Your childhood tormentor. The boy who had teased you, pulled your hair, and competed with you in everything—until the day he broke something between you with four cruel words:

*"I love someone else. Rose ." ***

And now, by some cruel twist of fate, he was your husband.

The door opened without warning. Jason stepped in, his tall frame dominating the space. the fabric stretched taut over his shoulders. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable as ever.

You stood abruptly, your voice icy. "I’m sleeping in the guest room."

You moved to leave, but his arm shot out, blocking your path. "No, you’re not." His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.

You glared up at him. "You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not after what you did."

A flicker of something—guilt?—passed over his face before his usual smirk settled back in place. "Still holding a grudge over Me , shorty?"

"Don’t call me that!" you snapped, shoving at his chest. He didn’t budge.

"Why? because it reminds you that you hated me more than you ever hated anyone… but you never forgot me."

Your breath hitched. He was wrong. He had to be.

You tried to sidestep him, but his hand caught your wrist, pulling you back. "Let me go!"

"No." His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he wouldn’t release you. "Not until you hear the truth."

"The truth?" You let out a bitter laugh. "You made it pretty clear years ago."

Jason’s jaw clenched. "There was no Rose ."

The words struck like a slap. You froze. "…What?"

His thumb brushed over your pulse point, where your heartbeat thundered. "I lied. Because he was my best friend, and he was destroyed when you rejected him. He thought you were in love with me. So I gave him a reason to let go." His voice turned raw. "I made you hate me so he could move on."

Your chest tightened. All these years, you’d carried that hurt, that betrayal—and it had all been a lie?

"You had no right," you whispered, voice trembling.

"I know." His fingers loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. "But I’m not letting you walk away this time."

Before you could react, his free hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. "Tell me you still hate me, and I’ll sleep on the damn floor."