Chapter 06
Third Person's POV
Jackson felt as though his soul had left his body the moment Paige casually mentioned what had transpired between them the night before. The breakfast table, which had been filled with comfortable morning chatter just moments earlier, suddenly became charged with tension that made Jackson's stomach churn with anxiety.
"That's not fair! I should have been Jackson's first," Dahlia declared, her voice sharp with indignation. Her expression darkened considerably as she fixed Jackson with an accusatory stare that made him squirm in his seat.
Jackson felt heat rise to his cheeks as he scrambled to find the right words to defuse the situation. "It was supposed to be just practice," he said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't be angry."
The excuse sounded pathetic even to his own ears, and he could see from Dahlia's expression that it wasn't helping his case. Paris, meanwhile, maintained her trademark poker face, though Jackson caught a flicker of something—amusement? irritation?—in her eyes.
"Can we please just eat first?" Paris interjected with characteristic directness. She turned to Paige with a stern look. "And you—make sure you take your pills. You're still studying, and we can't afford any complications."
Jackson's head snapped up at Paris's words, confusion evident on his face. The casual way she discussed such intimate matters made him realize just how different this family's dynamics were from anything he had ever experienced.
The weight of the situation suddenly hit Jackson like a physical blow. The surreal nature of his circumstances—being married to three sisters who seemed to view sharing him as the most natural thing in the world—finally penetrated his consciousness in a way it hadn't before.
"Is this really okay with all of you?" Jackson asked, his voice filled with genuine bewilderment. "I mean—I'm not complaining, but isn't this incredibly unfair? You're sharing one man among the three of you. Is this... normal?"
The three sisters stopped eating simultaneously and turned to look at Jackson with varying degrees of surprise. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery against plates.
Dahlia was the first to respond, leaning closer to Jackson until her lips were nearly touching his ear. Her breath was warm against his skin as she spoke in a low, seductive voice that sent shivers down his spine.
"For us, this is completely normal," she whispered. "Don't you want this arrangement?"
She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. "Think about it, Jackson. Thousands of men are chasing after the three of us, hoping for just a chance to be with one of us. Do you have any idea how incredibly lucky you are that we all chose you?"
To emphasize her point, Dahlia placed her hand on Jackson's thigh, her fingers tracing small circles that made his breath catch. The gesture was possessive and intimate, a clear reminder of the power dynamic at play.
Dahlia straightened up with a laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "This arrangement works perfectly for us," she said with deceptive casualness.
"Don't worry about us," she continued, resting her chin on her hand as she studied Jackson's face. "If anyone should be worried, it should be you."
The smile she gave him was loaded with meaning, and Jackson felt every hair on his body stand on end. There was something predatory in her expression that reminded him uncomfortably of Paige's transformation the night before.
After they finished breakfast, Paige excused herself to return to her room, complaining of drowsiness and soreness in her hips. Jackson's concern was immediate and genuine—he followed her to her room with pain relievers, fussing over her comfort like a devoted husband rather than someone fulfilling a contractual obligation.
When Jackson emerged from Paige's room, he found Paris preparing for her day at the office. She was already dressed in her professional attire, her movements efficient and purposeful as she gathered her belongings.
Jackson approached her, drawn by an impulse he didn't fully understand. "Be careful at work," he said softly, offering her a gentle smile before kissing her forehead and then her lips.
The kiss was meant to be brief and sweet, but Paris had other ideas. Her expression shifted instantly, becoming more intense as she gripped the back of Jackson's head and deepened the kiss with a passion that left him breathless and slightly dizzy.
When they finally broke apart, Jackson struggled to remember what he had been about to say. "When you leave, remember what I told you—" Paris began.
"I'll contact you immediately. Yes, boss!" Jackson interrupted with a playful salute that made Paris laugh despite herself.
After Paris left for work, Jackson made his way to the veranda where he could see the parking lot below. He gripped the railing and watched as Paris emerged from the building, her simple office attire doing nothing to diminish her natural elegance. Even in the most basic clothing, Paris carried herself with a grace that would have been at home on a red carpet.
