The Question

Jennifer's POV

I didn't sleep that night.

Marcus never came back after he stormed out that morning. The house felt emptier without him, but somehow heavier too. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the disgust in his eyes. The way he looked at me like I was something he wanted to scrape off his shoe. I should have felt relieved he didn't recognize me.

Instead, I felt hollow.

I must have drifted off eventually, because I woke around three to a dry throat and a darkened house. I slipped out of bed, barefoot, heading for the stairs.

That's when I heard it.

Low. Rhythmic. A woman's soft moan, muffled like she was trying to stay quiet. Then his voice—rough, commanding, a growl I couldn't quite make out. A breathless laugh. Sheets rustling.

I should have walked away.

I didn't.

His door hung open a crack. Lamplight spilled through. I pressed closer before I could stop myself.

The room was warm, golden shadows dancing across the walls. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his back to me. Every muscle in his shoulders and spine was carved from granite, shifting with each movement. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.

A woman straddled his lap. Long dark hair cascaded over bare shoulders. Red nails dug into his scalp. Her head was thrown back, her hips rolling against him in a rhythm that made my mouth go dry. His hands gripped her waist, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises. I watched the flex and release of his hands with every movement.

He wasn't gentle. He was rough, demanding, and the woman gasped his name like a prayer—Marcus—as she rocked against him. When he shifted to bite her shoulder, I saw his profile. Jaw tight. Eyes half-lidded with a dark hunger that made my knees weak.

I couldn't look away.

My body responded before my mind caught up. Heat flooded my core. My thighs pressed together. My breath came faster. I watched his hands move over her, watched her arch into his touch, and something inside me broke loose.

I imagined myself in her place.

I saw it so clearly—my legs straddling his lap, his hands gripping my hips, his mouth on my throat. I felt the phantom touch of his fingers digging into my skin. I heard my own voice gasping his name. I felt him beneath me, hard and demanding, and my body ached with a need I couldn't control.

The woman moaned again. Her nails scraped down his chest. He groaned—low, feral—and I felt it echo through me like a physical touch.

I was burning. Aching. Completely undone.

Then he shifted. His profile turned toward the door.

He saw me.

Our eyes locked.

My heart stopped.

He didn't look away. His gaze held mine, sharp and knowing, as the woman writhed against him. His lips curved into the ghost of a smirk.

He knew I was watching.

I gasped. Stumbled back. My elbow caught a small table, sending a vase crashing to the floor.

I ran.

Bare feet slapping hardwood, around the corner, into my room. I slammed the door and pressed my back against it, chest heaving, face burning.

I slid to the floor, legs too weak to hold me, and stayed there until my breathing steadied.

Even then, I couldn't stop seeing it. His hands on her. His eyes on me. That knowing smirk.

I hated myself for wanting more.

Morning came too bright and too fast.

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. The heat in his gaze. The way he didn't look away.

David insisted on breakfast together. "Family time," he called it. Mom beamed. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

Marcus was already seated when I came down. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, coffee in hand. He looked completely composed, like last night never happened. Like he hadn't caught me watching him with another woman.

I sat as far from him as possible. Across the table, next to Mom. It wasn't far enough.

"Jennifer, you look tired." Mom frowned. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Fine." I reached for my coffee. "Just adjusting."

"You should get out more," David said. "Explore the city."

"She's shy," Mom said. "Give her time."

Marcus said nothing. Just watched me. His gaze was different now—sharper, more focused. Like he was studying me, trying to figure something out.

I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Jennifer." His voice cut through the chatter. "You're not eating."

I looked at my plate. Full of untouched food. "Not hungry."

"You should eat. You look pale."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" He leaned back. "You seem... distracted."

My grip tightened on my fork. "I'm just tired."

"Bad dreams?" The question was innocent enough, but I caught the edge underneath. He knew. He knew I'd been watching. He knew I'd run.

"Something like that."

Mom launched into wedding talk. David made plans. I stared at my plate and willed the ground to swallow me whole.

The tension was unbearable. Every time I looked up, Marcus was watching me. Every time I moved, I felt his eyes follow. My skin prickled with heat. My hands trembled.

I thought about last night. The way his hands moved. The way his voice dropped. The way I imagined myself in her place.

I couldn't sit there another second.

"I'm full." I stood abruptly. "Excuse me."

"Jennifer, you barely ate—" Mom started.

"I need to lie down."

I walked out, heart pounding, face burning. I just needed to get to my room. Close the door. Breathe.

I almost made it.

His hand closed around my wrist, spinning me around, pressing me against the hallway wall. His body pinned me in place.

"You've been avoiding me." His voice was low, dangerous. "Ever since you moved in."

"Get off me."

"Not until you tell me what you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Liar." His eyes searched mine. "You watched me last night. I saw you."

My face burned. "You were with another woman. What was I supposed to do, applaud?"

"So you were watching."

"I heard noise. I was curious."

"Curious." He leaned closer. His breath ghosted over my lips. "Is that what we're calling it?"

I shoved him harder. "You're disgusting."

"Am I?" His voice dropped. "Because the way you looked at me last night didn't sound disgusted. It screams hungry sister"

"Get away from me."

"I saw you, Jennifer. I saw the way you watched me. I saw your legs press together. I saw your breath catch."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw. "You wanted to be her. Admit it."

I slapped his hand away. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" He smirked. "Then why are you blushing?"

I opened my mouth to respond—

My phone buzzed.

I shoved him hard, catching him off guard, and fumbled for my phone. Marco's name flashed.

"The room guy is looking for you! What the hell did you do to him? He's gonna kill me if I don't provide you tonight. Get your ass here tonight!"

My blood ran cold. The color drained from my face.

Marcus noticed. His eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

"Nothing." I shoved the phone in my pocket.

"Your face says otherwise."

"I said it's nothing." I pushed past him, but his hand caught my arm.

"Jennifer—"

I yanked free. "Leave me alone!"

I ran. Up the stairs, around the corner, into my room. I slammed the door and locked it, pressing my back against the wood, phone clutched in my shaking hand.

I read the message again. And again.

Marcus. He was looking for me. The masked girl. And he was putting pressure on Marco to find me.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding, mind racing.

He didn't know it was me. Why is he looking for me?

What the hell does this mean?

He's driving me crazy