delighted smile. "Oh, Jackson! You dark horse! That is quite a story."
Lyle, who had just walked in with my bag, let out a low whistle. "Jay, that's top tier, man. I just take Sarah to a nice Italian place."
The General, who still held the gravitas of a Supreme Court Justice, even managed a rare, measured nod of approval. "A man who attends to detail," he commented, his gaze settling on Jackson. "Good."
Jackson was stunned. He wasn't looking at his parents or Lyle…he was looking only at me, his eyes full of absolute, shimmering awe. The tension was gone, replaced by a dazed euphoria. He stopped merely being my devoted bodyguard and became the man who wanted to earn that praise.
I felt the shift in his hand instantly…it was no longer nervous, it was possessive and incredibly soft.
"It was just...the stars aligned," Jackson managed, his voice thick with emotion, his gaze never leaving mine.
The stars aligned, I thought, pulling my hand away from his to gesture gracefully. And now, I own the sky.
From that moment on, Jackson was transformed. He was relaxed, charming, and utterly unable to keep his distance. When he moved to take a seat on the sofa, he deliberately chose the cushion right next to mine, his hip bumping mine in a casual, intimate claim. When Lyle launched into an anecdote about the hospital, Jackson's arm snaked behind me, settling lightly across my shoulders. It was constant, soft, and touchy—a blatant, open display of devotion, utterly unlike the controlled professionalism he usually wore. He was completely focused on the new, perfect narrative I had handed him.
He was oblivious to everything but the image I'd crafted. Suddenly my view of him shifted as well.
To be fair…my father did say poisonous things directly the face of a man who openly confessed his obsession to me and had just crossed the line of intimacy with me. Of course he'd act on that.
Him being very touchy tonight shifted something in my mind. I'm not used to this. A man openly claiming me in such a dominant yet soft way for everyone to see. What once was a thought that made me uncomfortable to think about…is now something I know I'll constantly crave…his reassuring touch.
Something tells me we aren't just putting on a show anymore. I'm finally seeing him…differently.
The way he interacts with his family…it makes me feel honoured to be able to be in the presence of this version of him.
"Love…" Jay called out before disappearing into the hallway.
"Hey you two…don't disappear for too long okay? The chef just texted and said food is about to be presented!" Eleanor yelled before I disappeared too.
Jackson's POV
The sunroom door swung shut behind me, plunging me from the bright, suffocating light of my parents' approval back into the relative dark of the hallway. I leaned against the frame for a moment, letting the wave of dizzying euphoria subside.
Love…
I had called her Love. I hadn't meant to. The word had slipped out, effortless and true, an unconscious artifact of the reality she had just forced into existence. The truth was, she was my obsession, my terrifying anchor, and the only person in the world I wanted to see my genuine submission.
I risked a look back into the sunroom. The flicker in her eyes when I'd said the word hadn't been fear or anger. It had been surprise. A genuine fissure in her control.
She knew this was a performance, but I had just given the audience a line that wasn't in the script.
The way she handled my father…the General, had been a masterpiece. She had sensed my internal fracture, my terror that she would expose the lie, and instead of taking the lethal shot, she had given me a perfectly crafted shield. She didn't just save the performance…she retroactively rewrote my past to make me look like the most romantic man alive.
The sheer thoughtfulness of that invention, the way she had looked at me with that perfect blend of adoration and cunning, had broken something inside me. All I could think about was abandoning the firm, abandoning the war, and somehow, miraculously, making that observatory date real.
I want her to experience every version of me after today. Especially the romantic side. Hopefully she'll let me.
The tension that had plagued me since the theater was gone, replaced by a reckless, absolute devotion. She wasn't just my threat…she was my prize. And I had to touch her. Constantly. The need was overwhelming…a soft brush of my hip against hers, the casual weight of my arm on her shoulder. Every physical contact was a silent claim, not for the benefit of my family, but for the satisfaction of my own spiraling compulsion.
Belinda joined seconds later. She had followed me out, closing the door on the domestic scene.
Her eyes met mine, steady and assessing. She was done performing for the audience and now it was just the two of us.
"You slipped up," she stated, her voice low. "I haven't given you leave to use terms of endearment."
I didn't apologize or offer an excuse. I simply closed the remaining distance, my need for contact overriding caution. I lifted my hand, not to touch her face, but to gently brush the hair back from her ear, letting my knuckles graze the still-healing bruise on her neck.
"It wasn't a slip," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. "It was the truth spilling out. You have me exactly where you want me, Belinda. In awe, and completely exposed."
Her gaze was unwavering, but I saw the subtle shift again…the faint flush beneath her skin, the almost imperceptible widening of her pupils. She was receiving the honesty.
"You seem more relaxed than you were when we arrived," she observed, changing the subject.
I lowered my hand, my thumb tracing the curve of her collarbone, dangerously close to the concealed weapon.
"You don't just see the moves, Bel," I murmured, watching her closely. "You see the entire board. And the way you fabricated that date... the way you took a risk and gave me credit for a kindness I haven't earned…that changes the game. I will make that observatory date happen. Tonight."
Eleanor's voice boomed down the hallway again, sharp and insistent. "Can you two love birds come back? Food is ready!"
"They're calling us back," I noted, stepping back instantly, assuming my charming, devoted role. I held out my arm to her.
"Then let's go collect my reward," Belinda said, a slow, dark smile finally touching her lips.
As her hand rested lightly on my forearm, I felt the immediate, necessary calm flood my system. She wasn't just playing the wife…she was becoming the reason I wanted a future. A dangerous future, yes, but one defined by her.