CHAPTER 52
It was nine in the evening. Jasper had one last surgery—an unscheduled case. A ten-year-old boy. They’d been operating for nearly four hours; the procedure ended successfully.
Jasper stepped out of the OR, walked silently down the hallway, poked his head into the staff lounge to say goodnight to the on-call doctor, then headed to his office.
He took off his coat and grabbed his phone from the desk. The screen lit up with three missed calls from Nolan. Jasper exhaled heavily. Talking to him tonight was the last thing he wanted, but three calls meant something was likely urgent.
He hit ‘call back.’ Nolan picked up almost instantly.
“Oh, finally!”
“What happened?” Jasper asked.
“Well… your girl is sitting in a bar right now.”
“What girl, Nolan?” Jasper frowned, thinking for a moment he meant Lynn.
Nolan laughed.
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t get it. Nina. She’s at the bar counter, drinking and flirting with some guys. I just got the report. If you care—a bar called Rose.”
Jasper said nothing, but something unpleasant stirred inside him.
“And why should I care?” he said through clenched teeth. “She and I have nothing tying us together.”
“My job is to tell you,” Nolan replied and hung up without even a goodbye.
Jasper tossed the phone on the desk, gathered the documents he’d planned to review at home, and checked he hadn’t forgotten anything. Turned off the lights and walked out of the office.
Exhaustion dragged at him. Honestly, he wanted to crash in the staff lounge. But he dragged himself toward the parking lot.
He turned the key in the ignition and something cracked inside him. All his logic flew out the window. Instead of driving home, he jerked the wheel left—toward the bar.
He didn’t understand it himself. He shouldn’t have been going there. He had no business going there.
Distance was the only right choice. Nina shouldn’t be seeing him at all. Frank had been dealt with, she was almost free, and he had kept his part of their bargain. Their paths were supposed to separate—there was too much darkness between them.
She was a victim.
He was the one who had allowed it to happen.
And then there was Lynn…
But still, he drove to her. Maybe, deep down, he just wanted to make sure she was okay. That she was smiling. That she had someone. That she was living a normal life.
He parked in a side alley, killed the engine, and sat in the dark for a few seconds, staring at the lit-up facade.
A quiet, upscale place where people discussed business, complained about coworkers, and sipped expensive drinks.
He locked the car and walked inside—having no idea what he intended to do.
Jazz played softly. Candles on the tables. Almost intimate. Jasper scanned the room.
She was at the bar, just as Nolan had said. Sitting sideways. Slim. Straight posture. Her hair pulled back with a strand or two loose. She looked like a woman who was exhausted but refused to show it to anyone.
A man sat beside her. Leaning in, saying something.
She smiled and something inside Jasper snapped.
A deep, painful twist, hot and heavy, like a valve bursting open. All the anger he’d been burying for months surged up—thick and molten.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this.
Didn’t have the right to feel this. Not about her. He wasn’t jealous. He couldn’t be. But inside, everything boiled. Pressed. Expanded.
The man leaned in closer, said something in her ear. Nina didn’t pull away. She simply looked at her drink and nodded.
Jasper watched her—watched them—and had no idea why he’d come.
He barely let any woman close enough for more than a polite exchange, and he hadn’t felt genuine interest in anyone in years.
But now… he was drawn to her. He wanted to walk up.
Take her by the hand. Pull her away. Put a wall between her and that guy.
He tore his gaze away.
There was a free seat at the bar—one stool over from her. He walked up and sat down calmly. The bartender looked at him.
“Something to drink?”
“Water. No gas.”
The bartender blinked, surprised, but nodded.
Nina didn’t turn around.
But Jasper felt it, she knew he was there. Recognized his voice. Her shoulders tensed slightly.
He looked into the mirror behind the bar.
The reflection framed all three of them: her profile, his, the man beside her.
And at some point their eyes met in the mirror—everything else fading out.
Nina bit her lip nervously, looking almost painfully adorable.
Her eyes sparkled. Tonight she was different. Nothing like her usual self.
“How did you end up here?” Nina suddenly turned toward him, cutting off whatever nonsense the man had been whispering to her.
A smile touched Jasper’s lips too soft, too warm.
He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
“Just happened to be nearby,” he said. “Didn’t expect to find you in a place like this.”
Nina turned back to the guy beside her, lifted a brow slightly, and with a light, almost mocking smile said:
“Well, see? My date showed up. I told you I wasn’t alone.”
The guy stiffened. He shot a quick glance at Jasper, sizing him up, trying to figure out who exactly had walked in so boldly and disrupted his game.
His lips tightened, his jaw twitched—but he said nothing.
Nina looked at him with a hint of superiority, refusing to look away.
Jasper watched this strange, silent exchange, and felt something inside him slowly unclench.
So she wasn’t interested in that guy.
Good.
The realization brought a wave of unexpected relief.
The man exhaled sharply, leaned back, finished his drink, and set the empty glass down with a loud clink. Without looking at either of them, he stood up, shot Jasper one last irritated glare, and walked off.
A quiet victory. A crooked smirk tugged at Jasper’s lips.
Nina watched the man leave, then slowly turned back to Jasper, tilting her head slightly. Her eyes glimmered strangely in the warm bar light—something playful, a little reckless, flickering deep inside.
Jasper slid into the newly vacated seat, not rushing. He turned toward her, though not too close—leaving space, yet sitting near enough to feel her presence.
