Elena sat stiffly on the couch, her arms crossed tight, jaw clenched. The air in the small living room was thick with her fury, so loud it spoke even in silence.
Jasper watched her from the other end of the couch, towel draped over his shoulder, fresh from a shower, still drying his hair.
He had seen Elena upset before. Stubborn, snappy, withdrawn—but this? This was something else.
"She really does seem annoying," he said casually, as if testing the waters.
Elena's eyes snapped toward him. "She's not just annoying," she hissed. "She's poison. She smiles like your friend, then aims for your jugular."
Jasper raised a brow. "You really hate her, huh?"
"She slept with my fiancé, lied to my face, and tried to act like nothing happened. And now she's here, sniffing around you like you're some damn souvenir she wants to take home."
Jasper blinked, surprised by her bluntness. "So… it's about me now?"
Elena groaned, burying her face in her palms. "No. Maybe. I don't know. I just—she does this. She ruins people."
Jasper gave a small shrug, settling into the couch. "She's not ruining me."
Elena looked at him again, her brows furrowed. "Don't let her. Promise me that."
He turned, eyes serious. "I don't take orders, Elena."
"Just this one," she whispered.
Their eyes held for a moment, something warm flickering beneath her worry. Jasper didn't reply with words. He just gave a subtle nod, the kind that meant you don't need to worry.
The next day, Olive's desperation grows
At the construction site, Olive stood with her clipboard, pretending to check steel reinforcements. But her head was elsewhere.
Jasper.
That rough jawline. Those hands. That brooding silence that somehow made him magnetic. The way his shirts clung to his muscles. Even the way he ignored her—God, it made her want him more.
She imagined his hands on her. Her in his bed. Him saying her name with that deep voice.
She blinked hard, clearing the thought. This was getting ridiculous.
But she couldn't stop.
He's too handsome to be living with her, she thought bitterly. That girl who wore hand-me-down dresses and smiled like she didn't belong. How did she get a man like him?
She paced near the scaffolding, heat crawling up her skin.
Tomorrow she would return to the city. Time was running out.
So she thought hard. Seduction? Jasper didn't look the type. Insults? Too risky. What if he and Elena were actually close?
Then it came to her.
Money.
That always worked. Everyone had a price. Especially a man like Jasper—quiet, clearly poor, a mechanic. Offer him a life upgrade, a job in the city. Show him luxury, power. Freedom.
He'd follow. They always did.
Later that evening, Olive sat in her hotel suite and dialed a delivery order from a burner number, requesting cookies for a corporate party two towns over. She included a note: Please deliver personally. Large tip awaits.
She smiled. She knew Elena would take the bait.
An hour later, Olive parked near Elena's building, watching from behind tinted windows. As expected, Elena came out carrying a box of cookies, carefully packed.
Perfect. Alone. Out of the way.
Olive waited five more minutes, then stepped out of the car and strutted toward the house. Knocked once. No answer. Knocked again. Still silence.
She groaned. "Where the hell is he?"
She lingered, checking her watch every few seconds. She couldn't leave. She had to see him tonight.
She had just turned to go when a familiar figure approached from the corner—Jasper, dressed in a black T-shirt, his overalls halfway undone, bag in one hand. His shirt clung to his chest from sweat, jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked exhausted—and maddeningly handsome.
"Jasper!" Olive smiled brightly, adjusting her posture, letting her hair fall over her shoulder. "I've been here a while. Wanted to see Elena."
Jasper blinked, already fishing his keys out of his pocket. "She's out delivering."
"Really?" She tilted her head. "That's too bad. I thought I'd wait."
Jasper didn't say anything. Just opened the door and walked in. Olive, uninvited, followed.
The house smelled like sugar and warm wood. Jasper dropped his bag, went to wash his hands. Then checked his phone.
A message from Elena: "Out for delivery, be back late. Someone ordered to another town, but it's a big one so I couldn't say no. I owe you cookie therapy when I return 🍪."
He typed back: "Olive's here waiting for you." And tossed the phone aside.
Olive took her place on the couch like she owned it. "You live here long?"
"Long enough."
"You and Elena close?"
"Close enough."
She pouted. "You don't talk much, do you?"
Jasper shrugged, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
Olive crossed one leg over the other, her skirt sliding up just enough to make her point. "I've been thinking," she began, lowering her voice, "about how… wasted you are in a place like this."
Jasper raised a brow, sipping his water.
