Chapter 137
[ 531 words ]
Chapter 137:
Jarrod didn’t explode. He didn’t move. He simply froze, and the lingering heat in his gray eyes vanished, replaced by something far more terrifying: a deep, glacial stillness. He stared at her, his expression unreadable for a long moment, but a muscle ticked violently in his locked jaw. It was the look of a man who had just been deeply, fundamentally insulted.
“After everything tonight…” Jarrod whispered. His voice was incredibly soft, yet it sliced through the air like a poisoned ice pick, causing the blood in Caroline’s veins to instantly freeze. “After I declared you my wife in front of the entire world… that is what you think of me?”
Caroline was terrified by the sudden, cold fury, but her stubbornness refused to let her back down.
“If there have been other women,” Caroline pushed out, her voice shaking, “I can sleep in the guest room. I don’t want to sleep in a bed where—”
“Never,” Jarrod interrupted, his voice cracking like a whip.
He stared directly into her eyes, his gaze burning with a furious, insulted intensity.
“I bought this penthouse five years ago,” Jarrod stated, enunciating every single word with brutal force. “No one lives here but me. No woman has ever stepped foot inside this apartment. You are the first. And you are the only one who ever will.”
He pushed himself off the doorframe with violent force. He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He turned his back on her, marched straight into the walk-in closet, and slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind him.
Caroline stood frozen against the wall, her chest heaving. The echo of the slamming door rang in her ears. She had insulted his loyalty, and his furious, absolute declaration of fidelity hit her harder than any physical blow.
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Caroline stood pinned against the bathroom doorframe for a long time. The silence in the master bedroom was deafening.
She looked at the closed door of the walk-in closet. Her stomach twisted with a heavy, sickening knot of regret. Her operative paranoia had pushed her to ask a tactical question, but she had completely underestimated the depth of Jarrod’s pride. She had insulted him. She had questioned his absolute, terrifying commitment to her.
She slowly pushed herself away from the wall. She walked over to the edge of the massive king-sized bed and sat down. She pulled her knees tightly together, her fingers nervously twisting the oversized hem of his blue dress shirt.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she apologize? Should she wait for him to cool down?
Ten minutes passed. Just as Caroline was about to stand up and knock on the closet door, the brass handle turned.
Jarrod walked out.
The explosive, homicidal rage had vanished from his face, replaced by a heavy, exhausted calm. He didn’t look at her. He walked directly to the black marble nightstand, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a heavy, professional-grade hair dryer.
He turned around and walked toward the bed.
“Come here,” Jarrod commanded. His voice was flat, carrying no anger, but leaving no room for argument.
Caroline hesitated for a second, then slid across the silk sheets until she was sitting on the edge of the mattress, directly in front of him.
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