Chapter 22
The moment Jack brought up marriage and wedding, Charlie panicked.
Jack wasn’t wrong—they hadn’t had a wedding. No paperwork. No rings. Olivia had simply… moved in one day. That was it. Technically, she owed him nothing.
And this Jack–this polished, powerful military man–he could give her everything. A home like the one she used to live in. A life that didn’t involve muddy boots and broken plumbing.
Before Olivia could even react, Charlie was already second–guessing himself.
But she reached for his hand, gently squeezing them.
“We may not have had a wedding or anything else,” she said, her voice steady, “but we’ve already lived as husband and wife. I belong to Charlie now.”
Jack’s face turned pale like he’d been struck by lightning. He stared at Olivia’s hand, gently curled around Charlie’s rougher one, as if his entire world had just caved in.
“You–you what?” Jack’s voice cracked. “You’re saying you… that you and him…?”
He choked on the words. Rage simmered beneath the surface. All he could see was the image of
Olivia in another man’s arms–that man..
A country boy with dirt under his fingernails. Her elegant curves, her soft skin, her breathless
moans–all wasted on a man like that.
No. It couldn’t be true. Not his Olivia.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to believe she was lying–just trying to push him away. But she
was too calm. Too amused.
Then she gave him a sweet, infuriating smile.
“If you don’t believe me,” she said lightly, “you’re welcome to drop by tonight. You’ll see just
how… sweet Charlie and I are.”
That did it.
Jack turned on his heel, storming off without another word, chest heaving.
Charlie stood frozen, palm sweating in hers. He was still reeling. This was the first time they’d ever held hands like this–his heart was racing, terrified he might grip her too tightly and hurt her
delicate skin.
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Only when Jack’s silhouette finally disappeared did Olivia pull her hand away.
Charlie deflated for a second, clearly disappointed.
“Don’t overthink it,” she said softly. “Let’s just finish up and head home early tonight.”
He nodded, still too stunned to process what had just happened.
That night, just like always, Charlie went to grab his pillow and head for the other bed. But Olivia stopped him.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He blinked. “To sleep?”
She arched a brow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Charlie, still holding the pillow, stared in confusion. Olivia’s face flushed slightly, but her voice stayed firm.
“We already told Jack we were sharing a bed. We can’t be all talk, can we?”
Before he could respond, she reached out and tugged his wrist, pulling him a step closer.
“We sleep together tonight,” she said softly. “I meant what I said–we already told him we’re living like husband and wife. It can’t just be for show.”
For a second, Charlie just blinked at her. Then, all at once, his face turned crimson. Even someone
as dense as Charlie got the hint–or so she thought.
But when he just stood there, blank as ever, Olivia paused.
She’d once bent over backward trying to seduce Jack, dropping hints, showing skin, playing the game. None of it ever worked. Now, here she was, practically spelling it out, and this backwoods guy still looked like he was trying to solve a math problem.
Was she really this bad at flirting? Or was Charlie just… completely immune?
“I–I mean, I doubt he’d actually come snooping around,” he stammered. “You don’t have to… force yourself, Olivia.”
She gave a soft laugh.
Charlie was sweet–almost painfully so. That was his only flaw. Always tiptoeing around her, always feeling like he wasn’t good enough. But really, who decided who was or wasn’t “good enough” anyway?
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Without a word, she reached for his waistband and pulled him toward the bed.
As layers of clothing came off, and her porcelain skin glowed under the soft lamplight, Charlie finally gave in—gripping her slim waist, holding her like she was something precious and
forbidden.
Her soft gasps filled the room, breathless and sweet, until even the air seemed to burn around
them.
But just outside their window, in the shadows near the wall, Jack stood frozen in place.
He heard it.
He heard everything.
The sound of her voice–those sounds he’d once fantasized about–were now someone else’s
reality. The gut–wrenching intimacy of it all clawed into him like jagged glass.
His fists clenched so tight, his nails dug into his palms.
He hadn’t believed it. Not really. Not until now.
Now it was undeniable.
She really had slept with him. She had chosen this man, this place, this life. And she hadn’t
hesitated.
But Jack couldn’t walk away.
He stood there all night, unmoving, trapped in the prison of his own making–those sounds playing
on loop in his mind, tearing him open piece by piece.
When dawn broke and the house fell silent, Jack was still there, still locked in place.
But something had shifted.
He’d made up his mind.
Even now–even after all that–he still wanted her back.
Whatever the cost.
He didn’t believe for a second that Olivia had stopped loving him.
Not in just a few months.
No… she was punishing him. Making him suffer. And maybe he deserved it.
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But he wasn’t going to give up.
Not now. Not ever.
