CHAPTER 92: JEALOUS

Ella was sitting across from him, nibbling on a piece of caramel tart like it was nothing—like she hadn’t just short-circuited every functioning neuron in his body with that dress, those eyes, and that laugh. And yet, despite the perfection of the moment, despite the warmth and wine and the way she kept looking at him like he was the only thing worth seeing, he asked the question anyway.

"Why’d you stay with him?"

She looked up, startled. "With Ryan?"

He nodded, careful to keep his tone light, almost casual. Like it didn’t matter.

But it did. It mattered more than he wanted to admit.

Ella didn’t answer immediately. She went still—quiet in a way that told him she was thinking, really thinking. Her brows pulled together in a thoughtful crease, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her glass as she stared into the flickering candlelight between them.

Nicholas almost told her to forget it. Almost changed the subject. But then she spoke—softly, rawly.

"I think... sometimes," she began, voice barely above a whisper, "you want so badly to be someone’s first choice. Especially when you never have been. You just want to be enough. Just once. Even if it’s with the wrong person."

His chest tightened, breath catching in his throat. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t. Because he knew that feeling. Knew it like a scar on his own skin. Her words reached right in and cracked something open inside him.

Ella gave a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking her head. "It’s stupid. I knew he wasn’t good for me. I knew he didn’t care—not really. Not the way I wanted him to. But I stayed. Because leaving meant admitting no one had ever really chosen me. And that... that was worse. That was lonelier."

It felt like watching someone take off armor piece by piece and lay it at his feet.

Nicholas leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, every breath suddenly heavier.

"Ella..."

But she wasn’t finished.

"I’ll never do that again," she said firmly now, her voice no longer soft but edged with steel. "I’ll never let someone make me feel like I’m an afterthought. Like I’m too much, or not enough. Like I’m just... convenient. I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than be someone’s placeholder. Waiting for someone better."

Her eyes lifted to meet his, burning with emotion. Pain. Conviction. Anger born from the kind of ache that changes a person.

"Good," Nicholas said simply, the word landing with quiet finality.

Her brows rose. "That’s it?"

He shrugged slightly. "No one should ever feel like that. You should be a first choice. You should feel wanted. Important."

Ella blinked, looking momentarily thrown. Then she narrowed her eyes, squinting at him like she was trying to see through him.

"You’re starting to sound dangerously like a decent man, Carter."

"Don’t spread rumors," he replied, lips twitching. "I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

She laughed again, the sound softer now. And then her expression shifted—mischief curling around the corners of her mouth.

"Tell me something," she said lightly.

"Anything."

"Is there some past lover I should be worried about?" she asked, faux-sweet. "A devastating heartbreak that’s going to come knocking on your penthouse door one day? Some heiress who calls you Nicky and still thinks she’s got a shot?"

He raised a brow. "Are you jealous?"

Ella gave him an innocent smile that didn’t fool him for a second. "Are you avoiding the question?"

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching her with a slow, knowing grin. "There was someone. A long time ago. It didn’t work out."

Her smile faltered just a little, though she masked it with a teasing lilt. "Why not?"

"She wanted a version of me that didn’t exist," he said, voice low. "She liked the image. The power. The name. But she never saw me. Not really."

Ella’s lips twisted. "Idiot."

"Me or her?"

"Her. Obviously."

He laughed—soft and genuine.

Then, without warning, she stood up, walked around the table, and eased herself into his lap like she belonged there. Like she had every right to.

"Ella," he said, brow arching.

"What?" she replied, draping an arm lazily around his neck. "I’m just making sure no one tries to claim what’s mine."

"Are you claiming me now?"

"Wouldn’t you like that."

"I’d like a lot of things," he muttered.

Her hips shifted subtly against his, and all the blood in his body seemed to migrate south. She smirked, lips just shy of his, not quite touching, her breath teasing his skin.

"I mean," she mused, fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, "if there was another woman, I’d just have to ruin her life. Quietly. Elegantly. Possibly with fire."

Nicholas groaned, hands tightening on her hips. "You’re going to kill me."

She ground down again—slow, deliberate—and he nearly choked.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," she said sweetly. "I’m just sitting."

"Ella—"

"I’m just talking," she added, her fingers now tracing the line of his collarbone.

"You’re seducing me."

She gave him a wicked smile. "Oh? That’s what this is?"

He kissed her before she could say another word.

It wasn’t slow this time. It wasn’t tentative. It was heat and fire and everything he’d been holding back since she walked in wearing that damn dress. One hand tangled in her hair, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, keeping her there.

Ella let out a breathy sound—somewhere between a sigh and a satisfied hum—and it went straight to his head.

When he finally pulled back, her eyes were heavy-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

"Still don’t know what you’re doing?" he asked, voice rough.

"No clue," she whispered, brushing her nose against his.

"You’re mine, Ella," Nicholas said, the words low, certain. "You don’t have to worry about anyone else. There’s no one else."

She didn’t hesitate. "I know." Then, after a moment, "But you’re mine too."

He let that land. Let it settle into the deepest part of him, like something he hadn’t realized he needed to hear until now.

Ella didn’t say things she didn’t mean. She wasn’t reckless with her words. If she said it, she meant it.

And right now, he’d never felt more wanted. More chosen.

"Good," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

"I still hate your ex though," she muttered.

Nicholas smirked, his hand sliding down her back. "Noted."