The air was thick with tension, the kind that made breathing feel like a conscious effort. As I stepped out of Derrick's room, the remnants of breakfast still lingering on my tongue, I felt eyes on me. Not just any eyes—Jackson's. Dark, accusing, burning into my skin like a silent interrogation.
I hesitated for only a second before forcing myself to walk past him, ignoring the way my pulse quickened. I had no reason to feel guilty. No reason at all.
The warm water of my shower should have washed away the unease, but when I emerged wrapped in a towel, Jackson was still there. Still watching. His jaw clenched, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"So, you both slept in the same room," he said, his voice a low growl.
I sighed, pulling my robe tighter around me. "Of course, we did. He's my husband."
His eyes darkened. "Your husband? That's what he is to you now?" He took a step closer. "And what about me?"
I swallowed hard. "Jackson, you need to let this go. I'm trying. I'm doing everything I can to forget what happened between us."
He scoffed. "Forget?" He took another step, close enough that I could feel his breath. "You can't feel guilty for loving what you want."
My heart pounded against my ribs. I hated how easily he unraveled me, how the heat between us never truly faded.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. I was drowning in the weight of the past, trapped between my duty and my desires. Jackson must have seen the conflict in my eyes because his expression softened. He reached for my hands, his touch sending a jolt through me.
"I love you, Celine," he whispered. "I love you. Please, don't push me away."
I should have stopped him. I should have turned away. But when his lips brushed mine, a spark ignited, setting fire to everything logical. My body betrayed me, pressing into him, the world narrowing to this moment, this feeling—
Reality crashed in. I gasped, pushing him away.
His face darkened with frustration, but he didn't fight it. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed off.
I became a prisoner in my own home. Every time I crossed paths with Jackson, my resolve weakened. My emotions were a warzone, each battle leaving me breathless and confused.
And then there was Derrick. Steady, reliable Derrick. He came home late that evening, exhaustion lining his face, but still, he smiled at me.
"Hello, pumpkin." His voice was warm, filled with affection I didn't deserve. "How was your day? Did you get my little gift?"
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yes. Thank you. That was… really thoughtful."
"I hope you like it."
"Of course, I do."
He exhaled, stepping closer, brushing a stray hair from my face. "I'm trying, Celine. I know I've made mistakes. I just… I hope you'll forgive me someday."
I wanted to say something. Anything. But the words caught in my throat, tangled in my guilt and confusion.
He nodded, as if he understood, and walked away.
The next morning, the house was eerily quiet. Derrick had already left for work, and the usual bustle of servants was absent. I made my way to the kitchen, desperate for coffee, for anything to clear my mind.
Just as I reached for my cup, I felt a presence behind me. My body tensed before I even turned.
Jackson.
I gripped the counter, forcing a steady breath. "Good morning."
His scoff was laced with bitterness. "He's buying you gifts now? Treating you like a queen so you can forget about us?"
I turned to face him, heart hammering. "Jackson, please."
He stepped forward, closing the space between us. My back pressed against the counter as his eyes locked onto mine, intense and unreadable.
"You can't pretend, Celine. Not with me. I see it in your eyes." His voice dropped, rough with longing. "Tell me you don't feel this."
I looked away. If I met his gaze any longer, I'd fall. I always did.
And then, before I could react, his lips crashed onto mine.
This kiss was different. Desperate. Hungry. A battle between desire and restraint. My hands fisted against his chest, half-pushing, half-clinging.
Then something happened.
Something I couldn't take back.