Chapter 12
Jax’s manager was counting on me breaking down during the livestream, giving Jax the perfect opportunity to play victim and paint me as the harasser.
But Jax slipped up first. He absent–mindedly handed the hairdryer to Vivienne, saying, “Daisy, here”
– only realizing his mistake when he saw Vivienne’s face freeze.
That evening, Caspian missed the livestream.
He was flying overseas for the Monaco Grand Prix.
Alone, I wandered the familiar streets of the city I’d left behind.
Back at the hotel, I found Jax waiting outside my room. He’d clearly been there a while.
Wasn’t he supposed to be having a romantic dinner with Vivienne?
The producers informed me that Jax had requested we be paired for the night.
“This was the original arrangement anyway,” the producer explained. “It’s just for tonight.”
In the hotel suite, I coolly noted the positions of all the cameras.
Jax closed the door behind him, his expression unsettlingly calm and cold, bordering on angry.
An elaborate feast was spread across the dark glass table.
“Eat,” he said. “I made it myself.”
Something he’d never done during our marriage.
When I didn’t move, his lips curled into a mocking smile.
“What, too full from your romantic escapades with Caspian?”
“I lose my appetite just looking at you,” I replied bluntly.
His pupils dilated for a moment before he composed himself, mouth twisting into a smirk.
“You’re sulking because I spent two weeks with Vivienne? It’s just business, Daisy. You can’t get jealous every time.”
10:21
The Ice Prince’s Love Prescription Fin Your Reinerty to Forget Your Ex
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Chapter 12
Jax was performing for the cameras while secretly expecting that a hint of kindness would have me coming back, tail wagging.
But I wasn’t that person anymore.
I moved my things to another room, giving him nothing to work with.
He went pale, sitting at the dinner table, watching his carefully prepared meal grow cold.
He let out a hollow laugh, then called room service to have the entire meal thrown away.
Every staff member had a key to the suite.
That night, my fitful sleep was interrupted by a soft kiss.
It landed gently on my forehead – fleeting but real – carrying the clean scent of a winter night and the chill of a hurried journey.
The next morning at breakfast, after the livestream wrapped, Jax was riding high.
Last night’s performance had worked wonders for his online image.
@PoorJax: “I feel so bad for Jax, he’s heartbreaking to watch!”
@WhyDaisyWhy: “Why is Daisy even doing this? It’s just a relationship swap show. If you can’t handle it, don’t participate?”
@SaveJax: “Vivienne, please save him! Stop the hurt!”
@JustSayin: “They’re all clueless. Jax called Vivienne by the wrong name. It’s disgusting that they’re trying to keep him as the good guy. Is it really that hard to admit you don’t love someone?”
@RumorHasIt: “Word is they’re actually divorced!”
His manager told him the hype was sufficient – they’d announce our divorce in the next episode. Then Jax would play the heartbroken victim, with Vivienne swooping in to “heal” him. The perfect
PR stunt for their brand.
“This is a crucial episode. Whatever happens,” his manager warned, “don’t mess it up.”
He sipped his coffee, throwing me a smug glance. “What could possibly go wrong?” he said.
After hanging up, he knew I’d overheard everything, but he was confident I was powerless.
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Chapter 12
I’d signed a non–disclosure agreement and taken a substantial settlement.
He was still depositing money into my account monthly.
“Feeling inadequate?” he sneered, “You’ll never measure up to Vivienne. And you’ll never have me.”
He continued talking, but his words became white noise.
I only asked, when he paused for coffee, “Was it you who kissed me last night?”
The door was open, with staff bustling around moving equipment.
“Why would I kiss…,” he began frowning, before suddenly stopping as realization hit.
An odd silence fell over the room.
The staff’s conversation outside became crystal clear.
“Where’d you get a latte?”
“Caspian sent everyone breakfast and donuts at 5 AM. Didn’t you get any?”
“I was in the bathroom, missed everything!”
“Here, take mine.”
“Why’s he back? Shouldn’t he be at the Monaco Grand Prix?”
“He said he had urgent business before leaving.”
“So he flew from New York back here, just to fly overseas? That’s exhausting!”
“Yeah, heard he’s running a fever too.”
I knew who had kissed me.
Jax knew it too.
But he refused to believe it. He slammed the door, shutting out the chatter.
He stood there, back turned.
“As if that happened,” he scoffed.
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Chapter 12
He grabbed my wrist roughly, yanking me off the sofa and pushing me against the door.
“You knew he’d be back. You made up that kiss story to provoke me,” he laughed hollowly. “You’re pathetic, Daisy! Going to such lengths to make me jealous.”
“You really think he could ever actually like you?”
“If…” He tightened his grip on my wrist, “If he did somehow lose his mind and fall for you, it’s only because I took his woman. It’s revenge. Get it?”
He shoved my wrist away.
“You’d grovel for it, though. That’s just who you are. Who else would want you?”
I listened to his tirade calmly.
Then I grabbed the ashtray from the coffee table and brought it down on his head.
It connected with a sickening thud before clattering to the floor.
He stood stunned. Blood trickled down his forehead, blurring his vision.
“You…” He gaped at me, incredulous. “How could you?”
Outside, the producer started pounding on the door.
“Jax, we found something.”
Jax frantically grabbed tissues to wipe the blood, “Just a minute,” he snapped, stuffing the bloody tissues in the trash.
He opened the door. The producer recoiled, asking what had happened.
“Nothing, just a stupid accident,” Jax said coldly.
He noticed something in the producer’s hand, squinting to make it out.
The producer caught my eye and hesitated, seeing me calmly returning the ashtray to the coffee table as if nothing had happened.
The producer faltered, saying nothing.
Jax, irritated by his throbbing head, snatched the paper and read it himself.
Chapter 12
It was a standard lease agreement.
Old, worn, and photocopied.
It clearly showed the monthly rent for each tenant.
The tenant: me.
The rent: eight hundred dollars.
The monthly rent had to be signed for in person.
But that signature… It was identical to the one that, less than a day ago, thousands of miles away at the Monaco Grand Prix, had been scrawled across the backdrop – bold and unmistakable.
Caspian’s.
