Chapter 9: Jealousy at First Sight
1060 Words
The waltz ended.
The applause thundered.
But Elara barely heard it. Her heart was still lodged somewhere in her throat, and her skin burned with the ghost of Ares’s hands. When he released her, it felt like being dropped back into a world she no longer belonged to.
She took a measured step back. The ballroom roared around them with laughter and the clinking of glasses, but inside her, everything had gone quiet.
The moment had meant nothing.
And yet it had meant everything.
She told herself it was the spotlight. The music. The illusion of romance.
She told herself Ares Blackwood hadn’t almost kissed her.
She told herself she didn’t want him to try again.
She was lying.
“You did well,” he said beside her, his voice cool as ever.
She glanced at him. His face was unreadable. The CEO mask was firmly back in place.
Just like that, the man who had pulled her close and whispered dangerous truths had vanished.
Back was the man who reminded her, at every turn, that this marriage was a performance.
“Quite the performance,” a new voice said from behind her — low, amused, and unfamiliar.
Elara turned, startled, and came face-to-face with a stranger.
A tall man stood before her, dressed in a navy suit that looked like it had been cut from the fabric of arrogance. His smile was lazy, his posture casual, but his eyes — icy blue — were sharp. Calculating.
He held a champagne flute with practiced ease, his gaze fixed on her like she was something interesting beneath glass.
“Nathan Hart,” he said smoothly. “CEO of Hart International. But I imagine you already know that.”
Elara blinked.
She did.
Everyone did.
Nathan Hart was one of the most powerful men in the country — a direct rival to Blackwood Enterprises. Tabloids loved pitting him and Ares against each other like warring gods.
“I’ve heard of you,” she said politely.
“And yet I never heard a whisper about you until a month ago,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Ares must’ve hidden you well.”
The implication curled through the air like smoke.
Ares, who had gone still beside her, didn’t respond.
Nathan sipped his champagne, gaze flicking between the two of them.
“You danced beautifully,” he added to Elara. “Though if I’m being honest, I was watching you more than the steps.”
Her mouth parted slightly.
He was flirting with her. Openly. In front of her husband.
She glanced at Ares, waiting for some response — a rebuke, a glare, anything.
But he stood perfectly still, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable.
“You must have men lining up at events like this,” Nathan went on, leaning in slightly. “Is your marriage as cold as the rumors say, Mrs. Blackwood?”
The use of her name felt like a slap disguised as silk.
Before she could speak — to shut him down or laugh it off — Ares moved.
Swift.
Silent.
Lethal.
He stepped in front of her, placing himself directly between her and Nathan, his broad shoulders cutting off her view entirely.
“Nathan,” Ares said, his voice low and sharp, “still mistaking other men’s wives for your personal entertainment?”
Nathan raised his eyebrows, clearly amused.
“Just making conversation.”
Ares smiled — but it was the kind of smile that meant danger.
“Then find someone else to bother,” he said. “Before I forget this is a charity event and not a goddamn battleground.”
For a moment, the air between the two titans crackled with something electric.
Then Nathan chuckled and stepped back.
“Easy, Blackwood,” he said lightly. “Chains don’t always keep a beautiful bird from flying away.”
With a nod to Elara and a mocking half-bow to Ares, Nathan disappeared into the crowd.
Elara exhaled, tension leaking from her shoulders — until she felt Ares’s hand close around her wrist.
Hard. Not painful. But firm.
“What the hell was that?” he hissed, dragging her away from the crowd.
“A conversation,” she snapped, yanking her arm free.
“Inappropriate,” he growled.
“Polite,” she corrected. “You weren’t exactly throwing conversation my way tonight.”
“You were smiling at him.”
She stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“You let him get close.”
“You mean I didn’t slap him in front of the entire board of directors?” she shot back.
Ares’s eyes blazed. “You were inviting him.”
“That’s not what happened, and you know it.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s acceptable,” he said darkly. “You’re my wife.”
“You keep saying that like it means something,” she whispered.
“It means everything.”
He stepped closer, towering over her. “You are mine.”
The words hit her like a blow — but not out of fear.
Because deep down, she wanted to know what it meant to be his.
His protectiveness.
His touch.
Even his fury…
They made her feel something terrifyingly close to wanted.
But she couldn’t let herself want him.
So she stepped back.
“Then act like it,” she said quietly. “Not just when another man looks at me. Not just when your pride’s on the line. Be my husband — or stop pretending to care.”
He stared at her, breathing hard.
For a second, she thought he might actually say something honest.
Instead, he turned away.
And walked off, leaving her standing alone beneath a chandelier made of crystal and lies.
⸻
Later that night, Elara stood at the penthouse window, her arms wrapped around herself.
Ares hadn’t said a word in the car.
Not one.
He hadn’t looked at her once.
But when they walked through the front doors, his hand had ghosted over the small of her back, guiding her inside like she was something precious.
Not property.
Not obligation.
But… precious.
And that contradiction was unraveling her.
She didn’t know how much longer she could stay in this cold war without setting herself on fire.
Because if she kept burning for Ares Blackwood…
There would be nothing left of her to save.
⸻
- Writer
