THE ALPHA'S DEADLY ADDICTION

Chapter 12: Clickbait

Jason’s pov

The door slid open behind me.

"You know, most boyfriends would defend their girlfriends," Gianna said quietly.

I didn't turn around. "Most girlfriends are real."

"Ouch." But there was no heat in it. She came to stand beside me, pulling a cigarette from her clutch and leaning against the railing. "Got a light?"

I handed her my lighter.

She lit up, exhaling smoke into the night. "You don't have a heart, do you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That bothering you?"

"A little. What kind of boyfriend throws his girl to the wolves like that?" She gestured back toward the party. "I just got verbally eviscerated in there and you didn't even look up from your phone."

"Did I not pay you enough for such inconveniences?"

She laughed, sharp and bitter. "Jesus. You really are cold."

"You knew what this was when you agreed to it."

"I know. It's just—" She took another drag. "We're supposed to be convincing people that you like me enough to venture into the Scarlet District for me. Like me enough to take a beating. Like me enough to date me despite the 'family feud' or whatever dramatic bullshit the gossip sites are calling it."

I flicked ash over the railing. "And?"

"And you can't even pretend to give a s**t when someone attacks me to my face."

"You handled yourself fine."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

She turned to look at me, her expression frustrated. "The point is you're supposed to be acting. Playing a role. And you can't even do that because you're too busy scrolling through your phone, waiting for her to text you back like a lovesick puppy."

I went still. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on." She gestured at me with her cigarette. "You think I haven't noticed? You've been checked out all night. Staring at your phone, waiting for a text from whoever that girl is. The real one."

"I don't know what you're—"

"Save it." She cut me off. "I'm not an i***t, Jace. You're paying me to be your fake girlfriend to protect someone. And that someone is definitely not me."

Silence stretched between us.

"She texted you yet?" Gianna asked quietly.

"No."

"That why you're out here? Brooding and chain-smoking like some tragic hero?"

I didn't answer.

Gianna studied me for a long moment, then shook her head. "You know what? She's lucky."

That got my attention. "Why would you say that?"

"Because." She gestured at my phone, still clutched in my hand. "The way you look at her pictures. The way you check your messages every thirty seconds. The way you went through all this—" She waved her hand vaguely, encompassing the fake relationship, the party, everything. "—just to protect her."

She took one last drag of her cigarette and stubbed it out against the railing.

"I wish someone looked at me like that," she said softly, almost to herself. "I wish someone would go to those lengths for me."

There was something in her voice. Something wistful and aching and deeply lonely.

"The married professor?" I guessed.

Her laugh was hollow. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"He wasn't married when we started," she said. "Or at least, I didn't know he was. By the time I found out..." She trailed off, staring out at the city. "Doesn't matter now. He chose his wife. Obviously."

"Obviously."

"You'd choose her, wouldn't you?" Gianna asked. "Your girl. If it came down to it—your family, your reputation, your entire life on one side, and her on the other. You'd choose her."

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"See?" She smiled, sad and small. "Lucky girl."

We stood there in silence, two people playing pretend for very different reasons, both thinking about people we couldn't have.

Or in my case—couldn't have yet.

My phone buzzed.

I nearly dropped my cigarette scrambling to check it.

Angel: Stop texting me

Angel: I'm fine

Angel: Go back to your party

Relief flooded through me so fast I felt dizzy.

She was okay. She was safe. She was...

Still pushing me away.

I typed back immediately: I'd rather be with you

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Angel: You're impossible

Me: So you keep saying

Me: Doesn't make it less true

Angel: Goodnight, Jason

Me: Dream of me

This time, she didn't respond.

But I could picture her rolling her eyes, fighting a smile, maybe touching her lips where I'd kissed her earlier.

The tightness in my chest eased slightly.

"She texted?" Gianna asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. You were starting to look serial-killer-level obsessive."

I huffed a laugh. "Probably because I am."

"Well." She pushed off the railing. "At least you're self-aware. That's something."

She headed back toward the door, then paused.

"Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't f**k this up. Whatever you're planning, whatever you're doing to protect her—don't f**k it up. Girls like us, we don't get many chances at something real. When it comes along..." She looked back at me. "Don't let her go."

Then she was gone, slipping back into the chaos of the party.

I stayed on the balcony, smoking and staring at Angel's last text.

Goodnight, Jason.

"Goodnight, Angel," I murmured to the empty air.

Somewhere across the city, she was probably in bed. Maybe still tasting me on her lips the way I was still tasting her. Maybe thinking about what had happened in that study room.

Maybe already trying to convince herself to walk away.

My jaw tightened.

Not happening.

She could run. She could fight. She could try to push me away.

But I wasn't going anywhere.

I'd burn down the entire world before I let her go.

The thought should've scared me.

It didn't.

I finished my cigarette, flicked it over the railing, and pulled out my phone one more time.

Opened the chess app I'd been using to think through my strategy.

Studied the board.

The black queen, surrounded by white pieces.

The sacrificial pawn, placed between her and danger.

I moved another piece into position.

Then another.

Slowly building the trap that would keep her safe.

Even if she didn't know it yet.

Even if she hated me for it.

I'd be her villain if that's what it took.

As long as she was mine.