Chapter 005

Dolly’s POV**

There’s regular tension — the kind you shake off.

And then there’s the kind that sticks to your skin.

The kind wrapped in warm cologne, quiet authority, and a man who can turn an entire hallway electric just by looking at you.

Guess which one I’m dealing with.

By morning, the lodge feels… off. Or maybe I’m the one who’s off. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Jace in the hallway — the wall behind me, his breath on my cheek, the way he’d said don’t sit on another man’s lap like it was a threat or a confession or both.

Which means, of course, Bianca clings to me all through brunch like a territorial flamingo. After seeing us in that compromising position, I expected nothing but he'll.

She watches me. Like she’s waiting for me to slip up. Like she already knows something and just needs proof, funny enough we handed it to her on a platter of gold.

Great. Perfect. Amazing. Exactly the vibe I prayed for today.

Meanwhile?

Cassian lounges at the other end of the long dining table staring at me like I’m a particularly interesting dessert.

Also perfect.

And then Lena — sweet, chaotic, feral Lena — stabs her fork into her pancakes and says loudly:

“So, Dolly. Why do you look like you’re hiding a dead body and also like the dead body texted you first?”

I choke on my orange juice.

Cassian chokes on a laugh.

Bianca smiles like she wants to stab me with her spoon.

“I’m… just tired,” I manage.

Lena narrows her eyes. “Tired? No. Wrong. Try again. You’re giving me anxiety-sweat energy.”

I stare straight at my plate and wish I could press a self-destruct button.

But the real problem?

I keep looking at him.

I can’t help it.

Every few minutes, my eyes stray down the table to Jace.

White shirt. Rolled sleeves. Calm expression.

Looking like he didn’t kiss me yesterday.

Looking like I’m the only one drowning in whatever this is.

And every time I glance up, he’s already staring.

Not glaring.

Not scowling.

Just… watching.

Quietly. Like I’m something he’s trying very hard not to touch again.

Bianca notices his gaze before I do. Her spine goes rigid, her smile goes cold, and she sets her fork down with the slow grace of a woman sharpening a knife. Whatever she told him or he told her must be the reason she has not announced to everyone at the lodge that I was some cheap whore.

Fantastic.

She clears her throat. Loudly.

“So, Dolly,” Bianca says, smiling the way people do right before they stab you with a butter knife, “I heard you had… a dramatic exit from the city this week.”

My fork pauses mid-air.

Lena looks up slowly, already bracing for violence.

Bianca sips her mimosa like this is brunch theatre.

“Tell me,” she continues, tone dripping false sympathy, “how does it feel walking in on your boyfriend… deep in another person? Must’ve been quite the view.”

The table goes silent.

Cassian chokes on his coffee and mutters, “Jesus.”

Heat blasts up my chest, my throat tightening so hard I taste metal. My fingers curl around my fork, knuckles white, every part of me screaming don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you dare cry.

I open my mouth — to defend myself, to lie, to run, I don’t even know — but I don’t get a chance.

“Bianca.”

Jace doesn’t look up from his plate when he says it.

He doesn’t need to.

That one, low word freezes the entire table.

Then he sets his silverware down with slow precision, lifts his eyes, and looks straight at her — the kind of look that strips the oxygen from a room.

“Don’t ever bring that up again,” he says quietly.

Not loud. Not dramatic. But final.

Bianca stiffens, her smile cracking at the edges.

Lena bites back a grin, delighted. Cassian whispers, “Awkward,” under his breath. My heart is somewhere in my throat, pounding.

Then Jace glances at me — once — and the look is devastating: familiar, furious, protective in a way no one has ever been with me.

Bianca smooths her napkin like she’d like to strangle him with it.

“Of course,” she says tightly. “Just concerned.”

No she’s not. She’s warning me.

And I feel every inch of it.

I excuse myself early from brunch because breathing suddenly feels illegal.

•••

The lodge hallways are warm, but my hands won’t stop shaking. I keep replaying Jace’s tone at the table — quiet, firm, unyielding — and the fact that he didn’t even hesitate to defend me. Wondering if becoming an enemy of Bianca was a good idea.

It makes me want to fold in half.

