The Counterfeit Mate
"Your mate! We were together just last night on the roof of The Alcove. You held me. You said—"
"Wait, hold it right there," Jason interrupts, raising a hand to cut me off. His tone is level, devoid of any warmth or memory. "You're not my mate, lady. Irene is. And we've been together for . . ."
He pauses, his brow furrowing for a moment, as if he's trying to grasp a thought that keeps slipping away.
"For?" I push, leaning in. "Go on, Jason. For how long?"
The confusion vanishes from his face just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same foggy, content smile.
Bab Populer