Selena's fingers froze above the keyboard when she heard her name fall from Jace's lips.
"Selena. Come here."
Her heart thudded. She swallowed, stood from her corner desk, and slowly walked toward him. The room felt suddenly smaller, the distance between them shrinking with every step.
Jace leaned back in his chair, arms folded, gaze fixed on her like he was studying something he couldn't fully understand. His eyes swept across her face—searching, examining, almost… hoping.
But Selena kept her expression calm. Collected. Unbothered.
When she finally stood before him, he didn't speak immediately. He just looked at her, quietly, intensely.
That was enough to make her pulse skip.
Jace cleared his throat. "Earlier… when Melissa came over." His voice was low, rougher than usual. "Are you offended?"
Selena blinked, confused. "Offended?"
"Yes." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You didn't show anything. No anger. No irritation. No jealousy. But at least…" He paused. The words seemed to stick in his throat. "At least tell me how you feel."
There it was. The question she didn't expect.
The question he didn't usually care to ask.
Selena breathed in slowly. She kept her face calm, her voice gentle.
"I'm not bothered, Jace."
His brows pulled together sharply.
She continued, quiet but steady. "Melissa came here because of work. And it's not like she's the first woman who… likes you."
His jaw tightened.
"And besides," she added softly, with a little smile, "I know my place. We're in a contract marriage for only three months. This is just the second month. I'm not supposed to feel anything, remember?"
Her words hit him harder than she realized.
Jace stared at her—stunned, annoyed, and something deeper flickered in his eyes.
She waited, but he said nothing.
So Selena nodded politely, stepping back. "Don't worry. I'll act my part well. You won't have any problems from me."
That single sentence shattered something inside him.
He didn't show it, but his fingers curled under the desk, and his eyes turned colder—not at her, but at the storm brewing inside his own chest.
He was angry.
Mad.
Frustrated.
Because the more she spoke like that, the more it felt like ice creeping silently into his bones.
She doesn't love him at all.
Not even a little.
Not even enough to be jealous.
It irritated him in ways he didn't have control over.
Selena looked up again, confused by the tension in his face. "Is something wrong?"
Jace didn't answer immediately. His throat bobbed, eyes still locked with hers, unreadable.
Finally, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. "You can return to your desk."
His tone was calmer, but colder—like he was trying to cage something burning inside him.
Selena nodded again and turned away. She walked back to her corner, settling into her seat, unaware of the storm brewing in his mind.
But Jace didn't take his eyes off her.
Not even for a second.
Not because of anger…
But because every time she reminded him "it's just a contract," it felt like she was digging her fingers into something inside him he had long buried.
Why doesn't she care?
Why does it not bother her when women throw themselves at me?
Why is she so calm? So distant? So sure I mean nothing to her…?
He hated it.
He hated how much it bothered him.
Selena, feeling the weight of his gaze, looked up for a brief second.
Their eyes met.
She quickly looked away, pretending to focus on her screen.
Jace looked away too—but only after a moment longer than he should have.
He pressed a hand against his forehead, exhaling deeply.
He shouldn't care.
He shouldn't feel anything.
He shouldn't be affected by her words.
But he was.
More than he wanted to admit.
Selena typed quietly, unaware that every tap of her keyboard echoed painfully loud in Jace's chest.
He leaned back again, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
You're not supposed to matter this much, he thought bitterly.
But damn it… you do.
And as the silence settled between them, Jace Arinston—cold CEO, feared by many, admired by the powerful—sat there battling the one emotion he never planned to feel.
Jealousy.
Possessiveness.
And a growing, quiet fear…
That the woman sitting just a few feet away might never look at him the way he desperately wanted her to.