Eva POV

The alarm went off at six AM, piercing through the heavy silence that had settled over our bedroom like fog.

I reached out and slapped it off with more force than necessary, the sharp crack of my palm against plastic somehow satisfying.

Nathan was already awake beside me. I could tell from his breathing, from the tension radiating off his body, from the way he stared at the ceiling with that rigid jaw that meant he was either furious or thinking too hard.

Probably both.

Neither of us spoke.

The silence between us felt alive, a third presence in the bed, heavy and suffocating and somehow comforting in its familiarity. We'd done this before, this cold war, this dance of anger and stubbornness where neither of us wanted to be the first to break.

I got out of bed first, my feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with purpose. Didn't look at him. Didn't say good morning. Just walked straight to the bathroom and closed the door with deliberate care, not quite a slam but close enough that he'd hear the message.

The shower water was scalding, the way I liked it when I was upset. Hot enough to turn my skin pink, to steam up the mirror completely, to make me feel something other than the complicated knot of emotions sitting in my chest.

If I die, you can't marry anyone else. No means no.

His words from last night echoed in my head, bouncing around like they were looking for a place to settle and finding none.

I scrubbed my skin harder than necessary, as if I could wash away the memory of his demand, the possessiveness in his voice, the fear underneath it all.

But I couldn't.

Because part of me, a part I didn't want to examine too closely, understood exactly where it came from.

When I emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, wrapped in a towel with my hair dripping down my back, Nathan was in his closet selecting a tie.

We still hadn't spoken.

I moved to my side of the closet, pulling out my navy work dress professional, put-together, armor for whatever today would bring. I could feel Nathan's presence a few feet away, could hear the soft rustle of fabric as he dressed, could sense him watching me even though I refused to look.

The tension was so thick I could taste it.

I dropped my towel and pulled on my underwear with my back to him, then my dress, struggling slightly with the zipper.

For a moment, I thought he might offer to help like he usually did. Thought I felt him take a step toward me.

But he didn't.

And I didn't ask.

I managed the zipper myself and moved to the bathroom to do my makeup.

My hands were steadier than I expected as I applied foundation, concealer, the familiar routine soothing in its predictability. I was lining my eyes with mascara when I heard Nathan's voice from the bedroom, low and frustrated.

"Where the hell is my wallet?"

I paused, my mascara wand hovering near my lashes.

Through the bathroom mirror, I could see him in the bedroom, checking his pockets, looking on the dresser, that furrow between his brows that appeared when he was irritated.

My eyes scanned the room automatically and spotted it immediately on the nightstand, partially hidden under the thriller novel he'd been reading last night.

For a second, I considered not telling him. Letting him search. Being petty.

But even angry, even hurt, I couldn't do it.

I set down my mascara, walked into the bedroom, grabbed the wallet, and slammed it down on the dresser next to him hard enough that the sound echoed.

He looked at me.

I looked back, jaw set, eyes challenging.

"Thank you," he said finally, his voice clipped, formal, like I was a stranger who'd done him a minor favor.

I didn't respond. Just turned and walked back to the bathroom to finish my makeup.

When I came back out five minutes later, fully dressed with my hair styled and my face done, a coffee mug sat on my side of the dresser.

I stopped, staring at it.

The mug was positioned exactly where I always put it. Steam rose from the dark liquid inside. And I knew without tasting it that it would be exactly how I liked it, cream and two sugars, mixed until the color was that perfect light brown.

He'd made it for me.

Even angry. Even in the middle of our silent war. He'd made my coffee.

I picked up the mug, took a sip. Perfect, as expected.

Nathan was adjusting his tie in the mirror, his movements precise and controlled. I watched his reflection, saw him watching mine.

Our eyes met in the glass.

I squinted at him. He squinted back, that stubborn set to his jaw that I knew so well. Neither of us smiled. Neither of us softened.

But neither of us looked away either.

Finally, I broke the moment by turning and walking out of the bedroom, coffee in hand, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor with sharp precision.

Behind me, I heard Nathan release a long breath.

~

The car ride was torture.

Adam arrived exactly at seven-thirty, as reliable as sunrise, and we both walked out of the penthouse without speaking. The elevator ride down was silent except for the soft mechanical hum. We stood on opposite sides of the small space, both staring at the doors, both refusing to acknowledge the other.

When we reached the lobby, Adam was waiting by the car with his usual professional smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Ashford. Mrs. Ashford."