"I mean, you have potential. Ever considered moving to the city? I could help. My family has connections. I also work at Wellington. I could get you a better job. A nicer apartment. Maybe even something with air conditioning."
Jasper stared at her for a long moment. Then said flatly, "You trying to buy me?"
She smiled, leaning forward. "No. I'm trying to offer you a better life."
He didn't smile.
She reached out, touched his hand lightly. "You could have more. With me."
Jasper pulled his hand away.
"No," he said simply.
Olive blinked. "What?"
"I said no," Jasper repeated. "I'm not for sale."
She stood slowly, her face darkening. "So you'd rather stay in this rat hole with her?"
"She's not a rat," he said, voice now sharp. "And this place has more warmth than any high-rise you've ever slept in."
Olive was stunned.
"She doesn't own you," Olive hissed. "She can't give you what I can."
"You're right," Jasper said, stepping forward. "She gives more."
And just like that, Olive saw it.
He was already gone.
She turned on her heel and walked to the door, fury burning in her throat.
But before she left, she turned and said, "We'll see how long this charity-case fairy tale lasts."
Jasper didn't even blink. "Close the door on your way out."
She slammed it shut behind her.
The phone buzzed beneath Elena's thigh in the cab, unnoticed at first as she stared out the window, lost in thought. Then another buzz. Then another.
She blinked, pulled the phone from under her apron, thumbed it open—and froze.
Jasper: Olive's here. Said she's waiting for you.
Her throat went dry.
Her heart, however, did the opposite. It raced.
Olive? At her home? Alone with Jasper?
A sick feeling swirled in her stomach as the pieces began falling into place. The way she looked at jasper the last time she visited. What did she want? Jasper. Of course. She came for Jasper.
Seductive little snake.
"Driver," she said, breath quickening. "Turn around."
"Mmm?"
"I said turn around!" she snapped, panic threading her voice. "Take me home—now. I'll pay double."
The driver blinked at her in the rearview mirror but did as she said. Elena's hands clenched the cookie box like a lifeline as her mind spiraled.
What if Olive touched him? What if Jasper let her?
They weren't dating. He wasn't hers. Not officially. But something real—undeniable—was growing between them. Slowly. Softly. And if Olive slipped her claws in now...
"No," she whispered, shaking her head as if rejecting the idea aloud. "Not happening. Not to me. Not this time."
"Speed up!" she shouted, leaning forward. "Please!"
The cookies in her lap forgotten. The customer forgotten. Only Jasper mattered now.
Meanwhile, Inside the Storm
Olive hadn't left.
Even after Jasper asked her to go—cold and clear—she lingered a few minutes outside, leaning against the side of the building with her arms folded, humiliated.
How could he reject her?
Her. Olive Wright. Confident. Gorgeous. Expensive.
The sting on her pride was unbearable. But the real poison came when she realized: he really likes Elena.
That wasn't part of the plan.
And so, when a yellow cab pulled up and Elena jumped out, Olive's smile returned like a knife. She stepped forward.
"Elena!" she called, feigning surprise.
Elena turned with fire in her eyes. "What do you want?" she snapped, marching toward her. "Why are you here? What do you want with Jasper?"
Olive tilted her head with a smug smile. "Seems you really do love him."
Elena blinked. "What?"
"I mean, the way you're shaking. You must. Or else you wouldn't be acting like a jealous little dog chasing scraps."
"I'm warning you," Elena growled.
Olive leaned closer and whispered, "I can still feel him inside me."
The words hit Elena like a blade. Her eyes widened. She stumbled back, heart plummeting, mouth parting but no sound coming.
"Oh yes," Olive said, mockingly. "It was quick but… delicious. The way he moaned? Gosh, I still have it in my head."
Elena's lips quivered. "Liar," she breathed.
Olive smirked. "Believe what you want. But he didn't push me off, if that's what you're wondering."
And with that, she stepped into her car and slammed the door, the wheels screeching off into the street.
Elena stormed through the door, adrenaline burning through her blood. Jasper was just stepping out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, his white tank clinging to his chest.
He paused when he saw her—but before he could say a word, she launched at him.
SLAP.
His face turned with the blow. The towel dropped to the ground.
"What the hell—" he started, but she screamed over him.
"You're trash!" she sobbed. "How could you do this to me? After everything? How could you—how could you touch her?!"
Jasper looked genuinely stunned. "What are you talking about?"
