5. THE DULL ACHE

ROWANNE’S POV

I turned, hiding behind another smile, though it felt brittle, stretched too thin. I was running out of fake smiles.

“Hey,” he chuckled softly. “You look lovely. Beautiful.”

The compliment slipped through my skin, gentle but his eyes said something entirely different. I didn’t dare look too long.

Jennifer clapped as her face brightened again. “Oh, Rowanne, this is Madam Tira. She owns O.P. Electronics. Most of which Jett…” she faltered, the name cutting through her like glass.

Her voice trailed off, and I could see the grief flicker in her eyes again.

Eli’s hand found her shoulder, holding her steady and comforting her but his gaze never left me.

Not once. Every time I looked up, I found him watching.

My pulse stuttered, and I lifted my glass again, needing something or anything to do with my hands. I had to leave before anyone noticed how his eyes never left me.

“Jett kept most of them at the mansion after your wedding,” Jennifer finished softly, and I nodded, pretending to listen.

But all I could feel was Eli’s stare and the ghost of his touch at my waist.

The party had split up into the gardens, where the air was cooler and quieter. Fairy lights draped along the stone walls shimmered like scattered stars, and the night breeze played gently with the hem of my gown.

I’d slipped away the moment no one was watching.

Now, sitting on a marble bench beneath a climbing arch of white roses, I held the neck of a half-empty wine bottle like an anchor.

The champagne hadn’t helped earlier. This definitely wouldn’t either but at least it numbed the ache sitting heavy in my chest.

But pretending only worked until the footsteps came.

I stiffened. My fingers tightened around the glass neck of the bottle, and I even turned.

Eli stopped a few steps away, the moonlight catching on his jaw, his tie loosened now and his eyes darker than I remembered.

I stood abruptly, brushing invisible wrinkles off my dress. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked quietly. His voice carried that low, steady timbre that could command a room or undo me.

I took a step back. “You shouldn’t be here. Not with me.”

He moved closer. “Don’t run from me, Ro.”

His words sank into me.

“I’m not—” I started, but he closed the distance before I could finish, his hand coming up to catch my waist.

The wine bottle nearly slipped from my grip as his warmth pressed through the fabric of my gown.

“Eli,” I whispered, glancing nervously toward the ballroom. “We’re at a charity event with your mother!”

His lips curved, though it wasn’t a smile, but his head dipped closer, and his breath brushed against my hair. I felt him inhale slowly. Like he needed it.

My heart was a frantic thing, thrashing inside my chest.

“Dinner,” he murmured, his voice so low, like a deep mumble that vibrated my veins. “Have dinner with me. We can talk.”

I shook my head, though my body betrayed me by staying still.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I lied.

His grip softened, one hand still at my waist and the other brushing down the side of my arm just once, enough to make my skin come alive.

I wanted to move. To say no. But when I looked up, his gaze caught mine and the rest of the world fell away again. His breath. The pulse in my throat refused to calm.

“I can’t,” I whispered, though it sounded weak, even to me. Eli’s eyes searched mine, the softness fading to something deeper.

“Yes, you can,” he said. “I promise to be gentle and nice”

I should’ve moved. I should’ve walked away before his voice, that low velvet rasp, could undo me again. But instead, I stood there motionless with every nerve alive beneath his touch.

His thumb traced slow circles at my waist, grounding me. I hated how much I still wanted him, hated that my body didn’t seem to remember the Jett, only the way he made me feel like I was seen.

“Eli…” My voice trembled, the sound barely a breath. “Please, don’t make this harder.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in that unreadable way that made my pulse trip. “Harder?” he echoed. “You think being ignored by you has been easy?”

I blinked, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. His hand brushed my jaw, his fingers just shy of my skin.

“That’s torture.”

I exhaled shakily, “Eli, people will see,” I murmured.

My words didn’t even sound like mine anymore, they were thin.

He leaned closer until the space between us vanished. His breath was warm against my temple as he whispered, “Then tell me to stop.”

My knees felt weak. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sigh.

His hand moved from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair. The only sounds were my unsteady breaths and the faint rustle of the roses swaying above us.

My lips trembled as I met his gaze. I opened my mouth to speak, but I heard footsteps lightly against the stone path.

Eli’s reflexes were fast. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush against his chest. His scent was deep and filled my lungs as I heard the intruder’s voice.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” a woman gasped softly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I remained still. Eli’s grip loosened but didn’t fall away entirely until the woman turned and hurried back toward the ballroom. When her footsteps faded, silence rushed in again.

I stepped back, my pulse still erratic. I couldn’t trust my voice, not after what almost happened, not after the way my body betrayed me. So I didn’t speak.

Not one word.

I turned on my heel and walked away. My steps were quick as I forced myself not to look back.

I needed air.

I headed toward the restroom. My hand was on the door when I heard a voice coming from the side alcove.

Jennifer’s voice.

I froze.

“I hate to say it, but yes, I do suspect her,” she was saying. “Rowanne had the motive… I mean, who else? Everyone knows how Jett didn't adore her.”

My throat went dry.

“She would be surprised to hear Jett didn’t leave anything for her,” Jennifer continued. “Not the house, not the cars, not a single cent. Jett didn’t leave her anything.”

A pause followed.

“No, I’m not accusing her outright,” Jennifer said. “But tell me, what kind of woman stays that calm after her husband’s death? She barely shed a tear at his burial. I just— I don’t know what to think anymore. She could have killed him.”