CHAPTER 2.

Jenna's POV.

Dressed in a light blue gown that sweeps the restaurant floor like I’ll get paid for it, Mom and I arrive at a reserved table for four.

The man I presume to be my soon-to-be stepfather is already there, dressed in a black tuxedo, salt-and-pepper beard trimmed to perfection, the kind of man who looks like money and smells like secrets. He stands the second he sees us, a polite smile playing on his lips.

“Darling,” my mom beams, squeezing his hand as he leans in to kiss her cheek.

“And you must be Jenna,” he says, turning his full attention to me. His voice is smooth, expensive, and oddly familiar. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” I say politely, forcing a smile even though my skin prickles with unease. Something about his cold and calculating eyes puts me on edge.

But if I'm allowed to be honest to myself, he and my mom are a perfect fit. He doesn't look old, and he compliments my calm and shy mom like pepper compliments noodles on rainy nights.

We sit. The servers arrive with trolleys and set the table. One waiter pours wine, but mom doesn't let him pour me wine. Instead, she tells him to pour me juice.

I smile and oblige. If only she knows that I take more than wine with Jace.

Soon, I can't find my shy, introverted mom anywhere as she launches into cheerful chatter with the man who actually listens and contributes when necessary.

Oh, the butterflies in my stomach can't stop flipping as I watch him wear latex gloves and peel shrimps into my mom's plate. The way he looks at her dotingly, like she's the only thing in his world,

I sip my juice, trying to hide the treacherous smile hanging on my lips like a chandelier.

Because dammit, it’s fucking cute.

And also… sweet.

Ugh. I miss Jace already.

And where the hell is that goddamn son of his? Why is he keeping us waiting?

Hold on, are we even waiting? We already started without him.

I fiddle with the edge of the napkin on my lap, pretending I’m not watching like a hawk. Pretending my stomach isn’t turning – not from jealousy, not from anger, but from something else. Something messier. Like the creeping realization that I might actually like this man.

Even though every fiber of my body is telling me not to.

“Jenna,” he says suddenly, turning to me with that perfectly sculpted smile. “Your mom tells me you’re studying marketing.”

I blink, startled by his attention. “Uh, yeah. I am.”

He nods slowly, wiping his hands with a napkin, silver watch gleaming under the lights. “That’s a smart field. A powerful one too. You get to shape how the world sees things.”

His gaze lingers on my face for a second too long. Or maybe that’s just my brain playing tricks on me.

“Thanks,” I say, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I like the storytelling aspect of it.”

“Good,” he murmurs, eyes thoughtful. “Just make sure you stay in control of your narrative. People love to twist things and most of them are not very smart.”

I nod, unsure how to respond. It sounds like advice. But also… a warning?

Mom doesn’t notice. She’s too busy eating the shrimps with love. And he slips back into charm-mode so fast I almost wonder if I imagined that moment entirely.

“Jenna, aren't you eating?” My mom's patient and kind voice drifts into my world, snapping me back to reality.

“Ah, no. It won’t be fun without my soon-to-be stepbrother,” I giggle, swirling the juice in my glass.

My mom grins, clearly touched by my enthusiasm. “That’s so sweet of you.”

However, her fiancé shifts ever so slightly in his seat, his expression unreadable. It’s subtle, barely a flicker, but I catch it. A tightening around his mouth. A narrowing of his eyes.

“He should be here any moment,” he says, voice smooth but clipped, like he's choosing his words too carefully. “He… takes his time with things.”

My stomach does a little flip. Not the good kind. The something’s-off kind.

Still, I keep my smile in place, refusing to let the unease show. “Well, good things are worth waiting for, right?”

That earns a chuckle from Mom and a ghost of a smirk from her fiancé.

And then, like some twisted magic trick, the doors open. I feel him before I even see him.

That lazy, confident stride. That familiar cologne that hits me like a drug.

Then he appears, casually strolling into the private room like he owns it. And for a moment, I swear the air around us thickens.

He wears a dark charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, allowing a peek of his dragon tattoo, black trousers, a silver chain disappearing into his collar. His gaze skims the table until it lands on me…and holds.

And everything else disappears.

My spine subconsciously strengthens. My throat tightens, gaze freezing on him, and my mind refuses to function.

“This is my son, Jace.” His father's voice finally finds the switch to turn my brain back on, but it’s barely audible under the roaring in my ears.

Jace?

No. No freaking way!

He blinks at me. I blink back. Neither of us breathes.

The air is dense, choking, scorching, electric… I don't know anymore. Whatever this was.

His lips part slightly. Like he wants to say something. Like he’s just seen a ghost. Or worse. But he says nothing.

The room begins to tilt slightly. My legs threaten to give out. My heart slams against my ribs, threatening to shatter them open.

“I... excuse me,” I blurt out, jerking to my feet.

Mom turns in surprise. “Sweetheart, are you”

“Restroom,” I cut in, forcing a polite smile, grabbing my clutch and nearly knocking over my glass of juice. “Too much juice, I guess.”

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t look back, I rushed off, heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor, each step echoing run, run, run.

Because how the hell do you sit at dinner with your boyfriend...when he's about to become your stepbrother?