Chapter 144

Men were baffling creatures. Even after years together, I still couldn’t fully decipher Jared. What was the point of this sudden poetic introspection?

Sweet talk had never been his style—hell, he wasn’t even good at it. The Jared I knew was unshakably composed, a man who strategized his way out of every problem with cold precision.

A mind that sharp, paired with emotions? Dangerous. It made him twice as lethal, twice as magnetic. What woman could resist that kind of duality?

“You’ve been awfully smooth lately, Jared,” I said, clasping my hands behind my back with an innocent tilt of my head. “Who’s been coaching you?”

His expression flickered—just for a second—before freezing over. The moment his sincerity was questioned, its value crumbled.

“Victoria,” he gritted out, taking another irritated drag. “What are you implying now?”

I shrugged. “Nothing at all. But you’re awfully quick to assume. Guilty conscience, maybe?”

His jaw tightened. He stubbed out the cigarette violently and turned away. “Let’s go. It’s late.”

He couldn’t even look me in the eye. Good. Jared’s fickleness was nothing new. He’d always wanted his cake and someone else’s, too. The only difference now? I’d finally adopted the same mindset.

Funny how perspective changes everything. Once your standards rise, even the most expertly crafted lies lose their flavor.

The hotel car glided through the city, a chauffeur handling the late-night drive. Exhausted, I leaned back and closed my eyes, drifting into a light doze.

Then, an arm wrapped around me, pulling me against a firm chest. I blinked awake to find myself pressed against Jared, his scent still tinged with the faint, smoky bitterness of his earlier cigarette.

A pang of bitterness twisted inside me. Now he decides to be affectionate—now, when I no longer love him. Where was this tenderness during all those years of marriage? He’d never been this gentle before.

I remembered all the times I’d tried to seduce him—fresh from the shower, wearing nothing but his dress shirt, slipping into his study with deliberate allure. His response? A detached “Not now. I’m in a meeting. People might see.”

The memory of his indifference stung. I stiffened and pulled away. Jared, who’d also been resting his eyes, frowned as his arms emptied. He cracked one lid open, studying me with that unnerving intensity.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I muttered under his heavy gaze. He said nothing, just closed his eyes again, letting me go without argument.

By the time we returned to the hotel, it was past 2 AM. I headed straight for the shower, assuming Jared—already cleaned up—would be asleep by the time I finished.

But when I stepped out in my silk pajamas, there he stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a half-finished glass of red wine in hand, silhouetted against the dimming city lights. My stomach dropped. Not this again.

At the sound of my footsteps, he turned. Slowly, deliberately, he set the glass aside and prowled toward me, every movement a liquid grace. “Tonight,” he murmured, voice rough, “Can I?”

I arched a brow, “It’s late. I’m not in the mood.”

Jared ignored me. His palm—warm, slightly calloused—cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip. “For the penthouse suite,” he coaxed, low and husky, “give me a reward.”

Outside, the city pulsed with light, a glittering testament to greed and desire. His mouth found my collarbone, teeth grazing skin. I tilted my head back, letting him deepen the kiss, my gaze fixed on the neon glow beyond the glass.