Vesper’s POV
Caleb did not go quietly, and it was becoming a massive headache.
He stood in the guest room doorway with his arms folded, looking between Jaxon and me like he was waiting for one of us to confess to a crime.
“I’m fine out here,” Caleb muttered, glaring at the floor.
“In the hallway.”
”You’re not sleeping in the hallway, Caleb,” I said, rubbing my temples.
“I’m just saying, I don’t love the idea of sleeping at the opposite end of the house from my sister, especially near someone who—” He scoffed, his eyes darting sharply toward Jaxon.
Jaxon, for his part, was completely unbothered, leaning against the wall and casually flipping through his phone as if my brother’s rage had absolutely nothing to do with him.
“Just stop being stubborn,” I groaned, gently pushing Caleb toward the mattress.
“My sister,” Caleb said, pointing a finger at me, “married a man I once watched get escorted out of a Miami hotel by security for reasons nobody ever fully explained.”
Jaxon opened his mouth to reply, but I raised a warning hand.
“Don’t,” I snapped at him.
Jaxon closed his mouth, his jaw tightening into a flat, stone-like expression.
I looked back at my brother.
“Guest room.
Now.”
”Vesper—”
”Caleb.
You are currently running on zero sleep, terrible airport coffee, and divorce emotions.
None of those are good advisors.” I pushed the door open wider.
“Bed.
Immediately.
Please.”
He stared at Jaxon one last time.
Finally, Caleb walked in.
I closed the door behind him and heaved a massive sigh of relief.
By nine o’clock, the villa was entirely quiet.
Sunny was fast asleep.
Caleb had not reappeared.
So, I set up my laptop at the dining table, spreading out every PR document and analytical report I’d been avoiding for the past three days.
The numbers on the screen were better than I expected.
The domestic beach photos had moved things fast.
The public sentiment tracking showed a fourteen percent upward shift in the past month alone.
The tone of the comments had completely changed.
That was the crucial difference.
The next step was consistency.
No more dramatic scandals.
Just the steady, unwavering image of a stable family man until the public stopped waiting for the facade to collapse.
I was drafting the revised media plan for the next four weeks when the sound of quiet footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Jaxon walked into the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and walked back over to the dining table.
He looked at the generous single sofa right beside my chair and sat down.
When I shifted slightly to make room, his broad shoulder pressed firmly against mine.
Neither of us moved away.
He leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen.
“Good or bad?”
”It’s good.” I angled the laptop toward him.
“Fourteen percent good.
The beach coverage did most of the heavy lifting.”
He studied the analytics quietly, nodding in approval.
His face was unreadable, his professional demeanor returning like a shield—a stark contrast to the heavy, suffocating tension that had hung between us in the kitchen just last night.
“The next phase is absolute stability,” I said, forcing my voice to remain clinical.
“Consistent public appearances.
Nothing staged-looking.
I have four community events mapped out for the next month.”
He nodded slowly, staring at the screen.
Then, out of nowhere, he murmured, “About this morning.”
I kept my eyes glued to the numbers, my heart giving a sudden, unwanted flutter.
“The closet box incident…
It’s fine.”
”It wasn’t,” he added, his voice dropping an octave as he turned his head.
His eyes locked onto mine, trapping me in place.
“It was about…
a girl.
Someone I…” He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw tight.
“…someone I never wanted to drag into the mess of my life.”
I looked at him then.
He had already looked away, his elbows resting on his knees, his jaw set with tension.
And that was the problem.
To the taste of him, and the terrifying certainty in his voice when he whispered, It has always been you.
I forced the memory down.
It was safer to pretend he meant someone else—some mysterious ex-girlfriend from his past.
Believing any other alternative was too dangerous.
“Apology accepted,” I said, my voice smooth and perfectly professional as I turned back to my laptop.
“I’m moving on to the next task.
See?
Simple.”
He glanced over at me, something dark and unreadable shifting in his expression.
I looked away before I could name it.
“Right,” he murmured quietly.
“Simple.”
By eleven o’clock, my eyes were losing the argument with exhaustion.
Jaxon had been sitting beside me for the better part of two hours, mostly quiet, occasionally checking his phone.
It was the kind of heavy, silent company that didn’t demand a single thing from me—the kind of comfort I had dangerously stopped noticing weeks ago.
“Go to bed, Vesper,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.
“Two more documents and I’ll be done,” I lied, staring blankly at a spreadsheet.
“Otherwise, tomorrow will be a mountain of a mess.”
”You’ve been staring at the exact same page for twenty minutes.”
I glanced down.
The cursor sat exactly where I’d left it.
“I’m adjusting the wording in my head,” I said, refusing to look at him.
“Come upstairs and get some rest,” he said simply, offering no further argument.
Something about the soft ease in his voice made me desperately want to say yes, which was precisely the reason I had to say no.
“I’ll be up in a bit,” I said, forcing a polite distance into my tone.
“Go ahead.
I still have a lot to review.
Don’t worry about my brother, I think he finally fell asleep for the night.”
Jaxon looked at me, slowly raising his eyebrows.
It was that steady, unhurried gaze that made me feel like he could see straight through the armor, right to the exact, terrified reason I was refusing to go upstairs with him.
He stood up, choosing not to push it.
“Don’t stay up past midnight,” he said quietly.
I flashed him a tightly controlled, fake smile.
“Noted.
Goodnight, Jaxon.”