"Morning, Adam," I said.

Nathan just nodded.

Adam's smile faltered slightly. He wasn't stupid, he could read the temperature between us, could see the way we moved around each other like magnets with the wrong poles facing.

I immediately claimed the window seat on the right side of the car, settling in and turning my entire body toward the glass before Nathan could even get in.

He slid into the left side, positioning himself as far from me as physically possible in the backseat.

We both stared out our respective windows as Adam pulled into Florence's morning traffic.

All I could focus on was Nathan's reflection in my window. The rigid set of his shoulders. The way his jaw clenched and unclenched. The way his fingers drummed once, twice against his thigh before he forced them to stop.

He was just as affected as I was.

Just as miserable in this silence.

I could feel Adam's discomfort radiating from the driver's seat. His shoulders stayed rigid, his eyes firmly on the road, like he was afraid that one wrong glance in the rearview mirror might cause us to explode.

The drive felt endless even though it was only fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of heavy silence, of unspoken words building pressure between us, of both of us too stubborn to be the first to break.

When we finally reached my office building, I had my hand on the door handle before Adam fully stopped.

"Have a good day," Adam said carefully, his voice just a touch too cheerful.

"You too, Adam."

I got out without looking at Nathan. Without saying goodbye. Without the kiss we usually shared before parting—the one where he'd pull me close and murmur "I love you" against my lips and I'd smile and tell him to have a good day.

None of that.

Just slammed the car door and walked toward my building, my heels clicking against the pavement with sharp, angry precision.

I felt his eyes on my back the entire way to the entrance.

Didn't turn around.

~

"What's with all the guards?" Sarah asked the moment I stepped off the elevator.

I followed her gaze and felt my jaw clench.

Three men in dark suits were stationed at various points around our floor, one by the elevator, one near my office door, one by the fire exit. They were trying to be subtle, probably had orders to blend in, but they stuck out like sore thumbs in our creative, casually dressed office environment.

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. "My adamant husband."

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?"

"Everything's fine. He's just being overprotective. As usual." I adjusted my bag on my shoulder. "Ignore them. They're just doing their job."

I walked into my office and closed the door before she could ask more questions, before the concern in her eyes could make me crack and spill everything.

Sitting at my desk, I tried to focus on the Rossini project timeline that needed reviewing. Tried to lose myself in floor plans and material specifications and construction schedules.

But Nathan's words from last night kept echoing in my head, bouncing around like they were looking for a place to settle and finding none.

If I die, you can't marry anyone else. No means no.

"How irrational," I muttered to myself, picking up a pen and tapping it against my desk. "He's thinking all this for something. Making these impossible demands like he has the right to control my entire future, even after death."

But even as I thought it, even as I let the anger build, another voice whispered in the back of my mind.

You promised him. You stood there and promised.

I pushed the thought away and grabbed my phone.

I needed a distraction. Something to think about besides Nathan and his possessive demands and the complicated knot of feelings in my chest.

But right now, shallow distraction sounded perfect.

I opened the instagram app and was immediately greeted by a flood of notifications. Friend requests from people I'd gone to university with, colleagues from industry events, even a few competitors who probably wanted to keep tabs on what Hartmann Atelier was up to.

And right at the top, the very first request that had come in, Kelly Brennan.

I smiled despite my bad mood and accepted immediately.

"Eva Hartmann on social media?" Sarah's voice made me look up.

She was standing in my doorway with a knowing grin that said she'd been waiting for this moment.

"Did hell freeze over? Should I check the weather reports?"

"Shut up."

"No, seriously, this is huge. You've always said social media was a waste of time. You've lectured me about it at least five times."

"I'm bored. Sue me."

Sarah practically bounced into my office like she'd just won the lottery. "We need to take a selfie. Your first post has to be of us. Come on!"

"Sarah, I have work."

"Five seconds. Come on!"

She was already beside me, phone out, angling for the perfect shot before I could protest further. I rolled my eyes but leaned in, managing a smile despite everything churning inside me.

"Perfect! Now post it! Your first Instagram post needs to be something personal, something that shows you're not just a corporate robot."

"Fine, fine."

I took her phone and uploaded but saw Sarah squealed with delight and immediately liked and commented.

Finally dragged you into the 21st century! 

"There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Now start accepting those friend requests. Network, Eva. It's good for business."

She bounced out of my office, leaving me staring at my phone.

