You were in a relationship with the most jealous man alive.

After a bomb was placed in your tiny apartment, you had to stay at your father’s house. Caesar hadn’t called once—too busy recovering your home, securing your documents, and tracking down the culprit.

Now, back at his house, he kissed you. When you mentioned Dimitri, asking if he was the expert who caught the man, Caesar’s expression darkened.

“Don’t say his name like that!” he snapped.

You muttered how you were just asking

“You don’t need to ask about other men!” he said. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. You can’t go around saying other men’s names—only mine.” He pulled off his real leather gloves, still frowning.

Some things never changed.