Chapter 66 – Jealousy Without Ownership
Amber told herself she didn't care.
She repeated it like a mantra while the city blurred past the tinted windows of the car, while her phone buzzed with notifications she refused to open, while the driver asked—politely, unnecessarily—if she was all right.
"I'm fine," she said, sharper than intended.
She wasn't.
The problem with pretending not to care was that it required discipline. And discipline, Amber had learned, cracked under repetition.
By the time she arrived at the studio, the whispers had already followed her in.
Not spoken aloud—never that—but she felt them in the pauses, the sideways glances, the way conversations softened when she passed. People didn't ask questions. They didn't need to. The internet had already done the asking for them.
Amber locked herself in her office and dropped into the chair, exhaling slowly.
You have no claim, she reminded herself.
No rights. No expectations. No—
Her phone lit up again.
This time, she didn't ignore it.
Camila:
You alive?
Amber stared at the screen, then typed back.
Amber:
Unfortunately.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Camila:
I saw the pictures.
Amber closed her eyes.
Amber:
Then you saw nothing that concerns me.
A pause.
Camila:
Liar.
Amber tossed the phone onto the desk and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She felt foolish—ridiculously so. She hadn't flinched at the contract clauses, hadn't blinked when Alex laid out boundaries like laws carved in stone. She had survived heartbreak before. Worse than this.
So why did the image of Isabella Moore walking beside him feel like a bruise pressed too hard?
She left the office early.
Back at the penthouse, the silence felt heavier than usual. The staff had already retreated. Evening light spilled across the marble floors, long and golden, deceptive in its calm.
Amber kicked off her heels and headed for the kitchen.
Alex wasn't supposed to be home yet.
So when she heard voices—low, controlled, undeniably his—she froze.
She didn't mean to listen.
But then she heard a woman laugh.
Soft. Familiar. Too comfortable.
Amber stopped at the corner of the hallway, just out of sight.
"…you always did hate surprises," the woman said.
"I still do," Alex replied. "Which is why you shouldn't be here."
"You didn't seem so opposed when I asked for a drink," Isabella said lightly.
"It's a meeting," he said. "Nothing more."
Amber's chest tightened.
"Funny," Isabella replied. "Your wife doesn't seem to mind."
Silence.
"That's not your concern," Alex said finally.
Amber swallowed.
Wife.
The word hit differently when someone else said it.
"I just find it interesting," Isabella continued, "how quickly you moved on."
Amber stepped back before she could hear the answer.
She retreated to her room, heart pounding harder than it had any right to. She shut the door, leaned against it, and laughed quietly to herself.
This was ridiculous.
She had no claim. No jealousy rights. No space to feel—
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
Once. Controlled. Alex.
She opened the door halfway.
"Yes?"
He studied her face, his gaze sharper than usual. "You're home early."
"Schedule changed."
A beat. "You heard us."
It wasn't a question.
Amber crossed her arms. "I heard enough."
"She came unannounced," he said. "I didn't invite her."
"You didn't send her away either."
His jaw tightened. "I handled it."
"Did you?" Her voice was calm, but something brittle lived beneath it. "Because it sounded like she still thinks she has access."
"She doesn't."
Amber tilted her head. "Then why does she act like she does?"
Alex exhaled slowly. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"
She met his gaze, eyes dark. "Nothing. That's the problem."
They stared at each other, tension thick and unspoken.
"I don't owe her anything," he said.
"I know."
"And I don't owe you explanations," he added quietly.
"I know that too."
The words should have settled it.
They didn't.
Amber stepped back. "This is what the contract is for, right? To keep things clean. Uncomplicated."
"Yes."
"Then don't blur lines," she said. "Because I won't compete for something I never agreed to want."
Alex's expression shifted—something sharp flickering beneath control. "You're not competing."
"Good," she said. "Because jealousy without ownership is humiliating."
The truth slipped out before she could stop it.
They both froze.
Amber's breath caught.
Alex's gaze darkened. "Is that what this is?"
She straightened, mask snapping back into place. "No."
Silence stretched again, heavier this time.
"Isabella won't be a problem," he said finally.
Amber nodded once. "For your sake—or mine?"
He didn't answer.
She closed the door gently, leaving him standing in the hallway.
Later that night, Amber lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every glance, every unspoken meaning.
Across the apartment, Alex stood by the window again, phone in hand, Isabella's unread message glowing on the screen.
For the first time, both of them understood the same thing.
The contract hadn't prepared them for this.
Because jealousy didn't care about rules.
And neither, apparently, did the heart.