"Jolie, that’s not what I meant," Malcolm exhaled slowly, sharp menthol fumes curling around him. "I thought after everything we’ve been through, you’d get where I’m coming from."
I didn’t say a word.
[Seriously? Does he actually expect me to buy that? After everything he’s put me through?]
[This guy is unbelievable. Always hiding behind some stupid excuse for his own garbage.]
Malcolm looked thrown off by my silence. Still, I kept my mask steady. "I don’t get it, Malcolm. There’s no excuse for what you did to me." I forced myself to step closer, lacing my fingers through his, and stared deep into his eyes with all the fake sweetness I could muster. "Malcolm, we’re engaged now. Let’s not let anyone come between us, okay?"
On the outside, I kept the act going. On the inside?
[Ugh, I’m this close to puking all over his nice shoes.]
Malcolm was completely confused.
"Jolie," he said, low and grave, "Yara and I aren’t what you think. There’s nothing between us. I chose you to be my fiancée, and I’m sticking to that. You don’t have anything to worry about."
I stared up at his earnest, stupid-handsome face and nodded slow, my jaw tight enough that my muscles ached from not twitching:
[This man deserves a fucking Oscar. That performance awards-level good.]
[Engaged to me and still stringing another woman along. Who even knows how many times he’s cheated behind my back?]
Malcolm sighed deep, his brows furrowing hard.
He stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. Smoke twisted up toward the ceiling before it faded into nothing.
"Jolie, I haven’t done a single thing to betray you," he insisted, his face all sincere as he gripped my shoulders. His dark eyes held my reflection clear as day. "Yara and I are strictly professional."
"I believe you, Malcolm," I answered soft, my eyes wide and bright. "It’s just Yara I don’t trust. She’s too clever for her own good."
[Sorry, Yara, for talking trash behind your back. I swear I didn’t mean it… not really anyway.]
[You’re actually the nicest Yara, I totally don’t think you’re a scheming little fox… okay, maybe I do a little.]
[It’s all his fault! This man is impossible!]
Malcolm was speechless.
Ignoring the little voice in his head that screamed my inner thoughts, he breathed a sigh of relief. "…I’m glad you trust me."
"Yes," I said, grinning wide. "Malcolm, you’re my man…"
[Ugh—anyone can have him. I wouldn’t touch this guy for free.]
Malcolm’s face twisted for half a second, but he heard me finish: "I don’t want my man sharing a roof with another woman."
Still reeling from my disgusted inner rant, he blurted out, "So what do you want to do about it?"
"So…" I hesitated, stepping even closer, and let my fingers toy with the knot of his tie. "Either Yara moves out… or I move in with you."
My voice went soft and husky at the end, hanging in the air, and my perfume curled sweet and subtle between us.
[I swear to god, I’m actually gonna gag this time.]
Malcolm snapped out of his daze: "…" Wow. What a hypocritical woman.
Furrowing his brow, he tugged my hand away from his tie and spoke cold. "That’s not possible."
I was caught off guard for a second.
"Like I said, I haven’t betrayed you. You’re overreacting."
With that, he turned and walked out.
Behind his back, I muttered under my breath:
[Of course it’s fine for him to live with another woman, but not his fiancée. What a total jerk. All he’s good for is cheating.]
Malcolm stopped mid-step and turned around.
I fixed my face into a soft, vulnerable little mask, letting hope shine in my eyes:
[What are you looking at? Just leave already, I can’t stand being in the same room as you.]
Malcolm: "…"
He’d initially planned to say something else, but some weird, thick tension hung in the air, pulling him back. He ended up just walking away with that cold, blank look on his face.
In the car, Malcolm leaned back against the leather seat and closed his eyes.
His whole demeanor was frosty, walled off behind that cold aloofness he always carried.
The driver hesitated for a minute, then asked careful, "Mr. Salazar, where to next?"
Malcolm rubbed his temples, never opening his eyes. "The hospital."
He needed to check if something was wrong with him.
Why the hell can he hear Jolie’s thoughts?
A little while later, he held the doctor’s report in his hand, his face dark as a thunderstorm.
The report said everything was perfectly normal.
As for why he could hear Jolie’s inner voice, Malcolm kept it to himself. He didn’t want people thinking he was crazy.
When he got back to the apartment after work, he turned the handle and opened the door. Yara was there, grinning, holding a spatula and wearing an apron. "Malcolm, you’re home! I made something really good for dinner."
He followed her gaze to the dining table, and it was loaded with all his favorite dishes.
He tossed his jacket over the sofa carelessly and said flatly, "We have staff for this. You don’t have to do it yourself."
Yara grabbed the jacket off the sofa and hung it on the rack, answering light, "Taking care of your needs is part of my job as your secretary. Besides, I wanted to make you a special dinner to say thank you for letting me stay here."
She smiled and winked playful.
Malcolm’s lips tugged up in a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile. He lifted his hand like he was going to ruffle her hair, then thought better of it and let it drop.
"I’m gonna go wash my hands."
Yara nodded, watching him walk away, a faint shadow of sadness crossing her face.
He’d clearly wanted to touch her. Why did he stop all of a sudden?
When Malcolm came back to the table, Yara was back to her bright, cheerful self. She quickly ladled a bowl of warm soup for him. "Malcolm, I spent all afternoon making this, you have to try it."
"Alright."
Malcolm lowered his head, just about to take a sip, when someone knocked on the front door.
The housekeeper hurried to open it, and I walked in, dragging a big suitcase behind me.
I noticed all their faces drop, but I didn’t feel even a little embarrassed. I just smiled warm and bright: "Hi, everyone!"
[I, Jolie, am back to claim what’s mine!]
Malcolm almost burst out laughing, but he choked it back at the last second.
He frowned, pulling on that stern, serious face he does. "Why are you here?"
I pouted and sauntered over to the table, dropping hard into a chair. "Duh, I came to spend time with my fiancé."
I snuck a glance at Yara, who looked like she wanted to disappear into the floorboards, and let my voice drip with provocation. "I guess I was a little too late. Who knows if someone already tried to steal him away from me?"
The meaning couldn’t have been clearer. Yara shifted uncomfortable, biting her lip so hard it went pale, and stared at her lap.
"Didn’t I tell you not to come here?"
