I wasn’t prepared to see her.
Not here. Not in this place.
Lady Isolde Marell stands at the end like some ghost dressed in silk and entitlement, perfectly intact, like she didn’t spend years slicing me open with a smile.
My breath catches before I can stop it. My body goes still. Frozen. For one awful second, I feel nineteen again. Unseen. Unheard. Unwanted.
But then… something shifts.
That part of me that used to cower, that used to flinch at the sound of her heels, stays quiet.
And beneath the shock, under the tight coil in my stomach, something warmer stirs.
Not joy. Not pride. Satisfaction.
Because this time, she’s not meeting the eyes of the girl who begged for space at her table.
She’s meeting the woman who owns one.
My feet hurt from standing still when I wanted to scream. I want to disappear into the quiet. But Jasper’s hand catches my lower back.
He leans against the far wall, arms folded, jacket open, tie loose. He’s still sharp around the edges, but less rigid in the dark.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” I say.
He straightens, slow and deliberate. “You looked like you wanted to run.”
The words land sharp. I stop walking. “Excuse me?”
“You walk like a queen,” he says quietly. “But flinch like a girl.”
I snap. “You think I’m weak?”
Jasper doesn’t move. But the air tightens.
“No,” he says. “I think you’re bleeding. And trying to hide it under armor.”
I swallow hard. The corridor stretches behind me, empty and echoing. No one is left to perform for. Just him. Just this.
“Do you think I chose any of this?” I whisper.
“No,” he says. “But you keep pretending like it didn’t choose you.” I turn away, pressing a hand to the windowsill. My reflection stares back—flawless, composed, broken underneath.
“I’m tired,” I say.
“That’s not weakness either,” he says, closer now. “It’s just real.”
The silence hangs. I don’t break it. Neither does he. Then he steps closer.
“I want to touch you more than I should,” he says, voice low, rough at the edges.
The moonlight slants across the floor in broken squares. It gathers at our feet like even the shadows want to witness this moment. I should move. I should shut him down. But I don’t. I stand still.
His words echo again, quieter now. “You flinch when someone raises their voice. You flinch when a hand moves too fast. But you’d throw yourself in front of a blade without hesitation.” He pauses, eyes locked on mine. “That’s not fear.”
I hate how true it is. The remnants of every whispered insult, every public dismissal, every silent wound—they sit beneath my skin like old bruises that never learned to fade.
“I thought the heir of Velmera wasn’t supposed to bleed.”
“Everyone bleeds,” he says. “But you still think showing it makes you lose.”
I shift slightly, my back against the cold stone ledge beneath the window. He steps closer, slowly, like he’s giving me a hundred chances to walk away. “Why are you saying this now?” I ask.
“Because I watch you carry too much,” he says. “You don’t trust anyone to help, even when you’re drowning.”
Something in my chest tightens. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to fall apart in front of him, but I don’t want to lie either.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I whisper.
“Why not?” he asks. “Because they’re true? Or because you want to believe you don’t need anyone?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. The space between us feels too small now. I can hear his breath. I can feel the heat of him—steady and quiet—like he’s not here to take anything, just to stand beside the wreckage.
His hand brushes mine. Barely there. More question than action.
“Say stop,” he murmurs. “And I will.” I don’t know when I last let someone stand this close without flinching. Not out of fear, but out of habit. My body was trained to brace, to calculate the next wound before it came. But Jasper just stands there. He doesn’t reach again. He doesn’t push. He waits. And somehow, that makes it harder to breathe.
“I know what people see when they look at me,” I say after a moment. “A name. A title. A girl who came out of nowhere and expects a crown.” My voice is low, raw around the edges. “But they don’t see the nights I didn’t sleep. The years I kept my head down and said thank you when they spat at my feet.”
Jasper shifts, his expression softening just slightly. “I see it.” I want to believe him. I want to believe someone does.
“I hate how hard this is,” I say, voice cracking for the first time. “How much it takes just to keep standing.”
“You’re still standing,” he replies.
I think about how easily I’ve kept people away. Not with words, but with walls. With silence. With control. Jasper sees all of it. And he’s still here.
“That’s what scares me,” I whisper. “That you are staying with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t leave.” His eyes search mine. “You don’t have to do anything.”
The light shifts as clouds move across the moon. The hallway feels darker now, more closed in. His hand is still close. I haven’t moved. Maybe I should. But I don’t. I don’t tell him to stop.
“I’ll see you at the press meeting tomorrow.”