C3 The Jealous Kind

Ariana didn't sleep.

Not after that kiss.

Not after the way Alexander’s lips had ignited every nerve ending in her body—and then discarded her like it meant nothing.

The next morning, she made her way into the kitchen in silk shorts and a loose black tee, fully prepared to ignore him. Coffee first. Arguments later.

But he was already there, shirtless.

And jogging.

On a treadmill facing the city skyline.

What kind of man wakes up at 6 a.m. and runs like sin doesn’t stick to him?

His skin glistened, muscles flexing beneath a sheen of sweat. Every movement was purposeful—controlled rage channeled into perfection.

And when he noticed her standing there?

He smirked.

“Like the view?”

Ariana grabbed a mug and poured coffee. “The city looks beautiful in the morning.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Liar.”

By noon, they were back in performance mode—this time at a networking brunch for tech investors at a rooftop garden. Ariana stood beside him in a soft beige dress with plunging lace and heels that kissed her calves like a second skin.

Men stared. They always had.

But now, it meant something.

Now, she had his name.

She noticed it quickly—how Alexander’s hand slid to her waist every time a man looked too long. How he pulled her closer when someone tried to strike up a conversation.

And then it happened.

Liam Foster.

An ex-fling from her college days, all charm and cheekbones, sauntered up with a champagne glass and too much confidence.

“Ariana Monroe,” he said, lips curling. “Didn’t expect to see you in this league. Must’ve upgraded.”

Before she could respond, Alexander stepped in.

“She didn’t upgrade. She chose better.”

The air shifted. Tension bristled like static.

Liam raised an eyebrow, amused. “Right. The billionaire fiancé. Is this the part where you kiss her again so we all remember how real it is?”

Ariana turned to walk away, but Alexander caught her wrist.

Gently.

Possessively.

And then he kissed her again.

This one was different.

Slower.

Deeper.

A kiss meant to erase every man she’d ever known. A kiss that dared anyone watching to doubt him.

His mouth brushed over hers in soft, unhurried strokes. One hand cupped her jaw, the other grazed the small of her back. He tasted like heat and sin and dominance—and Ariana hated how much she wanted more.

When he pulled back, the crowd was silent.

Liam walked away with a scoff.

Alexander didn’t speak. He just walked her to the elevator, hand still resting on her back.

The Ride Home

The elevator was silent.

Tense.

Ariana finally spoke. “You didn’t have to do that. I can handle Liam.”

Alexander’s jaw flexed. “He disrespected you.”

“I can defend myself.”

“I know,” he said, low. “But you’re mine.”

Ariana’s breath caught.

“Say that again.”

His gaze flicked to hers. “You’re mine. At least until this contract ends.”

Until.

That word hit harder than it should’ve.

Back at the Penthouse

That night, Ariana couldn’t sleep again. The kiss—the second one—lingered in her thoughts like perfume on her skin. She walked into the living room, hoping a glass of wine would help.

Instead, she found Alexander on the balcony, shirt unbuttoned, tie hanging loose around his neck.

He looked... tired.

Human.

She joined him in silence, the city spread before them like a glittering secret.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said softly.

He didn’t turn. “Neither are you.”

They stood there, side by side. No cameras. No audience. Just them.

And the lies they were starting to believe.