I try to distract myself with safe activities:

Laundry, reorganizing my suitcase, helping the staff wrap presents, hiding in my room like it’s a bunker

None of it works.

Jace is everywhere.

In the reflection of the window as I pass by.

In the glass door leading into the lounge.

In the polished metal of the espresso machine.

He keeps appearing at the edge of my vision like a well-dressed ghost.

And I keep pretending he’s not affecting me.

By afternoon, I can’t take it. My anxiety needs sugar. So I sneak into the kitchen like a criminal on a cookie heist.

I check the hallway twice.

I slip in.

I tiptoe across the tiles.

I open the cookie jar as carefully as if a bomb is inside.

And a voice behind me says,

“You know those aren’t for guests.”

I almost screamed.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking very amused and very much like he knew EXACTLY what I was doing.

“I— I wasn’t stealing,” I stammered.

“You were.”

“Okay but like… gently.”

He says nothing.

Just walk closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Until the counter is behind me and his body is in front of me and the kitchen suddenly feels tiny.

He reaches past me — slow, unhurried — and takes the cookie from my hand.

Then he holds it up between us like evidence.

“You’re avoiding me,” he says quietly.

I swallow. “No, I’m just… busy.”

“Busy,” he echoes, voice low. “Doing what? Running away?”

I look away because my face feels too hot.

He steps even closer.

“Lift your chin.”

The words hit me like a current.

Soft. Commanding. Impossible to refuse.

I lift it.

Slowly.

Stupidly.

Like my body belongs to him more than me.

His thumb brushes a crumb at the corner of my mouth — except the touch lingers too long to be innocent. 

My breath catches.

His eyes drop to my lips.

Just for a second.

A single, devastating second.

My knees nearly give out.

“Dolly,” he murmurs, “you need to stop running.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His thumb strokes my lower lip once — a ghost of a touch — before he drops his hand. “And if you think avoiding me will make this disappear… it won’t.”

My heart feels like it’s trying to escape my body.

He steps back just enough to speak without touching me.

“I need you at dinner tonight.”

“Why?”

He studies me for a long, unbearable moment.

“Wear the red sweater.”

My pulse stutters. “Okay?”

“And no bra.”

My soul leaves my body.

For a full five seconds, I forget how breathing works.

He turns away like he didn’t just drop a live grenade into my bloodstream.

“Jace…”

“Seven o’clock,” he says without looking back. “Don’t be late.”

Then he leaves the kitchen.

And leaves my sanity with him.

I stand there in stunned silence, gripping the counter like I’m trying not to float away. My legs feel weak. My chest feels tight. My entire body feels like I swallowed Christmas lights plugged into a faulty outlet.

And of course — OF COURSE — that’s the moment Lena appears in the doorway.

She takes one look at me and stops.

Looks at the cookie jar.

Looks at the door Jace walked through.

Looks at my face.

Then she squints.

“Why,” she says slowly, “do you look like you just made a deal with Satan?”

I open my mouth.

No sound comes out.

Lena drops her jaw dramatically. “Oh my God. Did Cassian flirt again? Did he ask you to wear something? OH— did he ask you to wear the red sweater? That man is a menace…”

“Yes,” I blurt.

Lena blinks. “Cassian did?”

“…yes.”

I want to die. I want the floor to open up and eat me. I want anything except this conversation.

Lena throws her hands in the air. “I KNEW it! He’s obsessed. This is hilarious. You HAVE to tell me everything.”

She loops her arm through mine and drags me toward the hallway, talking a mile a minute about how she’s going to set Cassian on fire if he tries anything weird tonight.

Meanwhile my brain is spiraling.

Because Lena is thrilled.

Because she thinks it’s Cassian.

Because she is clearly NOT the fragile, overprotective daughter I thought she’d be.

Because she said earlier:

“My dad deserves someone who actually likes him.”

Someone.

Anyone.

And I’m sitting here lying like a coward.

Because if she knew the truth —

if she knew Jace asked me to show up braless to dinner…if she knew how he touched me in the kitchen..

if she knew what that look in his eyes meant…

Everything would explode.

As Lena drags me up the stairs, still ranting, still laughing, still oblivious, one horrifying thought crashes into me:

Why am I doing this?