Chapter 5: Jealousy and Confession
1033 Words
Rafael had been gone for three days.
Three days of returning to an empty penthouse. Three days of brewing coffee for one. Of waking up in a half-made bed, the right side untouched. Of wondering whether the way he looked at me that night—soft, open—had been real, or just a crack in a wall that had quickly closed again.
He said it was a business trip to Singapore. Short, routine. Yet something about it didn’t feel routine at all.
His absence settled into the rooms like a silence I hadn’t chosen. The studio felt colder. My sketches more hollow. Even the city outside our window seemed more distant.
I missed him.
I hated that I missed him.
So when Clara invited me to a gala hosted by one of the Vega Foundation’s partners, I said yes without hesitation. I needed distraction. I needed a reason to wear something other than pajamas. I needed to feel like someone other than Rafael Vega’s contract wife.
The gala was at the Grand Luna Hotel, and every inch of it gleamed with money. Crystal chandeliers, a string quartet, champagne that fizzed like silk.
I wore a dark emerald satin gown—my favorite color. Rafael once said it suited me, that it reminded him of pine forests and stormy oceans. The memory shouldn’t have made my heart race.
But it did.
Clara looped her arm through mine as we entered the ballroom.
"Okay," she whispered, her lips barely moving. "He’s not here. You can relax."
"I wasn’t looking for him," I lied.
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Please. If you craned your neck any further, I’d have to call a chiropractor."
I laughed despite myself. Clara always saw through me. She’d been my best friend since university—unafraid to call me out but fiercely loyal.
As the evening unfolded, I allowed myself to unwind. I sipped wine. Chatted with a few architects I admired. Even smiled when a man from a publishing firm complimented my design for the Vega charity school.
"It was warm," he said. "Like someone finally remembered the kids were human beings, not just statistics."
I didn’t expect the words to mean so much. But they did. Because someone had noticed. Not Rafael. Not the board. Just a stranger with a heart.
We talked for a while—nothing flirtatious, just easy. I learned his name was Anton. He had kind eyes. He made me laugh.
And that’s when I felt it.
A shift.
The atmosphere around me changed. Like the air tightened.
I turned, instinct prickling down my spine.
Rafael.
Standing near the bar in a black tux, watching me. Sharp and unreadable.
I blinked, unsure if I was imagining him. But when I looked again, he was still there. A glass in hand. Eyes locked on mine.
My breath caught.
He shouldn’t be back yet.
He shouldn’t be here.
He started walking toward me.
Anton followed my gaze and stepped back slightly. "Is that... Vega?"
"Yeah," I murmured, my voice tight.
Rafael reached us in a few measured strides. He gave Anton a polite nod—cold, dismissive. Then turned to me.
"Samira. I wasn’t aware you’d be attending."
I met his gaze, steady despite the sudden hammer of my heart. "You didn’t ask."
A long pause.
He looked at the wine in my hand. Then at Anton. Then back at me.
"Can we talk?"
Anton, bless him, offered a quiet excuse and walked away.
Rafael didn’t speak again until we were in the corridor, outside the ballroom. The music throbbed behind us like a second heartbeat.
"You didn’t answer my texts," he said.
"You sent three. ‘Landed.’ ‘Busy.’ ‘Fine.’ I didn’t think they needed replies."
"You were with him."
"Anton? He’s a publisher. We were talking about the foundation project."
He stepped closer. "He touched your arm."
"Are you jealous?"
He didn’t answer.
I almost laughed. "You disappear for three days without warning, and now you’re angry because I made conversation at a gala?"
"It’s not about conversation."
"Then what is it?"
He ran a hand through his hair. Frustrated. Vulnerable.
"I didn’t expect to feel like this."
That silenced me.
He exhaled slowly. "I came back early. I was going to surprise you. I even brought your favorite kaya toast. But then I saw you. Smiling at him like that. And I—"
He broke off.
Something wild rose in my chest.
"You were jealous," I whispered. "You actually care."
"I do," he said.
And then—he stepped closer. So close I could smell the faint citrus of his cologne. Feel the heat rolling off him.
"This was supposed to be a contract," he said. "A business arrangement. But I—"
He hesitated. Eyes dark, voice low.
"I keep looking for you in every room. I wake up and hope you’re still beside me. I walk through the door and wonder if you’ve left."
My heart pounded.
"Then why do you keep pushing me away?"
He closed his eyes. "Because I don’t know how to keep you without breaking you."
I didn’t mean to reach for him.
But I did.
My hand found his. Fingers curling between his like they belonged there.
"Then let me decide that," I said.
He opened his eyes.
And something broke in him.
He leaned down, forehead resting against mine.
"Come home with me," he said.
I nodded.
The car ride back was silent. But not cold. Not tense. It felt... charged.
When we stepped into the penthouse, Rafael turned to me. No words. Just a look. And then—finally—his mouth found mine.
It wasn’t a fairytale kiss.
It was desperate. Gentle. Fierce. Real.
Like he’d been waiting for this since the first day we said "I do."
We broke apart only when breathing became a necessity.
He cupped my face. "This... whatever this is—it’s real. Isn’t it?"
I nodded. "It is."
He smiled. A rare, soft thing.
Then he kissed me again.
And for the first time in this whole arrangement, it didn’t feel like pretending.
It felt like beginning.
Like something more than paper and ink.
Like home.
- Writer
