Chapter Five: Jealousy Game
536 Words
Isabelle didn’t expect to see him again—Ethan Royce, her college friend, her almost-something, the only man who ever knew her before life got messy.
And certainly not here, at a gala surrounded by suits worth more than small countries.
But there he was.
Tall, charming, with that crooked smile that used to make her forget exams and curfews.
“Belle?” he said, stunned.
She turned, stunned too. “Ethan? What the hell—?”
“I just joined the charity board,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Long story.” She glanced over her shoulder.
Alexander was across the room, talking to some oil tycoon—but his gaze was already fixed on her.
And Ethan.
She could feel it like a laser between her shoulder blades.
They talked for five minutes.
That’s all.
Five minutes of old jokes and casual teasing.
But when Alexander approached, his smile was arctic.
“I see you’ve met someone,” he said to Ethan, his hand finding Isabelle’s waist like it had been there forever.
Ethan extended a hand. “Ethan Royce. Old friend.”
“Alexander Wolfe,” he said, not shaking it. “Current fiancé.”
There was a pause.
An ugly one.
Ethan chuckled awkwardly. “Well—lucky man.”
“I know,” Alexander said without blinking. “She’s not available for interviews, reunions, or nostalgic what-ifs.”
Isabelle stepped in. “Okay, I think that’s enough testosterone for one room.”
Ethan looked uncomfortable. “Good seeing you, Belle.”
“You too,” she said.
He walked away.
Alexander didn’t.
Instead, he turned to her, voice low and sharp. “That looked cozy.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You blushed like a schoolgirl.”
“He’s a friend.”
“Is that what you call men who look at you like they want to undress you?”
“Maybe I like being looked at like that.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
His jaw clenched. “Don’t play games with me.”
“You kissed me last night like you meant it,” she said, stepping closer, voice tight. “Then pulled away like it disgusted you. You want a puppet? Pick someone spineless.”
“I want control,” he said.
“You can’t control feelings.”
He stared at her for a long, loaded second. Then—
He grabbed her arm.
Pulled her into a nearby hallway.
Empty. Quiet. Dim.
“You want real?” he growled. “Fine.”
Then he kissed her.
Not for the crowd. Not for the cameras.
For himself.
It was a brutal, bruising kiss—full of anger and possession. His hands tangled in her hair, hers pressed to his chest, heart pounding so loud she couldn’t think.
When they broke apart, breathless, she slapped him.
Hard.
“You don’t get to own me,” she said.
He didn’t flinch. Just whispered, “Then stop letting me.”
She turned and walked away.
And for the first time, Alexander didn’t chase her.
Because he didn’t trust what he might do if he caught her.
- Writer
