I should have never let it happen
I shoved Jackson away, my heart pounding against my ribs. His breath was still warm on my lips, a reminder of the kiss we never should have shared. I grabbed my coffee, ready to flee the kitchen, when I spotted movement near the doorway.
A servant.
She stood frozen, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the doorframe as if she'd walked in on something she shouldn't have. My stomach clenched. Had she seen? God, what if she had?
Without another word, I turned and rushed to my room, slamming the door behind me. Thoughts tumbled through my mind in rapid succession. Did she see us? Will she tell my husband? The walls of the mansion suddenly felt too tight, suffocating me in my own fear.
The door burst open.
Jackson stormed in, his face dark with anger. "What the hell was that in the kitchen?" His voice was sharp, accusing. "Why did you push me away?"
I crossed my arms, trying to steady my breath. "Jackson, stop being so damn reckless. I'm your father's wife! Whatever this is, it has to stop."
His eyes burned into mine. "Stop? How do we stop something we can't control?"
I clenched my fists. "We have to. I can't risk this. That servant—what if she saw us? Do you understand what that means if she tells your father?"
Jackson scoffed, stepping closer. "You're overthinking. She wouldn't dare. And if she does... I'll handle it."
My pulse quickened. "Handle it? What does that even mean?"
He ignored my question. "We love each other. That's all that matters. We just have to be careful."
I shook my head, stepping back. "I'm done, Jackson. This is wrong. I don't know what I was thinking, but I can't do this anymore."
His expression darkened. "Let's run away," he said suddenly. "Leave this place. Just you and me."
I let out a hollow laugh. "You've lost your mind. I'm not going anywhere with you."
His jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. "So that's it? You're just going to walk away from this?"
I forced myself to meet his gaze. "I have to."
Jackson exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out.
Days passed, and Jackson became a different man.
He started bringing girls home, parading them in front of me like I was nothing. Someone who once never left the house was suddenly going out every night, returning with a different woman each time. I saw him kiss one of them right outside the front door before leading her inside.
It gutted me.
Worse, he stopped speaking to me altogether. No more stolen glances. No more secret touches. No more sneaking into my room at night. It was as if I didn't exist.
And Derrick? My husband? He was never home.
I had never felt lonelier.
One evening, desperate for some kind of closure, I approached Jackson. "Can we talk?"
He barely spared me a glance. "I don't have anything to say to you."
The words cut deeper than I expected. I had rejected him, but I never thought he'd erase me completely.
By the weekend, I was curled up in bed, my loneliness suffocating, when Derrick walked in.
"Hello, pumpkin," he said with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe. "How was your day?"
I forced a smile. "Fine."
He stepped inside, his gaze assessing me. "You seem lonely. Jackson's not around to keep you company anymore, huh?"
I stiffened. "He has his own life to live. Besides, he's not the one I was supposed to marry." My voice cracked. "You forced me into this, Derrick. You took me away from my life and put me here—to watch over your damn house."
He sighed, stepping closer. "That's not it, and you know it. You just happened to move in when I was busy. But now? I'm free. Which means you'll have all of me." He smirked. "Get dressed. I'm taking you out."
I hesitated.
"Don't make me wait," he murmured, leaning down to press a lingering kiss on my forehead before walking out.
Something in me shivered.
Minutes later, I joined him in his sleek black car. As usual, he took me somewhere extravagant—an expensive restaurant with dim lighting and rich, intoxicating scents. For the first time in days, I let myself enjoy something.
When we returned home, I turned toward my bedroom.
Derrick caught my wrist.
"Come on," he said, his voice low. "We're married. We should be sleeping in the same bed."
I swallowed. I wanted to argue. I wanted to push him away. But instead, I let him lead me upstairs.
That night, something happened between us.
And I had no idea if I regretted it or not.