I scrolled through the pending requests, accepting the ones from people I actually knew or had worked with. Declined a few obvious bots and random people trying to slide into my DMs with collaboration opportunities.

I was about to close the app when a new request notification appeared.

My finger froze over the screen.

René Martinez.

Of all people. Of all the people who could have found me on social media, it had to be her.

I stared at her profile picture, a woman who looked both familiar and completely different from the René I remembered from university. Her face was rounder, softer. Her hair was shorter. She was smiling genuinely at whoever was taking the photo, none of the calculated seduction she used to employ.

My thumb hovered over the decline button.

Then, curiosity getting the better of me, I accepted her request and sent one back.

She accepted immediately. Like she'd been waiting.

I clicked on her profile, unable to stop myself even though I knew I probably shouldn't care, shouldn't waste time on someone from my past who meant nothing to me now.

René Martinez Livingston, her profile said. Married. Portland, Oregon.

I scrolled through her photos.

Her husband was tagged in multiple photos, Jack Livingston. The name triggered recognition immediately. Jack had been a senior at our university. Quiet, studious, always in the library with thick textbooks and highlighters. He'd been in Nathan's engineering program, though they'd never been close.

So Jack had married René and they'd moved to Portland

I kept scrolling.

Birthday parties. Family vacations to Disney World. Soccer games with two kids, a boy and a girl, maybe seven and five. The mundane, beautiful normalcy of a life well-lived. PTA meetings. Book club posts. Photos of homemade dinners with captions about trying new recipes.

The woman who'd been so obsessed with Nathan, who'd made my college life miserable with her passive aggressive comments and obvious attempts to get his attention, had moved on.

Found love. Built a family. Created a whole life that had nothing to do with Nathan Ashford.

A notification popped up as I was staring at a photo of René and Jack at what looked like a wine tasting.

René Martinez Livingston liked your photo.

I closed Instagram immediately, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn't quite name.

And then the memories came flooding back, sharp and unwanted.

René glaring at me across the university cafeteria while I sat with Nathan, her eyes burning with barely concealed hatred.

René accidentally spilling coffee on my design project, then apologizing profusely while her eyes said something entirely different.

René showing up at parties she knew Nathan would be at, dressed in outfits that left little to the imagination, laughing too loud at his jokes, touching his arm whenever she got the chance.

The snide comments she'd make whenever she caught me alone.

"Nathan deserves someone who understands him."

"You don't appreciate what you have, Eva. Some of us would kill for a guy like that."

"He'll realize eventually what he's missing. Men always do."

René had hated me with the intensity only jealousy could fuel. Every breakup Nathan and I had and there had been several in those tumultuous college years she'd swooped in immediately, trying to be there for him, trying to position herself as the better option.

And I'd been possessive right back.

God, I'd been so possessive.

The fights we'd had because I'd seen them studying together in the library and immediately assumed the worst, even though Nathan had been nothing but faithful.

"She wants you," I'd said once, standing in his dorm room with my arms crossed.

"I don't care what she wants," he'd replied, pulling me close.

But I hadn't believed him. Not really. Because the jealousy had eaten at me, made me irrational, made me exactly like....

The realisation hit me like cold water.

Made me exactly like Nathan was now.

I'd been just as possessive in college. Just as jealous. Just as unable to trust that what we had was secure because I was so terrified of losing it.

And René had moved on. Found happiness. Proved that obsession didn't have to define someone forever.

I stared at my phone, at the closed Instagram app, and felt something uncomfortable settle in my chest.

~

I tried to work. Really tried.

But my mind kept drifting to Nathan. To last night. To the private investigator. To Lucia.

The woman was pretty. That thought kept circling, unwanted and insistent. Professional and competent and pretty, with her dark hair and sharp suits and the way she'd smiled at Nathan in that car.

The way she'd looked at him.

I'd seen it, the slight softening in her expression when she spoke to Nathan, the way her body language opened up, the professional warmth that seemed just a touch too warm.

A weird sensation crawled through my body, hot and acidic and far too familiar.

Jealousy.

The same jealousy I'd felt about René. The same possessive, irrational jealousy that had made me miserable in college.

And I hated it. Hated that I was feeling this way. Hated that Nathan had reduced me to this jealous, paranoid version of myself who saw threats in every pretty woman who looked at him.

Except.

Except he wasn't making me feel this way. I was doing it to myself. Just like I'd done in college. Just like I'd always done when it came to people I loved.

Before I could talk myself out of it, before rational thought could prevail, I grabbed my phone and called Adam.