Jackson watched until her red car disappeared from the parking lot before returning inside and closing the glass door behind him. With his wives gone, he threw himself into household tasks with the dedication of someone who genuinely wanted to contribute to the family.
He cleaned the entire unit methodically—dusting furniture, washing dishes, vacuuming carpets, and doing laundry. The sisters had taught him well, and Jackson took pride in his ability to maintain their home to their exacting standards.
"Jack," Dahlia's voice called from somewhere in the apartment.
Jackson straightened up from where he had been leaning against the sink and walked out of the laundry room, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
"Dahlia?" he responded, finding her standing in the middle of the living room, apparently having been looking for him in the kitchen.
"Are you busy with anything else?" she asked. "We need to go grocery shopping. We're completely out of stock. Is that okay with you?"
Jackson laughed at the polite way she phrased what was essentially an instruction. "Of course," he said easily. "Let me just finish the laundry I started. There's only a little bit left."
He turned to head back to the laundry room, but Dahlia followed him, her curiosity apparently piqued by his domestic activities.
"You don't need to wash our clothes," Dahlia said, noticing that Jackson had been laundering their garments along with his own.
Jackson looked at her over his shoulder, his expression earnest. "Paris has work, next week you'll be back at your job, and Paige will be starting classes again. I'm the only one who has time to do this. Cross my heart, I won't ruin any more clothes."
Dahlia laughed at the reference to the previous week's laundry disaster, when Jackson had accidentally shrunk one of her favorite dresses. She hadn't been angry about it—she could easily afford to replace it a hundred times over—but Jackson's tendency to make a big deal out of small mistakes was something she found oddly endearing rather than annoying.
"Hey Jack," Dahlia said suddenly, her tone as casual as if she were asking for a glass of water. "Can you kiss me?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Jackson replied without hesitation. He moved toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips to hers.
Dahlia smiled against his mouth, noting the absence of hesitation or awkwardness in his kiss. It was passionate and sincere, and she found the sweetness of it unexpectedly touching.
She was about to deepen the kiss when the laundry machine's completion buzzer sounded loudly. Jackson immediately turned toward the sound, and Dahlia's expression soured as she glared at the offending appliance as if it had personally insulted her.
"Later, okay?" Jackson said, giving her a quick kiss before turning back to the laundry.
Dahlia crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, her mood shifting abruptly. She found herself touching her lips, still feeling the warmth of Jackson's kiss.
"Dahlia, I'm finished," Jackson announced a few minutes later. "I just need to shower and get dressed. I'll only be a few minutes."
He approached her again, kissing her forehead before pulling her into his arms for another brief but tender kiss on the lips.
"Don't take your frustration out on the laundry machine," he teased with a grin. "We'll both be in trouble with Paris if you break it."
Jackson laughed as he ran toward the bathroom, dodging Dahlia's indignant shouts. Behind him, Dahlia stared after him in amazement.
"How did he know I was planning to destroy that machine?" she muttered to herself.
---
Even disguised in casual clothes and sunglasses, Dahlia still attracted attention at the grocery store, particularly from male shoppers who couldn't help but stare. Jackson maintained his poker face and chose to ignore the attention, focusing instead on their shopping list.
As they walked through the aisles, Jackson's eyes were drawn to a display of cup noodles—the same brand he had lived on before meeting the Rivas sisters. The cheap, instant meals had been his breakfast, lunch, and dinner for months when money was particularly tight.
"Do you want those?" Dahlia asked, noticing his lingering gaze. She was in the process of loading expensive cuts of meat into their cart.
"Is it okay?" Jackson asked hesitantly, embarrassed by his simple tastes.
Dahlia raised an eyebrow in surprise before proceeding to load every variety of cup noodles from the display into their cart.
"That's way too many," Jackson protested. "Just a few—"
"Paris and Paige will be angry with me if I don't buy everything you want," Dahlia interrupted firmly. She held up her black card with a wink. "You can put anything you want in this cart. I'll handle the payment."
Jackson shook his head with a laugh, accepting defeat. "That's enough for me then."
As Jackson pushed the cart through the store, Dahlia picked up one of the cup noodle containers and examined it critically.
"You can't eat this every day," she said with the authority of someone who took nutrition seriously. "It's not healthy for you."