"You and Olive!" Elena cried, fists clenched at her sides. "She told me! She said she could still feel you inside her! That you didn't stop her! That you—"
"Elena!" Jasper shouted, voice firm now, cutting through her panic. "I didn't touch her!"
She blinked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Jasper stepped forward, voice softer now. "She came here. Tried to seduce me. She offered me money, a job, a whole new life. I told her no. She touched me—I pulled away."
Elena blinked rapidly. "But she said—"
"She's a liar, Elena. You know that. You knew that."
Elena collapsed onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. "I was scared," she whispered. "I thought I lost you. I thought… I don't even know what we are, Jasper. But it felt like you were already mine."
Jasper walked to her. Kneeling.
He lifted her chin gently. Her cheeks were soaked.
"Elena," he said, his voice low, rich, honest. "You have me. You've always had me. I was just too scared to admit it."
She blinked up at him.
"I love you," he said clearly, finally. "I've loved you for months. I didn't say anything because… I've never had anything this good. And I didn't want to ruin it. But tonight? Watching you break down like this because of me? I can't stay quiet anymore."
Elena's heart thudded in her chest.
"I love you," he repeated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I won't betray you. Not ever. So stop crying."
And then he kissed her.
Not hurried. Not greedy. A slow, certain kiss. One that said you're safe here.
When he pulled back, he whispered, "Be mine officially."
Elena let out a soft sob and nodded. "Yes," she said. "God, yes." She hugged him.
That night, they curled into each other on the couch, her head on his chest, his fingers in her hair. Everything felt still. Everything felt new. Like love, finally spoken aloud, had exorcised all ghosts from the room.
Olive may have lit a match, but Elena and Jasper? They survived the fire—and came out stronger.
The morning sunlight poured gently through the thin cream curtains, streaking golden rays across the tiny apartment's walls. The soft hum of birdsong filtered in from the cracked window. The world outside was still stretching its limbs, but inside their little world, Elena was wide awake—and glowing.
She danced barefoot across the tiny kitchen floor, hair a messy crown on her head, apron tied over her nightshirt. A wooden spoon in one hand, she twirled around like a ballerina, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting from the oven.
But it wasn't the cookies making her smile.
It was him.
Yesterday kept playing over and over again in her head like her favorite movie—the way she'd stormed in like a hurricane, the fight, the heartbreak, and then... his words.
"I love you."
And then that kiss. Oh, that kiss. She could still feel it.
She twirled again, holding her spoon to her chest.
"Can you not burn the kitchen down with your romance?" came a low, gravelly voice from behind.
She froze mid-spin, caught like a schoolgirl sneaking candy.
Jasper was leaning against the doorframe, half-awake, hair tousled, eyes soft—and smiling. A rare sight, but lately, only for her.
"Good morning," she said, cheeks flushed.
"You look too happy for 7 a.m.," he murmured.
"That's because I am."
He walked over to her, wordlessly slipping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
Elena leaned into him without hesitation, her heartbeat syncing with his chest.
"Mm," he muttered against her ear, "you smell like sugar."
She giggled.
Then he added softly, "I still can't believe you're mine."
Elena turned slightly, locking eyes with him.
"You said that yesterday," she whispered. "And I still think I dreamed it."
Jasper studied her a moment. Then, voice gentle, he said, "It wasn't a dream."
She smiled. He smiled.
And then he said it—casually, but with meaning.
"That was my first kiss, you know."
Elena blinked. "Wait—what?"
"My first kiss," he repeated, stepping back a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Last night. With you. That was it."
Elena's jaw dropped. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"No way a man that looks like you hasn't kissed anyone before."
He chuckled. "I told you, I'm not like other men."
She tilted her head, studying him. And suddenly, she believed him. Jasper was cold, withdrawn, emotionally cautious. His walls had always been sky-high. It made sense—and somehow made the kiss even more special.
"That's… actually really cute," she said, eyes twinkling.
"What about you?" he asked, half-teasing, half-curious. "How many hearts have you broken?"
Elena blushed. "That was my second kiss."
His brows lifted. "Only second? Elena Charles, I'm shocked."
She laughed. "Well, my first was…"
She paused.
Jasper tilted his head. "Was?"
She bit her lip. "With you."
He blinked. "Me?"
"Yeah," she said, turning back to her baking. "You were asleep. That night after you got punched. I kissed you. On the lips. Then ran away to the couch."
Jasper stared at her. Then suddenly burst out laughing—a real laugh, deep and amused.