He glanced at her glass—an opaque, frothy drink.
“And what are you having?” he asked, tilting his head.
She rolled her eyes and laughed softly.
“It’s called ‘Silent Night.’ A non-alcoholic cocktail: raspberry syrup, soda, lime juice, a little mint.”
“I figured I’d stick to water,” he said, lifting his glass, the cool surface chilling his fingers. “No bubbles.”
She smirked, raised her drink, chin slightly tilted. The faint smile playing on her lips made Jasper realize he had never seen her like this.
They clinked glasses—quietly, lightly, without breaking eye contact. She took a sip, and he followed her lead. She set her drink down and slowly traced the rim with her finger.
“Solid choice,” she said with a faint squint. “Very… masculine. Water. No bubbles.”
“I’ve got surgery in the morning. Can’t have my hands shaking,” he replied with a crooked grin, catching her gaze.
A strange tension flickered between them. Not the usual kind—deeper, sharper. Suddenly the bar felt smaller, though half the tables were empty.
She looked away for just a second, tucking back a loose strand of hair.
“You’re in a good mood tonight,” he noted, not looking away. “Something happen?”
She tilted her head, met his eyes again. A faint, teasing smile touched her lips.
“And why do you care?” she said quietly. “We’re not friends, are we—so you can pick apart my life?”
Her voice sounded as if she didn’t entirely believe herself. Jasper felt something shift—this night had already slipped out of control.
He didn’t know how it would end, but at that point, he didn’t care.
He wanted to know what came next.
Nina took another sip, set the glass down, then suddenly stood. She hesitated, a single moment of doubt, then walked toward an empty table in the corner, away from curious stares.
Jasper watched every step she took, something tightening inside him.
She sat down, adjusted her hair, then cast him a short glance—as if calling him over without saying a word.
And Jasper, barely understanding what he was doing, got up and followed. He stopped in front of her table but didn’t sit.
“Dance with me?” he asked, leaning down so he didn’t have to raise his voice over the music.
Her eyes widened slightly, brows lifting.
“You’re serious?” she whispered, narrowing her gaze. “Us?”
He gave her a crooked smile.
He didn’t know why he wanted this so badly—to see her closer, feel her breathing, hear her heartbeat quicken. The desire was wrong, dangerous—and growing stronger by the second.
“Come on,” he said, extending his hand. “Just one dance.”
She looked at him for a long moment, weighing every reason to refuse—then sighed and stood. Her fingertips brushed his—Jasper flinched, barely perceptibly, as if from an electric spark.
He led her to the open space between the tables. They stopped, and he carefully placed his hand on her waist.
She tensed slightly, but didn’t pull away. Her gaze dropped to his shoulder, her fingers resting lightly against his forearm. Her breath hitched, and Jasper felt her muscles tighten under his hand.
The music shifted. Slow. Deep.
He pulled her closer, and she didn’t resist. Her hand tightened on his shoulder just a little, and he felt her pulse quicken.
Or maybe it was his own.
They moved slowly, as if everything around them had dissolved, leaving only the gentle sway of their bodies, her breath, and his fingers against her waist. Jasper looked down at her, and their eyes kept meeting.
In hers, a soft shadow glimmered; her lips were slightly parted, and her breaths came quick and uneven.
He leaned closer, his voice brushing right against her ear.
“You don’t drink. Then why do you look like that? Like you’re buzzed?”
Nina shivered. Her lashes fluttered up like the wings of a startled moth. She stayed silent for a second, then tilted her head just enough for her hair to graze his cheek.
“You don’t need alcohol to feel a little dizzy,” she murmured, her tone daring as she lifted her gaze to his. “Isn’t that right?”
A quiet laugh escaped him, the kind that tightened everything inside. Too bold. Too dangerous. And somehow, irresistible.
It felt like they’d slipped into a game neither of them meant to start, a game where neither knew who would break first.
Jasper turned her slightly and drew her closer until their bodies nearly touched. Her fingers slid up his forearm, her nails trailing lightly through the fabric of his shirt, sending a sharp tremor along his skin.
“You dance well,” he whispered, holding her gaze.
The music faded, the last chord dissolving into silence, but he didn’t let her go. And she didn’t step away. She simply watched him, a storm swirling in her eyes: fear, desire, and something deeper, unreadable, tugging at him like a slow, dangerous tide.
Jasper lowered his head, closing the distance until only a breath separated their lips. Her pupils widened, and her breath caught. He was just about to cross that final sliver of space when Nina lifted her hand and touched his mouth with her fingertips—cold, slightly trembling.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice rough but steady. “Jasper… don’t. It’s too much.”
He froze.
His own breath stuttered, his heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out. But he didn’t move. He simply looked at her, trying to understand why letting go felt so heavy. Why everything inside him burned. Why he wanted to pull her back, take her hand away, kiss her anyway.
But Nina had already stepped back. Her hand fell to her side; another step put space between them again—space that felt like cold water poured between two flames.
“I should go home,” she murmured without lifting her eyes. “Thank you for tonight.”
Jasper said nothing.
He only watched as she turned and walked toward the exit, leaving him standing in the middle of the bar with nothing but the echo of their dance and the chaos she’d set loose inside him.
He didn’t understand what the hell was happening to him.
Why he felt this way around her, why she unraveled him so easily.