Chapter 12
I pushed open the door to my apartment, fully expecting silence. Instead, I was met with the rich aroma of garlic and butter, something simmering on the stove, and a familiar figure standing in my kitchen.
Rozen.
He glanced over his shoulder with the most casual expression, like he belonged there. “You’re home.”
I dropped my bag by the door, my voice flat. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He stirred the pan once before turning off the burner. “Can’t I visit my wife?”
I scoffed, stepping further in. “You don’t need to visit me. We had an agreement, remember? No strings attached. No playing house.”
Rozen wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Yes, no strings. But still–you’re my wife. That’s not something I forget.”
He walked toward me, something glinting in his palm. He held it out–a thin, elegant bracelet, silver with a faint blue glow.
I frowned. “What is that?”
“Wear it.”
I stared at him. “Why?”
“So I can track you.”
My eyes widened, heart lurching with a mix of disbelief and anger. “Excuse me? You want
to track me? Are you insane? Is this because of what happened a while ago?”
“No,” he said calmly, but his tone was firm. “I just want to know where you are.” “What am I to you, Rozen? A prisoner? A pet?”
He exhaled, looking tired. “You’re not a prisoner. I just–Jasmine, I get worried, alright?”
My lips parted, confused and caught off guard. “Worried?”
“Please,” he said again, softer this time. “Just wear it. I won’t check it unless something happens. But I need to know I can find you. Just in case.”
“In case of what?” I asked, my voice low. “What are you not telling me?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me with that expression that made me feel like I was being pulled into something I didn’t fully understand.
“Please,” he repeated.
There was something in his voice–something vulnerable. For a moment, I hated how it made me weak. I didn’t reply. I just reached out and took the bracelet from his hand, slipping it onto my wrist without a word.
Dinner was quiet. He served me pasta, sat across the table, but we barely spoke. It was like both of us were trying to navigate an invisible wall. I didn’t ask what he was doing here.
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He didn’t explain.
When I finished, I stood and started cleaning, but he gently took the plate from my hand.
“I’ll do it. You should rest.”
“I’m fine,” I replied, voice stiff.
He didn’t argue. Just cleaned the dishes while I sat on the couch, watching the quiet buzz of city lights outside my window.
Later, he stood in the hallway, eyes unreadable. “I’ll take the guest room.”
I didn’t stop him.
And I didn’t sleep.
Not really.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart tight. I wanted to ask why he really came. Why he brought food. Why the bracelet. Why the hell he looked at me like that–like I mattered. But I didn’t ask.
Because if I started pulling the thread, I knew I’d unravel. And I couldn’t afford to feel more than what this contract allowed. Not again.
It was around 11 p.m. when I stood in front of the mirror, fixing my lipstick.
Maybe it was petty. Maybe it was foolish. But I needed to forget.
I needed to feel in control again. The bracelet still clung to my wrist like a silent reminder. I ignored it, grabbed my coat, and headed to a bar not far from the apartment.
It wasn’t loud or wild–just warm lights, low music, the kind of place where no one asked questions. I ordered a drink and sat at the bar, letting the quiet hum of the crowd numb me. Then, someone approached. A guy with an easy smile and warm brown eyes. He started talking. I let him.
I laughed at his jokes. Let my fingers brush his on the counter. I didn’t even know his name. But for a second, I felt free. And then I didn’t.
Because suddenly, hands gripped my waist–tight, possessive. I let out a yelp as I was lifted from the stool, swung up like a rag doll.
“What the hell-?!”
I landed over a shoulder–strong and familiar. My stomach flipped, and so did my heart.
“Put me down!” I shrieked, pounding my fists against his back. “ROZEN!”
“Shut up,” he growled, storming toward the exit like a storm in a suit.
People turned to look. Some laughed. Others gasped. I burned with embarrassment and fury.
“You are out of your mind! What are you doing?!”
“I told you not to do this.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do!”
Chapter 12
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He kicked open the bar door and marched into the night, toward his car.
“Put me down right now!”
He didn’t until we reached the passenger side.
He dropped me on my feet, eyes blazing. “Are you seriously trying to make me lose my mind?”
“You already have,” I snapped, shoving his chest. “You dragged me out like some caveman!”
“You were with a stranger. Flirting. Touching-”
“That’s none of your business!”
“You’re my wife!” he shouted, voice raw. “Even if this marriage started as a contract, I still
care!”
The words echoed between us like a slap.
My breath caught.
I stared at him.
His chest was heaving. His hands were clenched. And his eyes–God, his eyes–were filled with something that looked too close to pain.
He looked away first, swiping a hand over his face.
“I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered.
Neither did I.
Because this wasn’t part of the plan.
This wasn’t supposed to be real.
And yet…
As I stood there, wind catching my hair, heart still racing from his touch–I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to be fake anymore.
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