Friday night rolled in slow, like fog seeping through the city's edges. The sky turned a muted gray. Everything felt softer. Still. As if the whole world had taken a deep breath and didn't know how to let it go.
The skyline dimmed. Shadows thickened between the buildings. Streetlights blinked to life, one by one, like little stars too tired to shine.
In her bedroom, Jenny sat still.
A small golden invitation card rested on her vanity. It looked expensive. The kind of expensive that didn't need to try.
The paper was heavy. Textured. The letters were embossed in deep, elegant strokes. When she picked it up, she caught the faint scent of rich ink. That smell—strange and heady—reminded her of old libraries and new money.
The words read:"Universe Fine Jewelry — 5th Anniversary Gala."
Universe. One of the Watson Group's newer brands. Damon used to roll his eyes every time the name came up.
"It's a disaster," he'd say. "Burning cash like confetti."
She had heard that line more than once.
But a few months ago, the company had changed hands. Their father gave it to James. Just like that. He told him to fix it. Make it profitable in a year. Double it in three.
It was supposed to be a test. A challenge. But everyone knew what it really was.
It was exile.
Damon, of course, stayed close to the throne. The hotel division. The Watson family's crown jewel. That's where the real power lived. Damon had been trained there. Groomed for it. Ever since college.
Now he was working on a growth strategy. Another test. Another chance to prove himself. On paper, it looked fair.
In reality? Not even close.
Everyone knew the truth. Their father had already made up his mind. He never planned to let James near the hotels.
Jewelry was just a sandbox. A side hustle. Pretty but pointless.
But Damon didn't see it that way.
To Damon, James was a threat. Always had been.
James was the storm just beyond the horizon. Quiet. Steady. Impossible to pin down. And somehow, always just… there.
He didn't brag. Didn't fight. But things worked when James touched them. That's what scared Damon the most.
And now this gala? It wasn't just a party. It was James's big moment.
A stage. A spotlight.
Damon wouldn't let that go without a fight.
Jenny's phone buzzed.
She looked down. Damon.
His name filled the screen, followed by a long international number. Swiss.
She answered. Hit speaker. Let her voice melt into something soft. Something warm. Something practiced.
"Miss me already?"
There was a pause. Then Damon's voice came through. He sounded tired. But his tone was the same as always—tight, controlled, just a little clipped.
"Go to the Universe gala tonight," he said.
It wasn't a suggestion.
Jenny let her fingers drift over the invitation card. She smiled, slow and unhurried.
"That's James's event. Don't you think it'd be… awkward?"
"What's awkward about it?" His tone sharpened. "You're my wife. The lady of the Watson house."
There it was. That possessive edge. Damon didn't hide it. He never had.
"Talk to the other women. Find out what they're wearing. What styles they like. James doesn't know anything about what women want."
A bitter little laugh slipped out on his end. Low and tight.
Jenny smiled again. But it didn't reach her eyes.
He's always like this, she thought. Always trashing James. Always pretending not to care. But deep down? He was obsessed. Terrified James might take what was "his."
"Alright," she said sweetly. "I'll dress up. I'll look my absolute best."
"Good girl."
And just like that, the call ended.
Jenny stared at the phone for a long second. Then she picked up the invitation. She studied the logo. The ink. The elegance of it all.
Then a new thought slipped into her head.
She dialed another number.
It rang longer than expected. She pictured James—probably somewhere in his study, surrounded by reports and silence.
Then he answered.
"James."
"Jenny."
His voice was calm. Deep. Quiet. The kind of quiet that made you listen harder.
"Do you have a date for the gala tonight?" she asked.
The words came out faster than she expected.
There was a pause.
"I'd feel awkward going alone," she added quickly. "Damon's away. And it is your night. Don't you think it's… appropriate? That I go with the man in charge?"
She tilted her tone. Just a little. A small tease. A light dare.
Another pause.
Then: "7 p.m. The driver will be waiting."
Simple. No question. No hesitation.
At 7 sharp, a black Lincoln slid up to the curb. The city was glowing now. Gold light spilled from the windows. The air was crisp, almost damp. A hint of rain in the distance.
Jenny stepped into the car.
Inside, it was warm. Quiet. The leather seats cradled her like an expensive secret. She wore a deep emerald gown. Silk. Smooth. The fabric clung to her like water.
James sat beside her.
He leaned back, one arm resting on the door. His eyes were closed. But his presence filled the space between them.
The partition rose. Slowly. Deliberately.
Now they were sealed in. Just the two of them. No driver. No city noise. Only breath. Only silence.
Jenny turned her head.
James smelled like cedarwood. Clean. Dry. Subtle. It mixed with the leather. And heat. And something else she couldn't quite name.
Her dress whispered when she shifted. The hem brushed his trousers, feather-light. Almost accidental.
Almost.
She glanced at his knee.
She remembered the story. The fall. The clean break. She'd overheard Damon mention it once, in that offhand, cruel way he had.
Rain made it worse. So did cold.
Nights like this? Probably agony.
She moved closer.
"Is it hurting?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
He didn't answer.
But she knew.
"I've learned a few massage techniques," she said. "Might help."
She didn't wait for a yes.
Her hand drifted to his leg. Gently. Carefully.
She touched his knee. Pressed lightly. Slowly. Her fingers moved up the muscle, steady and sure. She wasn't teasing.
Not exactly.
Her hands were soft but confident. Her touch—measured. Focused.
But the air between them? Thick. Quiet. Dangerous.
James didn't move. But his body had changed. His breath had deepened.
Her fingers traced a small circle, just above the knee.
Not too much. Not too little.
She looked down. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
Outside, the city flashed past in streaks of gold and blue. Neon lights flickered over their skin.
Jenny leaned in, just a little.
"Better?" she asked.
She looked up. Their eyes met.
Her lips parted slightly. Her fingers didn't move away.
James didn't speak.
He just looked at her.
Still. Calm. Intense.
Then the car began to slow.
Bright light spilled through the windows. The hotel entrance loomed ahead, all crystal and shine.
Jenny's hand dropped away.
She sat back. Composed. Elegant. As if nothing had happened.
The door opened.
The night was just beginning.
Jenny didn't move. Not yet.
She sat in silence, her hand still warm from touching him.
Outside, the car was nearing the venue. The city glittered beyond the window.
She looked at James again. He hadn't said a word. But his jaw was tighter. His breath—slightly deeper.
And then he opened his eyes.
He turned. Just enough to meet her gaze.
Not a smile. Not a frown. Just… awareness.
Something unspoken passed between them. Like the quiet just before thunder.
Then the car slowed. The driver spoke through the intercom.
"We've arrived, sir."
Jenny sat up straighter. She reached for her clutch.
Her voice was smooth. Almost amused.
"Let's give them something to talk about."