Jason didn’t remember much of the drive home. His driver, Leo, spoke once or twice, asking if he wanted to stop for coffee or head straight to the penthouse, but Jason barely registered the words. His mind replayed the same scene in a vicious loop: Jonathan—calm, smug, carrying lilies—placing them on Gigi’s table as if he belonged there.
The worst part wasn’t the flowers. It wasn’t even the timing. It was the way Gigi had received them. She hadn’t swooned, hadn’t melted, but she also hadn’t pushed them away. She had accepted them, her polite smile softening just enough to ignite something ugly in Jason’s chest.
By the time he stepped out of the car and into his private elevator, he was simmering. He wanted to punch something, and that realization only made him angrier. Jason Jae didn’t l
