Chapter 23 JADE
JADE
My studio has always been my sanctuary, the one place where I could truly be myself. No cameras, except for my own, no expectations, no Jade Sinclair, world-famous model. Just me, anonymous photographer, hidden away from judgment and performance.
But tonight, even these walls can't contain the storm inside me.
I kissed Ethan.
I kissed Mateo.
And somehow, it doesn't feel like I betrayed either of them. That's the part I can't make sense of. I close my eyes, letting the memory of each touch flicker through me.
I abandon any pretense of productivity. The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the city sprawled below, lights twinkling against the dark canvas of night. Somewhere out there, a man who wanted to hurt me sits in a jail cell. The threat is over, according to Ethan.
My fingers rise unconsciously to my lips, still sensitive from the desperate kiss we'd shared just yesterday. What possessed me? One moment I'd been frantic with worry, the next I was throwing myself at him, crossing every professional boundary with reckless abandon.
And he'd kissed me back.
Until he didn't. Until he pulled away, putting distance between us like the kiss had never happened at all. Like I'd mistaken a moment of connection for a professional lapse. Like it was only adrenaline to him, and something else entirely to me.
"It's over," he'd said.
I hadn't known whether he meant the threat or us, whatever "us" might have been. Before I could ask, he was gone, leaving me alone with the ghost of his touch and the bitter taste of rejection.
And then there's Mateo. Sweet, charming Mateo who held me through the night on that plane, whose kiss had been everything I never knew I wanted. Who looked at me like I was more than my face, more than my body, like he saw the real me and wanted her anyway.
And Declan. Quiet, watchful Declan who guards his emotions as fiercely as he guards my safety. Whose rare smiles feel like unexpected gifts. Whose massive presence makes me feel safer than steel doors and security systems ever could.
How is it possible to feel this tangled up about three different men? Men who work for me. Men who are bound by professional ethics and their own code of brotherhood. Men who probably see me as nothing more than a job, a responsibility, a client to be managed.
Except... that's not true, is it? Not entirely. Not after that desperate kiss with Ethan. Not after that night with Mateo.
A knock at the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," I call.
Gloria's familiar figure appears, carrying two steaming mugs. "Thought you might need this," she says, offering one to me. "Chamomile with honey."
I accept it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my cold fingers. "How did you know where to find me?"
She gives me a knowing look as she settles onto the worn leather sofa in the corner of the studio. "Where else would you be? You always hide in here when your head's a mess."
Seven years as my manager, confidante, and closest thing to a mother figure has given Gloria an almost preternatural ability to read me. Sometimes it's comforting. Other times, like now, it makes me feel exposed, transparent.
"I'm not hiding," I protest weakly.
"Mmm-hmm." She sips her tea, unconvinced. "So you're not in here avoiding three very handsome, very concerned men who've been exchanging worried glances all day and driving us all insane with their grumpiness?"
I sigh, abandoning my half-hearted denial. "It's complicated."
"When isn't it?" She pats the space beside her on the sofa. "Come. Sit. Tell Auntie Gloria all about it."
Despite myself, I smile and join her, tucking my feet beneath me as I cradle the warm mug between my palms. For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence, the only sound the rustle of outside trees stirred by the wind.
"They'll be leaving soon," I finally say, voicing the fear that's been gnawing at me all day. "The threat is neutralized. They have no reason to stay."
Gloria considers this. "Is that what's really bothering you? That they're leaving? Or is it something else?"
I stare into my tea, watching the steam rise in delicate curls. "I kissed Ethan yesterday."
To her credit, Gloria doesn't act surprised. "And?"
"And he kissed me back. Until he didn't." I swallow hard around the lump forming in my throat. "He walked away. Said everything was over."
"I see." Her tone is neutral, giving nothing away. "And?..."
My laugh is hollow, humorless. "I also kissed Mateo. On the plane from Bali."
This time, her eyebrows do rise slightly. "Well. You've been busy."
