Chapter 2

SERA'S POV.

Slamming my right palm on my forehead. I muttered to myself ‘Jerry, what did he want now, after so many months of not communicating and all he did to me’. I wonder what he could want now.

My thumb found its way to his profile and then his message. Shortly after I viewed his profile. Still good looking but wasn't captiving as he used to be. I scrolled down through all his pictures, his smile, the way he stuck to his pose. This rogue seemed like he hadn't changed a bit. Still flashy as ever, still flicky as ever.

**********

“Hey Jerry, I saw your message last night so I came running immediately to your house. What actually happened?” I said as my gaze met him the moment I ran into his room.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of pine and something primal that I couldn't quite name. Standing there, the silence between us felt like a living thing. I looked at Jerry and really looked at him and a wave of relief washed over me just seeing him upright.But that relief was tangled with a knot of irritation I couldn't shake.

I pulled him closer, our fingers interlacing. His hands were large, his fingers long and calloused, a stark contrast to my own. My gaze drifted, tracing the rugged line of his shirtless torso.

He was built like an ancient oak—broad-shouldered and solid, his chest so wide it felt like a fortress. There was a wildness to him, from the unkempt hair dusting his skin to the jagged, dark scar sitting stubbornly above his lip. He claimed a Beta gave it to him, but looking at the depth of it, I wondered what kind of monster he’d really gone up against.

"It’s nothing much," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space. "Have you eaten? You came running over here without a thought for yourself."

I just shook my head, the word "No" catching in my throat like a dry leaf.

"Let me warm the beef soup I made," he said, turning toward the kitchen.

As he walked away, the simple cloth tied at his waist did little to hide the powerful, rhythmic movement of his legs. My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, sharp pull of desire tugging at my gut. Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached out. My fingers snagged the fabric, and with a sudden, shameful jerk, the cloth slipped, pooling on the floor in a silent heap.

I froze, my face hot with a blush that felt like a fever. I looked away, bracing for a sharp word or a hurried scramble for cover. Instead, there was only the sound of his slow, deliberate turn.

He didn't reach for the cloth. He didn't flinch. He just stood there, completely exposed, watching me with an intensity that made me feel like the only person left in the world. He looked like a king standing amidst ruins, powerful and unashamed. Shivering, I forced myself to stand, closing the gap until we were chest to chest. I crashed my lips against his, kissing him with a desperate, biting hunger.

He pulled back just an inch, his breath ghosting over my skin. "You want us to fuck?"

The bluntness of it stung. It was a cold splash of water on a rising flame, lacking the poetry I craved, but the honesty of it was its own kind of heat.

"Yes," I snapped, the word sharp and sarcastic.

I shoved him back onto the bed. He went down hard, sprawling out with a passive, waiting grace that both intrigued and annoyed me. I climbed over him, my knees sinking into the mattress. As I took him into my hands and then my mouth, the world outside the room ceased to exist.

The rhythm was mine to set. I moved with a slow, deliberate heat, savoring the way his body reacted to every touch.

"Sera... Sera..." his voice broke, a jagged sound in the quiet room. "Can you... go a bit... slower?"

He was shaking now, his hands fist-filling the sheets, his hips arching involuntarily. Seeing him lose that rigid control, hearing the raw, broken melody of his breath, filled me with a dark, triumphant joy. I didn't slow down. I drank in his reactions, and just as I neared the end, I clamped down with a surge of pressure that drew one last, shattering cry from his lungs. In that moment, the Lord of the Border was nothing more than a man, and I was the one holding all the power.

*********

The air in the room felt heavy, thick with the kind of regret that makes your skin crawl. I pressed my palm against my throat, a physical wall against the bile rising up.

"Wurrorooo!"

The sound was jagged, a fake gag that felt a little too real. How could I? One minute I’m a sane lady and the next, I’m spinning fantasies about a past life with that rogue. Jerry. Even his name felt like a bruise.

"Damn him," I snapped, the words sharp enough to cut. I flung my phone toward the foot of the mattress. It landed with a soft thud, mocking me from a distance.

I laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling, but the silence was worse than the anger. Within minutes, I was scrambling across the bed, my knees digging into the mattress. I grabbed the bedspread, dragging it along with me until the once-neat sheets were nothing but a chaotic mountain of fabric. Housekeeping didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered except the itch in my brain.

I snatched up the phone. His profile picture was still there, staring back at me with that same arrogant tilt of the head. My thumb began to move on its own, scrolling through his followers. I went through them one by one, a slow, obsessive search for a ghost I couldn't name. My chest tightened, a hot, prickly wave of jealousy washing over me as I scanned every face that wasn't mine.

Then, everything went still.

My thumb hovered over a name: **Chris**.

I clicked, my breath hitching. I scrolled through his feed slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. He looked like a lone wolf, a one-man squad. There were no messy group shots, no girls clinging to his arm, just three solitary, striking photos of him.

Without thinking, I tapped the heart on all three. *Like. Like. Like.* A small, defiant spark lit up in my chest. I closed his page and navigated back to Jerry’s message box, my heart drumming a steady, restless beat against my ribs.