CHAPTER 22: THE INTRUSIVE SOCIALITE

POV: Callum Miller

The heavy sound of a roaring, high-performance engine echoed up the long gravel driveway, shattering the quiet mid-afternoon stillness of the estate.

I stood on the wide wrap-around wooden porch, holding an armful of freshly folded bath towels, still hyper-aware of the subtle physical bond connecting me to the man sitting in the driveway. The memory of the morning protocol…the rhythmic tapping of Gideon’s mug, his heavy tactical boot pinning my ankle beneath the breakfast table while my father read the newspaper…was still burning vividly in my mind, keeping my core tight and my posture impeccably straight.

A slick, navy-blue European sports car pulled up to the foot of the porch steps, its low bumper kicking up a spray of fine gravel.

The driver's side door swung open, and Kaelen Vance stepped out onto the driveway. He was twenty-four, tall, exceptionally well-groomed, and radiating the effortless, obnoxious arrogance that came with belonging to one of the wealthiest families in the county. His father did extensive real estate development business with my father, which meant Kaelen often used official paperwork as an excuse to strut around our property like he owned the place. Dressed in tailored linen trousers and a silk button-down shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, he looked like he had just strolled off a yacht.

"Harlan home?" Kaelen called out, sweeping a hand through his styled hair as he slammed the low driver's side door shut.

"He's down in the lower barn," I answered, keeping my voice flat as I gripped the folded towels tighter against my chest. "He said he'd be up in twenty minutes."

"Right. Guess I'll wait," Kaelen drawled, stepping around the hood of his sports car.

His eyes didn't stay on me for long. Instead, his gaze immediately swept past the porch and locked onto the far side of the driveway, where Gideon was standing by the open tailgate of his heavy black pickup truck.

Gideon looked formidable, massive, and entirely untamed in the bright sunlight. He wore a dark, form-fitting tactical polo shirt stretched tight across his broad chest, his thick, corded forearms exposed as he organized heavy wooden tool crates in the truck bed. His shirt hugged every inch of his wide shoulders and tapered waist, looking entirely rugged compared to Kaelen's polished aesthetic.

Kaelen’s eyes lit up with immediate, predatory interest. He completely ignored me, turning his back on the porch as he sauntered deliberately over to Gideon’s truck.

"Well, well," Kaelen purred, his voice dropping into a smooth, shameless flirtation as he leaned casually against the side of the truck bed, resting his arm just inches from Gideon’s elbow. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Kaelen. And you must be Harlan's famous military buddy staying in the attic."

My stomach instantly twisted into a tight, agonizing knot. A hot, overwhelming wave of dark, possessive jealousy surged straight through my chest, making my knuckles turn bone-white against the cotton towels.

Gideon didn't look up immediately. He calmly lifted a heavy steel toolbox with one hand, setting it down in the bed with a metallic thud before slowly turning his head to acknowledge Kaelen.

"Gideon," he rumbled, his voice low, gravelly, and entirely devoid of warmth.

"Gideon," Kaelen repeated smoothly, letting the name roll off his tongue as his eyes swept shamelessly down Gideon’s broad chest, taking in the sheer physical size of the man. "You know, Harlan mentioned he had a contractor staying on site, but he definitely forgot to mention how... impressive you are. It must get terribly boring out here in the country all day with nobody interesting to talk to."

Kaelen leaned in closer, dropping his shoulder and tilting his head up, his posture so forward and aggressive it made my blood boil. He was invading Gideon's space, smirking as he let his eyes linger on Gideon's jawline, practically offering himself up right there in the open driveway.

"I keep myself busy," Gideon replied flatly. His expression remained completely stoic, a cold, unreadable mask, but he didn't immediately pull away or tell Kaelen to move.

"I bet you do," Kaelen laughed softly, running a hand casually along the black metal rim of Gideon’s truck bed, his fingers brushing near Gideon's broad hip. "If you ever need a tour of the city…or a real drink somewhere that isn't this dusty estate—you should take my number. I know all the best private spots. I love showing strong men around."

Watching Kaelen touch Gideon’s truck, watching him lean so close and throw himself at my Commander, sent a violent surge of possessive fury straight down into my core. My teeth clicked together hard. Every submissive instinct in my body screamed that Gideon belonged to me…that his hands, his dark commands, and his heavy touch were reserved exclusively for my body under this roof. Seeing another man lean into his space made me want to drop the laundry, march down those porch steps, and push Kaelen off the truck.

I took two rigid steps forward to the edge of the porch railing, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. My shoulders were tight, my posture locked in a protective, rigid stance as I glared down at Kaelen with pure, unadulterated hostility.

"Paperwork is usually left on the study desk, Kaelen," I interjected sharply, my voice cutting across the gravel driveway with an edge I didn't even know I possessed.

Kaelen glanced over his shoulder at me, blinking in mild, condescending surprise before tossing a dismissive smile my way. "Relax, Callum. I'm just making conversation with your guest."

He turned back to Gideon, lowering his voice into another honeyed whisper. "So... what do you say, Gideon? Free for dinner sometime this week?"

Gideon didn't answer right away. Instead, his intense gray eyes slowly drifted away from Kaelen's face, flicking upward toward the porch.

His sharp gaze locked dead onto me.

Gideon took in everything in a fraction of a second: my white-knuckled grip on the towels, my tight jaw, my flared nostrils, and the rigid, protective posture I was maintaining as I glared at the intruder. A faint, almost imperceptible glint of dark, possessive satisfaction flickered in the depths of Gideon’s gray eyes. He took mental note of my sudden jealousy, reading my submissive distress like an open book.

Gideon finally turned back to Kaelen, his tone icy and final. "I'm working, Vance. Leave the papers inside."

Kaelen blinked, his slick smile faltering for a second before he recovered his composure with a forced chuckle. "Right. Work first. I respect that." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick manila envelope, and tossed it casually onto the hood of his sports car. "Tell Harlan I dropped them off."

Kaelen gave Gideon one last lingering look before turning on his heel and striding back toward his car.

I stood on the porch, my entire frame trembling with leftover adrenaline, my core throbbing with a dark, needy ache as Gideon watched Kaelen drive away down the gravel road. Gideon didn't say a word, but as he turned back to his truck, his eyes locked onto mine one last time…a silent, heavy promise that my reaction on the porch had not gone unnoticed, and that a private accounting would be demanded very soon.