"You what?"
"I was soft with guilt!" she protested, waving the spoon. "You were hurt and I felt so bad and it just—happened!"
"Oh no," Jasper said, smirking. "You stole a kiss."
She raised a brow. "Are you mad?"
"Mad?" He stepped closer. "No. But I want it back."
Elena yelped, bolting out of the kitchen and down the narrow hallway into their tiny bedroom. "You're not getting anything from me!" she called out between laughs.
Jasper smirked, already in pursuit.
"You can run," he said, "but you can't hide."
Elena squealed as she tried to shut the door, but he caught it in time, slipping in, grabbing her gently around the waist. She wrestled him, laughing uncontrollably as he picked her up and tossed her onto the couch in the room, landing with a playful oomph.
He hovered above her, both breathless. Then, his eyes softened.
"This," he murmured, brushing her cheek. "This is mine."
And then he kissed her.
This time, it wasn't rushed, or messy, or overwhelmed by emotion. It was long, warm, intentional. Their fingers tangled. Her heart pounded. She forgot what day it was. Who she'd been before him. All she knew was this moment.
When he finally pulled away, Elena whispered, "Was that enough to pay your kiss debt?"
Jasper chuckled, nose brushing hers. "I think you still owe me."
Elena giggles.
From that morning on, something shifted.
Jasper still wore his cold mask to the world—barely spoke to strangers, didn't joke with neighbors, and gave delivery men a cold nod at best.
But with Elena?
He smiled more.
He helped her bake and always asked to "taste test"—even if it meant stealing a bite and running.
He gave her a warm shoulder at night, his arms now always open.
He left sticky notes on her cookie boxes that said "Bake me proud."
He even let her tie a tiny blue ribbon around his wrist one morning, just because it made her laugh.
To everyone else, Jasper was still a mystery.
But to Elena?
He was now the warmest part of her world.
*************
The city welcomed Olive back with tall buildings, clean pavements, and the familiar hum of expensive engines slicing through busy streets. But none of it pleased her. Not the luxurious company car beneath her. Not the Wellington-branded leather folder in her hand. Not even the smug looks from receptionists as she submitted her field report—complete with detailed progress updates and photographs from the inspection.
Because all she could think about was him.
Jasper.
His face. His eyes. His brutal rejection.
And Elena—always Elena—smiling beside him, winning again.
Olive hadn't slept much since returning from the trip. The mental image of Elena coming home, dancing in that ugly kitchen of hers while Jasper held her close like some fairytale ending—it made her sick. She'd left the town fuming, seething, and now… still unsatisfied.
"I need to burn something," she muttered as she dropped her heels by her front door and tossed her coat on the couch.
And then it hit her.
Julia.
Julia would want to know. Maybe even thank her for finding the run-away heiress. Maybe this could finally bring Elena back in chains, where she belonged.
The next morning, Olive pulled up to the grand Charles estate, standing tall like a monument to ice. White gates, pristine hedges, and silent guards in tailored black suits. The kind of house where secrets lived in the shadows and laughter died at the door.
She adjusted her blouse, powdered her nose, and stepped in.
"Miss Olive," the butler greeted coldly, "Ms. Whitmore will see you in the study."
When she entered, Julia was already seated behind a marble desk, reading a newspaper. Dressed in a cream silk blouse with a pearl brooch, she didn't look up as Olive stepped in.
"I saw her," Olive began eagerly. "Elena."
That got Julia's attention. She slowly folded the paper and set it aside. Her perfectly arched brow lifted just slightly.
"She's not dead?" Julia asked dryly.
"No," Olive replied, stepping forward. "She's alive and well. She has a—" Olive struggled with the word— "cookie business. It's actually doing fine. She even has customers. And she's living with a man."
Julia's fingers tapped once on the desk, thoughtfully. "A man."
"Yes." Olive nodded, unable to hide the contempt in her voice. "Can you imagine? After running from a life of privilege, she's now playing house with some nobody in a broken apartment."
Julia looked at her for a long moment.
And then she smiled—not warm, not amused. Icy. Calculated.
"Thank you for the update," she said coolly.
Olive blinked. "That's it?"
"I didn't realize you came to report like an errand girl," Julia said, standing now, walking over to pour herself tea. "I thought the Wellingtons had trained their staff better."
"No—I just thought you'd want to do something," Olive pressed. "Drag her back. Cut off her inheritance. Shame her publicly."