"It's not funny, Gloria." I set my mug down with force, tea sloshing over the rim. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never... I don't do this. I don't get involved with people I work with. I don't get involved with anyone. That's been my rule for years."
"Rules are meant to be broken." She shrugs, unperturbed by my outburst. "And there's nothing wrong with being attracted to more than one person at a time."
I look at her skeptically. "Society would disagree with you there."
"Society," she says dismissively, waving her hand, "has many opinions about what women should and shouldn't do with their bodies and hearts. Most of them are garbage."
She leans back, a faraway look crossing her face.
"Did I ever tell you about the summer of '98?
I was working the European circuit. Milan, Paris, London.
There was this photographer's assistant in Milan, Paolo.
Beautiful man, hands like magic. And then in Paris, I met Jean-Luc, a lighting designer with the wickedest smile you've ever seen. "
I stare at her, momentarily distracted from my own drama. "Gloria, are you saying...?"
"That I enjoyed the company of both men that summer? Yes, indeed." Her smile is unrepentant, tinged with fond nostalgia. "And for a wonderful week in Nice, they both enjoyed my company together."
"Gloria!" I'm scandalized and intrigued in equal measure.
She laughs at my expression. "Oh, don't look so shocked. It was a different time. We were young, beautiful, free. No social media to document our every move, no phones with cameras, just living in the moment."
Her expression grows more serious. "What I'm saying, Jade, is that your heart is your own. It doesn't have to follow rules or conform to expectations. If you have feelings for more than one person, that doesn't make you wrong or broken. It makes you human."
I absorb this, turning her words over in my mind. "But they're friends. Brothers, practically. They would never..."
"You might be surprised," she says cryptically. "Men can be more flexible than we give them credit for, especially when something, or someone, matters enough."
The implication sends heat rushing to my cheeks. Could that even be possible? The three of them and me? The thought is so outlandish, so far outside my carefully ordered existence that I nearly laugh. Yet something about it resonates, settling into a place inside me I didn't know existed.
"It doesn't matter anyway," I say, shaking off the fantasy. "Ethan made his position clear. And Mateo... who knows what he wants? And Declan hasn't shown any interest at all."
Gloria makes a skeptical noise. "That mountain of a man watches you like you're water in the desert. Just because he doesn't speak much doesn't mean he isn't feeling."
I think about Declan. Stoic, silent, intense. The way his dark eyes follow me when he thinks I'm not looking. The assuredness in his massive hands when he helped me into the car yesterday, contrasting with the fierce protectiveness in his expression. And that moment at gym…
"I don't know what to do, Gloria," I admit, the confession small and vulnerable in the quiet room. "I've never felt this way before. About anyone, let alone three someones. I'm scared," I whisper. "Of losing them. Of doing the wrong thing and breaking something before I even know what it is."
Gloria leans her head against mine. "Then don't rush. Let it unfold. One heartbeat at a time."
She reaches over, covering my hand with hers. "You don't have to figure it all out tonight. Just know that life is short, and chances for real connection are rare, especially in our world. When happiness presents itself, in whatever form, only a fool turns away."
We sit together in companionable silence after that, finishing our tea as the sun dips below the horizon. Her words echo in my mind, challenging everything I've believed about relationships, about protection, about keeping myself safe.
What if the walls I've built to keep pain out have also been keeping love at bay?
What if, in my determination to never be vulnerable again, I've denied myself the very thing that makes vulnerability worthwhile?
Three men. Three different types of connection. Three chances to be brave in ways that have nothing to do with facing my stalker or my phobias.
"Gloria," I say softly as she stands to leave, "thank you."
She smiles, patting my cheek affectionately. "Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. "When you figure out what you want, take it with both hands."
She winks and slips out the door, leaving me alone with possibilities I'd never dared to imagine before tonight. Possibilities that simultaneously terrify and exhilarate me.
Outside, the night deepens. Somewhere in the house, I hear distant footsteps, one of the guys switching shifts or checking doors. Even that small sound makes my pulse slow, like my body recognizes safety before my mind does.