He answered on the second ring. "Mrs. Ashford? Is everything alright?"

"Where's Nathan?"

There was a brief pause, probably Adam checking his calendar or wondering if he should be concerned.

"He's in a meeting with the private investigator. They're going over the latest updates on Mr. Mitchell's whereabouts. Should I have him call you back?"

"No. That's fine. Thank you, Adam."

I hung up and stared at my phone.

Nathan was with her. Right now. Alone in a meeting with the pretty private investigator who looked at him like he was more than just a client.

The jealousy intensified, becoming something I couldn't ignore, couldn't rationalize away.

I grabbed my purse and stood up so abruptly my chair rolled backward and hit the wall.

Sarah looked up from her desk as I passed. "Eva? Where are you going?"

"Need to take care of something. I'll be back in an hour."

"But you have the Moretti call at eleve-"

"Reschedule it."

I was out the door before she could respond, already pulling out my phone to call a cab.

I couldn't use the company car. Couldn't risk Nathan knowing I was coming. This needed to be a surprise.

The cab arrived within five minutes, and I gave the driver the address of Ashford Development with probably more urgency than necessary.

The ride took twenty minutes through Florence's mid-morning traffic. Twenty minutes of me trying to convince myself I wasn't being irrational, that I had every right to check on my husband, that this wasn't exactly the kind of possessive behavior I'd spent last night criticizing Nathan for.

I failed at all three.

But I couldn't stop myself. Didn't want to stop myself.

Because the image of Lucia Ferretti smiling at Nathan, leaning toward him, touching his arm, looking at him like he was available, it burned in my mind like acid.

~

Adam's face registered surprise when I stepped off the elevator at Ashford Development's executive floor.

"Mrs. Ashford! I didn't know you wer-" He stood up from his desk, already reaching for his phone. "Let me inform Mr. Ashford that you're here-"

"Don't."

"Ma'am?"

"Don't tell him I'm here. Which conference room?"

Adam looked torn between professional duty and what was clearly a strong instinct for self-preservation.

"The large conference room at the end of the hall, but, I really should-"

"Thank you, Adam."

I walked past him before he could finish, my heels clicking against the marble floors with purpose.

The conference room door was closed. I could hear voices inside, Nathan's deep tone, a woman's professional cadence, another man's occasional interjection.

I didn't let myself hesitate. Didn't let myself think about what I was doing or whether this was a good idea.

I knocked twice, sharp and authoritative.

"Come in," Nathan called.

I opened the door.

The scene was exactly what I'd expected and somehow worse.

Lucia Ferretti sat directly across from Nathan, looking poised and beautiful in a charcoal gray suit that fit her perfectly. Her dark hair was styled in loose waves that fell just past her shoulders. She'd been leaning forward slightly when I walked in, engaged and animated, her hand resting on the table close to where Nathan's was.

A male colleague, younger, maybe thirty, nervous-looking, sat beside her with a laptop open.

Documents and photographs were spread across the conference table. I caught glimpses of Adrian's face in several of the photos, along with what looked like surveillance footage screenshots.

But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the way Nathan's entire face transformed the moment he saw me.

His eyes lit up. Actually lit up, like I'd brought the sun into the room with me, like seeing me was the best thing that had happened to him all day.

All the cold distance from this morning evaporated instantly, replaced by pure, unfiltered joy.

He stood immediately, that barely contained smile playing at his lips despite everything between us.

"Eva."

Just my name. But the way he said it, like a prayer, like relief, like coming home, made my heart skip.

Lucia's smile, which had been directed at Nathan with obvious warmth, faded as she looked at me. Her expression shifted to something more guarded, more professional, the softness disappearing behind a mask of competence.

"Hi," I said, walking into the room with more confidence than I felt. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," Nathan said quickly. Too quickly.

I moved to sit in the chair directly next to him, close enough that our arms brushed when I settled in. 

Lucia's eyes tracked the movement, noting the proximity.

"Mr. Ashford," she said, her voice still professional but cooler now. "This is confidential work. We really should conclude the meeting privately."

Before Nathan could respond, I spoke up.

"This is about my problem," I said evenly, meeting her eyes directly. "Adrian Mitchell is targeting me specifically. I hope my husband has no issue with me sitting in on this meeting."

I could feel Nathan looking at me, could sense his barely contained amusement.

"Of course not," he said, and I heard the smile in his voice even though I wasn't looking at him. "Please continue, Ms. Ferretti."

