You're Jealous
RONNY’S POV
The champagne tastes like acid in my throat. Too sweet, too sharp. Or maybe that’s just me—still reeling from what happened upstairs, still trying to shove the memory of her flushed skin and trembling lips into the darkest corner of my brain. But every swallow drags it back up, choking me.
I shift the flute in my hand, scanning the glittering hall. Everywhere I look, there are masks. Painted smiles. Polished jewels. Perfume so thick it clings to my lungs. These people—they’re here to circle, to measure, to see where Liliana fits now that the queen is gone.
And me? I’m supposed to be her shield. Her boyfriend. Her cover.
But I’m not her boyfriend. I remind myself of that with every sip, every breath. Still, the judgmental weight of her stepmother’s gaze burns holes in the side of my skull. The woman hasn’t looked at me once without curling her lip, like she’s caught a dog tracking dirt across her marble floors. And her daughter—Liliana’s step-sister—she’s no better. Except her look isn’t judgment. It’s invitation. The kind of look I’ve seen a thousand times from women who think I’m for sale, who think all it takes is a crooked smile and a private corner.
I ignore both. I can’t afford distractions. Not when I’m still trying to piece together what kind of world Liliana’s mother was tangled in before she died. Who she trusted. Who she lied to. Who might’ve wanted her gone. That’s the job. That’s why I’m here.
Still… my focus fractures the second I catch sight of her.
Liliana.
She’s across the room, laughing at something some man just whispered in her ear. Her head is tilted back, her eyes shining in a way I’ve only ever seen when she’s with me. Or at least, I thought I had.
The sound hits me like a punch.
It shouldn’t matter. None of this should matter. She told me she had to greet guests, that’s all. She even asked if I wanted to come with her, to introduce me properly, to play the part. I told her no. I didn’t want to smile, to shake hands, to waste words on vultures. But now—watching her lean just a fraction too close to him, watching the way his eyes drag over her body like she’s a goddamn meal—something twists in me, dark and sharp.
Jealousy.
I have no right to it, but it claws its way up anyway. Hot. Consuming.
By the time I realize what I’m doing, my feet are moving, my body carving a straight line toward her.
Her laughter fades the moment she sees me.
I don’t stop.
My hand finds her waist, possessive, firm, dragging her back against me like she belongs there. And God help me, she fits too perfectly. My free hand shoots out, open, pointed at him.
“I’m Ronny,” I say, my voice hard as stone. “Her boyfriend.”
The words snap through the air like a whip.
The man blinks, startled. He wasn’t expecting me. He wasn’t expecting anyone. His hand meets mine, reluctantly, and I squeeze. Hard. Enough to make him wince before I release.
He masks it quickly, but I catch it—the flash of discomfort, the faint flicker of unease in his eyes. It makes me smirk, sharp and humorless.
Liliana clears her throat, her voice tugging at me even as my grip refuses to loosen on her waist. “Ronny, this is Daniel. My friend. My close friend.”
Daniel.
The name tastes sour in my mouth.
“Pleasure,” I grind out. But I don’t mean it. Not even close.
Daniel nods stiffly, his eyes flicking between us, then back to her. He looks uncomfortable now. Good. He should.
“I should… check on someone,” he mutters, already backing away. His retreat is quick, almost too quick, and I watch him disappear into the crowd without an ounce of regret.
Only then do I feel her twist in my hold, turning to look up at me.
Her eyes are sharp, cutting right through me. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” I keep my voice even, casual, like my pulse isn’t still thundering from the sight of her smiling at him.
Her lips curve into something that’s not quite a smile. “You were jealous.”
The word slams into me. I shouldn’t let it. I shouldn’t let her. But damn it, she’s too close, too beautiful, too aware.
“I was doing my job,” I snap, tightening my hold on her waist just enough to make sure she feels it. “Did you forget the whole point of this? We’re supposed to be acting like a couple . What do you think people saw when you were standing there laughing with him, like that?”
Her brows arch. “Like what?”
“Like you were flirting.”
“I wasn’t flirting.” Her tone is indignant, but there’s a flicker in her eyes.
I lean closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear, my breath hot against her ear. “Oh yeah? Then why was he looking at you like he wanted to undress you?”
Her lips part. She doesn’t answer.
And that’s when the words slip out before I can stop them.
“…the way I did minutes ago.”
Her whole body freezes.
Fuck.
It’s too late to take it back. The words are there, raw, hanging between us like a live wire. Her pupils blow wide, her lips parting in a sharp inhale. I feel her shiver against me, feel the memory of upstairs crash back between us with brutal force.
I curse under my breath, dragging a hand over my face like I can scrub the truth away.
But it’s too late.
Her voice is a whisper, but it sears me anyway. “You just admitted it.”
I shake my head, trying to pull the mask back on, but my chest is tight, my blood pounding too loud in my ears. “I didn’t admit anything.”
Her lips curve, slow, dangerous. “Yes, you did.”
The hall is spinning, noise pressing in around us, but I don’t hear any of it. It’s just her. Her eyes. Her voice. The heat rolling off her in waves. And the worst part? I don’t even want to deny it anymore.
Because she’s right.
I was jealous.
And I didn't know why.
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