Aria’s POV.
I still felt weak, the exhaustion from nearly drowning the day before weighing on me like an invisible anchor. Even though my limbs still ached, my mind was sharper than ever, buzzing with thoughts I couldn’t ignore. I sat curled up on the couch, sipping water slowly, trying to steady myself while ignoring the heavy tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud waiting to break.
Zander hadn’t spoken a word to me since we returned from the beach. He had been distant, brooding in silence, retreating to the bedroom as though being near me was unbearable. He avoided looking at me, and while that should have hurt, it didn’t. Instead, I felt a small, strange satisfaction deep down. I knew the image of Asher pulling me from the water-saving me-was likely burned into his mind, haunting him. That thought gave me a sense of control, a power I rarely felt in this marriage.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts, pulling me out of my mental spiral. The sound was light but firm, and it made me frown.
I glanced toward the bedroom where Zander had disappeared hours ago, then slowly got up to answer the door. When I opened it, a young woman in a neatly pressed resort uniform stood there, holding a small silver tray. On the tray sat a steaming bowl of soup and a stunning bouquet of vibrant red roses.
“These were sent for you, Mrs. Ashford,” the woman said with a polite but warm smile, holding the tray out for me to take.
I blinked in surprise, hesitating for a moment before accepting the tray. “Oh,” I said softly. “Thank you.”
The woman nodded and turned to leave, her footsteps fading down the hall as I closed the door behind me. For a moment, I just stood there, staring down at the items in my hands. The soup smelled rich and inviting, the kind of meal meant to comfort and heal. The roses, on the other hand, were breathtaking-a deep, vivid red that made them impossible to ignore. Their petals were soft and fresh, as though they had just been picked.
Nestled between the stems of the bouquet was a small card. Curious, I set the tray down on the coffee table and carefully plucked the card out. The handwriting was neat and precise, the message simple but pointed:
*”For your recovery. Take care of yourself. – Asher”*
A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. It wasn’t just the gesture that made me smile-it was what the gesture represented. I wasn’t naive. I knew Asher’s intentions weren’t purely friendly. He wasn’t just being kind; he was stirring the pot, provoking Zander just as much as I was.
Still, I couldn’t deny the warmth I felt at knowing someone had thought about me enough to send flowers and soup. It was more than Zander had done. He hadn’t even asked if I was okay after everything that happened. Not one word of concern, not even a glance in my direction.
I picked up the roses, inhaling their sweet fragrance, letting myself enjoy the moment. But before I could fully appreciate the gesture, the sound of a door opening made me freeze.
“What’s that?” Zander’s voice was sharp, low, and full of suspicion.
I turned to see him standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his broad shoulders tense, his gaze locked on the bouquet in my hands. His eyes narrowed, dark and stormy, as if the flowers themselves were an insult to him.
“Flowers,” I said simply, holding them up as though the answer were obvious.
“From who?” he asked, his tone colder now, his jaw tightening.
“Asher,” I replied, meeting his gaze head-on, watching for his reaction.
His jaw clenched even tighter, the muscle ticking visibly as his hands curled into fists at his sides. “Asher?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, like a growl.
“I almost drowned yesterday,” I said, keeping my tone deliberately light, as though it were no big deal. “He was just being thoughtful.”
Zander’s eyes darkened further, the storm brewing within him impossible to miss. His wolf was stirring, I could feel it, and his voice dripped with sarcasm as he repeated, “Thoughtful. Of course he was.”
He moved toward me with deliberate, menacing steps, his presence filling the room like a thundercloud ready to burst. Before I could stop him, he snatched the roses from my hands.
“Zander-”
But he didn’t listen. He marched straight to the trash can, his movements sharp and angry, and threw the bouquet inside with so much force that the metal bin rattled loudly.
“Seriously?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, glaring at him.
“You’re my wife,” he growled, turning to face me, his voice rough and unyielding. “Not his. You don’t accept gifts from another man.”
“They’re just flowers,” I shot back, my voice rising with frustration. “It’s not like he proposed to me or something.”
His gaze flicked to the coffee table, landing on the tray with the soup. His lip curled in disdain. “And the soup?” he said mockingly. “Let me guess-he’s worried about your health too?”
Before I could answer, he grabbed the bowl, his movements quick and aggressive, and hurled it to the ground. The ceramic shattered instantly, pieces flying across the floor as the warm liquid splattered everywhere.
I gasped, taking a step back in shock, my eyes wide as I looked from the mess on the floor to Zander’s heaving chest.
“You think this is a game, don’t you?” he said, his voice low and full of barely contained rage. “You think you can flirt with him, let him send you gifts, and I’ll just stand by and watch?”
“I’m not flirting!” I snapped, my own anger bubbling to the surface. “And maybe if you showed even an ounce of care for me, I wouldn’t have to accept kindness from other people!”