Lucia looked taken aback, clearly hadn't expected this, but she recovered quickly. Professional training, probably.

"As I was saying," she continued, her tone slightly clipped now, "Adrian Mitchell has a documented history of violence, particularly toward women. Before the building collapse, he was in a relationship with a woman named Meryl Stevens. According to police reports we obtained, there were three separate domestic disturbance calls to their apartment. Ms. Stevens never pressed charges, but the pattern is clear."

I leaned forward, genuinely interested and shocked.

"What happened to Ms. Stevens after the collapse?"

"She left the relationship immediately after his sister's death. Moved to Milan. Changed her phone number. As far as we can tell, she hasn't had any contact with Adrian since."

Lucia continued, pulling up documents on her laptop. "His psychiatric evaluation after his arrest shows signs of delusional thinking, particularly regarding perceived wrongdoing. He fixates on people he believes have wronged him, and that fixation intensifies over time rather than fading. In his mind, Eva is directly responsible for his sister's death, despite all evidence to the contrary."

"What about his movements since the escape?" Nathan asked.

The younger colleague, spoke up for the first time. "We've tracked him to three different locations in the past week. He's using cash only, avoiding security cameras when possible. He's smart enough to know we're looking for him."

"And the lead from last night?" Nathan's hand found my knee under the table, warm and grounding. "The sighting near the house?"

"Confirmed by two separate witnesses. He was watching the property from across the street around 10 PM. When our team arrived, he'd already left. We found cigarette butts at the location, same brand he was known to smoke before his incarceration."

Ice slid through my veins.

Adrian had been watching my oldhouse home. Nathan's hand tightened on my knee, reading my reaction.

"We've increased surveillance on the property," Lucia continued. "If he returns, we'll know immediately. But Mrs. Ashford, I have to advise you not to visit that location until we have Adrian back in custody. It's too risky."

Finally, after another twenty minutes of security protocols and surveillance updates, Lucia stood.

"We'll continue tracking his movements. I'll contact you immediately if there's any development."

She extended her hand to Nathan, professional and cool.

"Thank you, Ms. Ferretti." Nathan shook her hand briefly, then released it quickly.

Then Lucia turned to me, extending her hand with noticeably less enthusiasm.

"Mrs. Ashford."

I took her hand and squeezed, hard enough that her eyes widened slightly, hard enough that she couldn't hide the flinch.

She and her colleague gathered their materials and left, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

Nathan and I stood on opposite sides of the conference table, staring at each other.

The silence stretched, heavy with everything that had happened this morning, last night, the past week.

Then I broke it.

"When I die," I said, my voice low and intense, "you are NOT allowed to get married to anyone else either. No means no."

Nathan's lips curved into that infuriating smirk I both loved and hated.

But his eyes squinted slightly, assessing whether I was serious, whether this was a challenge or a promise or both.

I stepped closer, eliminating the distance between us.

"Forget death," I continued, my voice dropping even lower. "You can't marry anyone even if we get divorced. I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?"

His smirk grew harder, more satisfied, like I'd just given him exactly what he wanted.

Then his hand shot out, fast as a snake, and grabbed my neck,  possessively, claiming. He pulled me forward until my face slammed against his shoulder, until I was pressed completely against him.

Without thinking, I bit down on his shoulder through his expensive shirt. He groaned, half-laugh, half-something else entirely, and his arms wrapped around me completely.

I hugged him back just as tightly, burying myself in him, breathing in his cologne mixed with something that was just Nathan, coffee and expensive fabric softener and that indefinable scent that meant home.

"You're jealous," he murmured into my hair, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Shut up."

"Of Lucia?"

"I said shut up."

His chest shook with silent laughter.  He cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with devastating gentleness that contrasted sharply with the possessive grip still on my waist.

"You're just as possessive as me."

"Apparently."

"Just as irrational."

"Apparently."

"We're disasters."

"Your disaster," I corrected, standing on my toes to get closer to his face.

His expression softened into that rare, genuine smile that made my chest ache with how much I loved him.

"My disaster," he agreed.

Then he kissed me, not angry, not desperate, but claiming and tender all at once. His lips moved against mine with familiar certainty, like he was reminding me exactly whose I was, while simultaneously surrendering to being mine.

I kissed back with equal intensity, understanding flooding through me like relief after drought.

We were the same.

A/N

I don't know what kind of characters this two are lol.