But Julia only stirred her tea, unbothered.
Though embarrassed, Olive proceeded to give her the full details.
The moment Olive left the mansion, silence flooded the grand study like a tide.
The heavy doors clicked shut behind her, but the echoes of her words still danced in the air:
Elena is alive. She's thriving. And she's living with a man.
Julia didn't move. She stood by the tall window, her arms folded neatly across her chest, her jaw tight as she stared at the manicured lawn outside. Light from the late morning sun poured into the room, touching everything except her.
Ashley sat sprawled across the emerald velvet settee, legs crossed, one manicured finger swirling her iced tea. Her face was unreadable—somewhere between amusement and quiet fury.
"So…" she finally broke the silence. "The runaway is not only alive, but she's playing house with a man and running a bakery?"
"Cookie business," Julia corrected blandly.
Ashley scoffed. "How quaint."
Julia's eyes narrowed slightly. "She always did love baking. Her mother taught her."
Ashley rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope she enjoys her little fairytale. Because once word gets out that she's alive—"
"It won't," Julia cut in sharply.
Ashley sat up straighter. "But shouldn't we—?"
"No," Julia said, her tone clipped and cold. She finally turned from the window, walking with slow, deliberate steps to the liquor cabinet. She poured herself a glass of brandy—neat. Not a drop more than necessary.
Ashley stared at her mother. "You're just going to let her be?"
Julia took a sip, turned, and fixed her daughter with a flat look. "Ashley, listen to me carefully. Elena disappearing on her wedding day was the best gift she ever gave us. A messy scandal? Yes. But it died down. Because we spun it perfectly—poor overwhelmed orphan girl, too soft for the spotlight, gone in search of peace."
Ashley raised a brow. "And that worked out for you."
"For us," Julia corrected, though the sarcasm in her voice suggested otherwise. "The board pitied us. The press let it go. And now, legally, she's listed as missing. And once that status is official—eighteen months and not a day sooner—the Charles Empire becomes mine. Every share. Every vote. Every drop of power."
Ashley tilted her head. "So we let her… bake cookies and kiss mechanics while we wait?"
Julia gave a dry laugh. "Let her think she's winning. Let her believe she's escaped. It only makes her easier to destroy if she ever tries to return."
Ashley stood, brushing imaginary lint from her skirt. "You really believe she won't come back?"
Julia set her glass down with a soft clink. "I believe she thinks she's safe. That we've forgotten her. That's the best illusion of all. But if she dares step into the spotlight again—before that eighteen-month clock runs out—I will remind her who holds the leash."
Ashley walked to the window, standing where her mother had stood. "She's always been too soft. That's the problem."
Julia joined her, both women watching the world from their gilded cage. "Softness is a weakness. But sometimes, it's a beautiful one—for puppeteers like us."
Ashley smirked, arms folded. "Olive said she lives with a man. Handsome, apparently."
Julia's expression barely changed. "She's a young woman. Loneliness makes fools of everyone."
"But what if she loves him?" Ashley asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. "What if he makes her strong?"
Julia turned to her, voice cold as frost. "Then we make her weak again."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Julia asked without turning, "How far have you gotten with Edwin Wellington?"
Ashley's eyes darkened. "Not very. Do you know how hard it was just to catch a glimpse of him at that last event? Every string I pulled barely got me past his security."
Julia's lips curled slightly. "I told you. The Wellingtons aren't the Hales. They don't dine with politicians. They own them."
Ashley turned sharply. "But if I can get him—"
"You won't," Julia interrupted. "Not unless you're chosen. That family doesn't bend for anyone. They're not the sort you chase, Ashley. You wait. You build a throne so golden they notice you. And even then, they may not care."
Ashley clenched her fists but said nothing. Her mother's words, as usual, stung because they were true.
After a moment, Julia stepped back from the window and walked toward her desk. "Let Elena bake. Let her kiss whatever stray dog she's found. In four months, her shares become mine. After that?" She smiled cruelly. "I don't care if she kisses the President."
Ashley still faced the window, arms tightly crossed, watching a bird take off from a tree branch.
"I just want her to suffer," she muttered. "I want to remind her who she used to be—who she was under us."
"Oh, you will," Julia said. "But not today. Not yet."
Ashley slowly turned. "And if she tries to fight back?"
Julia's voice dropped, low and cutting. "Then we do what we've always done."
Ashley smiled slowly. "We bury her."