His eyes burned with fury, his hands trembling as he struggled to keep his composure. “You’re my wife, Aria. Mine. And you’re forgetting that.”
“Am I?” I said, stepping closer to him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because last I checked, you were the one who said this marriage doesn’t mean anything. You were the one who rejected me.”
His breathing grew heavier, his jaw tightening as he glared at me. For a moment, I thought he might explode, but instead, he turned abruptly and slammed his fist into the mirror hanging on the wall.
The glass shattered instantly, shards raining down onto the floor like glittering diamonds.
I froze, my heart racing as I stared at him. His shoulders were tense, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his knuckles were bleeding, streaks of red dripping onto the broken glass below.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound in the room was our breathing, heavy and uneven.
And then, to my surprise, I felt something unexpected-a flicker of satisfaction.
He wasn’t indifferent. No, Zander was furious. His usual cold, controlled exterior had cracked, and what lay beneath it was raw, unfiltered emotion.
“You’re jealous,” I said softly, my voice barely louder than a whisper, but the words carried a weight that filled the room. My lips curled into a small, triumphant smile as I watched his reaction carefully.
There was no hesitation, no attempt to hide the way my words struck him. I could see it in the way his body tensed, in the storm brewing behind his eyes.
His expression faltered just for a second, a crack in his icy demeanor, but it was enough. It was enough to know I had hit a nerve, enough to make the satisfaction bloom in my chest like a spark catching fire.
His head snapped toward me, the motion sharp and sudden, as if he couldn’t believe what I’d just said. His eyes blazed with fury, a deep, unrestrained anger that sent a chill down my spine even as it fueled the fire inside me. “I’m not jealous,” he growled, his voice rough and low, like gravel scraping against stone. But the way his fists clenched at his sides betrayed him. The tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened-everything about him screamed the opposite of his words. He was trying to deny it, trying to hold onto the control he always prided himself on, but I could see through it. I could see through him.
“Really?” I asked, drawing the word out slowly, letting it hang in the air between us. My head tilted slightly, my smile widening as I stepped closer, refusing to back down. “Because it sure looks like you are.” My tone was light, teasing even, but there was an edge to it, a deliberate challenge I knew he couldn’t ignore. I wanted to push him, to force him to admit what he was feeling, to finally break through that wall he kept so carefully in place. And judging by the way his eyes darkened, I was succeeding.
He took a deliberate step closer, his movements slow and calculated, but there was no mistaking the danger in the way he loomed over me. His imposing frame towered over mine, his presence suffocating and electric all at once. “Don’t push me, Aria,” he warned, his voice dangerously low, each word dripping with the kind of threat that sent a shiver down my spine. He sounded like a predator, like a wolf circling its prey, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to feel afraid. Instead, I felt something else-defiance, determination, and a deep, burning need to stand my ground.
I didn’t back down. I couldn’t. “Why not?” I shot back, my voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “You push me all the time.” My words were laced with sarcasm, my tone sharp enough to cut through the thick silence between us. I stepped closer, refusing to let him intimidate me, refusing to let him think he could silence me with a look or a warning. If he wanted a fight, I was ready to give him one. For too long, I had let him dictate the terms of our relationship, but not anymore.
His lips parted as if he was about to fire back, but then he stopped. He closed his mouth, his jaw tightening as a frustrated growl escaped him. He turned away abruptly, his movements stiff and jerky, as though he couldn’t trust himself to stay in control if he faced me any longer. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, his anger radiating off him in waves, and yet he said nothing more.
“Clean this mess up,” he commanded coldly, his voice devoid of the emotion that had burned so fiercely just moments ago. He gestured toward the shattered mirror and the soup spilled across the floor, his tone clipped and final. “I’m going out.” The words were dismissive, a clear attempt to end the conversation on his terms, to regain the upper hand.
With that, he stormed out of the suite, his footsteps heavy and purposeful. The door slammed shut behind him with a force that made the walls shudder, the sound echoing through the room and leaving behind a suffocating silence. It was as if his anger had left a physical imprint on the space, a lingering tension that refused to dissipate.
I stood there for a long moment, frozen in place, the silence pressing down on me like a heavy weight. My pulse was still racing, my chest rising and falling as I struggled to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. The argument replayed in my mind on a loop, each word, each look, each movement etched into my memory.
And then, slowly, a smile spread across my lips. It wasn’t a big smile, but it was real, and it carried a sense of triumph I hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time, I had seen the cracks in his carefully constructed armor. Zander wasn’t as indifferent as he wanted me to believe. He wasn’t as untouchable, as cold, as unaffected. His jealousy, his anger, his inability to control himself-it was proof that I was getting to him.
This was just the beginning. I didn’t know what the future would hold or how this would all play out, but I knew one thing for certain. I had found the cracks in his armor, and I wasn’t going to stop until I shattered it completely.