Jessie's POV
I look around as people are preoccupied with each other or with themselves. It has been years since I found myself in these elite parties or whatever this is. Then I belonged because that was the life I was accustomed to; now, I feel like an outsider.
As I continue to look around, I see a tall, handsome man striding toward me. He has a smile, and I don't know if it is meant for me because I don't know him. I am more surprised when he stops in front of me.
"Hello, Mrs. Cooper?" he says.
I'm caught off guard. "H-Hello," I stammer, just as Oliver joins us.
"I am sorry my ass friend didn't introduce us; I am Christian Thorne," he smiles, and I hate that he makes me flush. "What shall I call you, Madame?" he asks.
I catch Oliver glaring at Christian, his expression dark. "I think I just saw Katerina," Oliver says flatly.
"Where?" The man swivels excitedly, his eyes scanning the room, i see disappointment wash over him and turn to see what it is. He is staring at a very beautiful woman who just walked in with a man.
He turns back to me, "So tell me, what shall I call you?" he persists, completely ignoring Oliver's warning look .
"Jessica," I reply curtly, hoping I can soon fade back into the background.
"Jessica," he repeats, sounding thoughtful. "Jessica Jonesâone of my favorite superheroes," Christian adds with a grin.
"Not surprised. Grey areas are your favorite spots," Oliver mutters under his breath.
"You still think she's an antihero," Christian scoffs, and they immediately start bickering like an old married couple. I have no idea what their relationship is, but it's clear they don't agree on much.
"Excuse me," I say softly, turning to walk away, desperate to find a quiet place to hide.
I don't manage to take another step before my arm is grabbed, and I check to find it is Oliver.
"Come with me," he whispers, his tone leaving no room for objection.
I don't object; I follow him as he leads me to his bedroomâthe room we shared our first night together. He pushes the door open; nothing has changed. It is neatly kept; his workers do a great work.
Then I notice something new: a photo of our wedding on his nightstand. It wasn't there before.
His eyes follow where mine are fixed. "Did you receive the email?" he asks instead.
"Mmh," I nod, though my eyes are still glued to the picture.
The photo looks so good; I don't remember him looking at me like that. We took so many photos where he was all grumpy and I was half-drunk. This specific photo doesn't reflect that day. Did he have it photoshopped and edited? And why does he have it in his room?
"Then why didn't you respond or offer your opinion? Or are you satisfied with the terms?" he continues, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Does it even matter what I think?" I ask, finally pulling my attention away from the picture.
I see him reach for his back. He inhales sharply, the sound barely audible but enough to catch my attention. For a split second, his eyes flashâsomething raw and unguardedâbefore he blinks it away.
"Are you okay? What can I do? Should I call someone? Why am I even asking that? I will call for help," all these words keep flowing out.
What am I supposed to do? The grimace on his face is unmistakable. He's in pain.
"I am fine, Jessie," he snaps.
"But..."
"But what, Jessie?" he spits.
"I just want to be of help," I whisper.
"I don't need your pity," he says, rubbing his forehead. "And that is not why I brought you here."
"Then why did you bring me here? Miss me already?" I tease, hoping to ease the tension.
His lips quirk up at one corner, a flash of amusement darting across his face. "In your dreams," he replies.
Silence falls as I watch him, aware of the fact he is in dire pain, just forcing himself to look okay.
He moves across the room slowly, as though every step takes more effort than he'd ever admit.
"I brought you here," he finally says, his voice softer now, "because I need you to understand something." He straightens up, pulling his back into a rigid posture that looks painful. His eyes fix on me, dark and piercing. "Tonight is just business. I need you to smile, make small talk, and act like you belong. You're Mrs. Cooper now, and you need to play the part."
There's a bitter taste in my mouth at his words. Play the part. That's all this is to himâa performance. Just an agreement. A contract.
I know it shouldn't bother me, but it does.
"I never wanted this for you," he adds, his voice almost too low to hear, but I catch it. There's something in his tone that makes my chest tighten. Regret?
He looks at me then. "Understood?" he asks, his voice back to business.
I nod, my throat tight, unable to form the words. I feel like I'm suffocating in this room, trapped.
As if Grey's rejection and betrayal wasn't painful enough, now I'm married to a man who can't stand me.
He takes a step closer, the space between us shrinking until I can feel the heat of him, so close now. "They will expect us to share a kiss tonight," he says.
I don't know why, but my breath catches. It's stupid, really. But the way his gaze drops to my lips for the briefest of momentsâit's enough to make my heart race. He's so close, and for a second, I think... maybe...
"Please seek whatever excuse that is believable to ensure that kiss doesn't happen," he finishes, then, as quickly as it started, the moment shatters.
There's a knock on the door. I jump, startled, and Oliver pulls back, his face a mask of indifference once again.
"Jessie," my mother's voice calls from the other side of the door. "The guests are waiting for you."
I glance at Oliver, who's already turning away, his expression unreadable.
"Go," he mutters, his voice flat. "You have a role to play."
I nod, my heart sinking as I head toward the door, leaving him behind in the quiet of his pain. As I turn the handle, I glance back at him one last time. He doesn't look at me, his back turned.
I step out into the hallway, the noise of the party rushing back into my ears, but I can still feel the weight of his words: ensure that kiss doesn't happen.
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