Chapter 4
Mars
I stared at the ceiling for a full thirty seconds before I spoke.
“How did I get here?”
My voice sounded dry, suspicious, and slightly offended.
Jalen was still standing near the bathroom doorway, a towel low on his hips and a toothbrush in his mouth like this was completely normal.
He pulled it out slowly.
“You walked.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“That feels like a lie.”
He laughed under his breath and stepped farther into the room.
That was when I fully saw him.
Shirtless.
It was structurally unfair, broad chest, defined shoulders, and abs that didn’t look flexed, just naturally there.
His skin was still damp from the shower, catching the morning light pouring in through an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass.
I blinked twice, taking in the room.
It overlooked River Oaks, designed with clean lines and neutral tones.
Light flooded the space like it had explicit permission.
It was the kind of bedroom you saw in architecture magazines under captions like understated luxury.
I shifted, the oversized white tee and soft cotton shorts brushing against my thighs.
I looked back up at him.
He caught my gaze.
“I asked Ms. Laverne to grab you something comfortable.
You were asleep before we even got upstairs.”
A housekeeper.
Of course there was.
He disappeared briefly into his closet.
I watched him walk away before I could stop myself, broad back, relaxed stride, and entirely unbothered by his own effect.
I pushed myself up quickly and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to tame whatever chaos the tequila had left behind.
Checking my reflection in the dark screen of my phone, I saw slightly smudged mascara and flushed cheeks.
Not terrible.
He returned a moment later wearing low-slung cotton lounge pants, his chest still bare.
He caught me mid-adjustment.
“You good?”
“I’m evaluating.”
He smiled.
“Come out on the balcony.
Breakfast is already set.”
“You made breakfast?”
“I had breakfast made,” he corrected smoothly.
I slid off the bed and stood carefully.
My head felt heavy but manageable.
“I should probably go.”
“You just woke up.”
“That’s usually when people leave.”
He leaned against the dresser, folding his arms casually.
“Stay.
For breakfast.
At least.”
I crossed my arms instinctively.
“You’re very calm for someone who kidnapped me.”
“You told me I looked offensively good and then fell asleep mid-sentence,” he replied.
Heat crept up my neck.
“That feels like an exaggeration.”
“You also told me I smelled good.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“I hate tequila.”
He laughed, low and easy.
“It was just a lot of shots.
You were fine.
Just tired.”
I hesitated, the real question lingering between us.
“Did we…”
I trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
His expression shifted immediately.
Not offended, not amused, just serious.
“No.
You fell asleep in the truck.
I carried you inside, Ms. Laverne helped you get changed, and I slept in that chair.”
I glanced at the large armchair angled toward the bed.
He noticed.
“I wasn’t going to let you wake up alone somewhere unfamiliar,” he said quietly.
Something about that statement softened me more than the tequila ever could.
“That's very noble,” I muttered, turning toward the balcony doors to hide my face.
The city stretched out beyond the glass, the morning light turning the treetops to gold.
A small table was set with fruit, coffee, eggs, and toast.
“You do this for all your drunk coworkers?” I asked, stepping outside.
He followed, stopping just a pace away.
“Only the ones who beat me in darts.”
I smiled despite myself.
“That was skill.”
“That was tequila.”
“Excuses.”
He looked down at me, his eyes warm but alert.
“What do you have planned today?”
“I’m embarrassed,” I admitted.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t remember everything.”
“You don’t need to,” he said gently.
“You were laughing.
You had fun.
That’s allowed.”
I looked up at him slowly.
“You didn’t take advantage of me.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I didn’t want you that way.”
The weight of that landed heavily.
“How did you want me?” I asked before my filter could stop the words.
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Sober.”
My stomach flipped.
To prove I was functional, I reached for the coffee, taking a long swig.
We ate in a comfortable, quiet ease, the clear sky stretching above us.
The sunlight shifted, catching the edge of his shoulder and outlining him in a way that felt entirely cinematic.
“I should get going,” I said, setting my mug down.
He didn’t react immediately.
“Why?”
Because this feels good, and sometimes I don’t trust good.
I don’t mix work and personal, and you are both.
Instead, I said, “Last night was fun.
But I don’t blur lines.
You’re Cal’s friend, and I work for Cal.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“What lines?”
“Jalen—”
“Can I see you again?” he asked, entirely skipping my defense.
He was so direct, the steady weight of his gaze giving me a sudden flutter.
“It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because this,” I gestured lightly between us, “is easier right now.
Before it turns into something complicated.”
He stood up, closing the physical space just enough to shift the air pressure between us.
“I’m not asking for complicated.
I’m asking for dinner.”
“That’s how it starts.”
“Is that fear,” he asked softly, “or experience?”
I swallowed, the silence stretching a second too long.
I stepped back first.
“Thank you for last night.
And for not being… reckless.”
“I’ll have the driver take you,” Jalen said, stepping back inside.
A shadow of disappointment crossed his features.
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is,” he said simply.
“You didn’t bring your car.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I hesitated for half a second, then nodded.
“Fine.”
I changed back into my clothes from the night before, checking the mirror.
Could be worse.
When I exited the bathroom, he was waiting with his hands in his pockets.
He walked me to the front entry, the house quiet in a way that felt expensive.
I tried not to look around too long, trying not to absorb the details.
At the door, he paused.
“Last chance.”
I shook my head, but I couldn't stop the smile.
“You’re persistent.”
He smiled back and opened the door.
A discreet, professional black sedan pulled up moments later.
Jalen walked me out and opened the door, offering no unnecessary touching or lingering hands.
Just presence.
I gave him one last quick smile, lifted my hand in a small wave, and slid into the backseat.
The driver closed the door gently, sealing me inside the quiet hum of leather and tinted glass.
As we pulled away, I didn’t look back.
The car was quiet, the kind of silence that makes your thoughts louder than they need to be.
Houston moved past the windows in slow blurs of trees and early morning light, looking softer and less demanding at this hour.
I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes, but I immediately regretted it.
The second the darkness hit, his face was there.
The serious expression when I asked if we had crossed any lines.
The steady voice when he told me he had slept in the chair.
The way he’d stood there, grounded, like protecting me hadn’t been a choice at all.
Just instinct.
The night started weaving itself back together in fragments, darts, his laugh, the way he looked at me when my hair fell loose, and the steady weight of his hand at the small of my back outside the bar.
He had been a gentleman.
Not performative.
Not overly careful.
Just solid.
That unsettled me more than if he’d been reckless.
Reckless would’ve been easier to dismiss.
I shifted in the seat, staring back out at the city.
Realistically, what would seeing him again even look like?
He lived in headlines.
I built my life behind them.
He was photographed walking into grocery stores, while I actively avoided office holiday parties just to keep my face off social media.
Could someone like him even exist in my world quietly?
Would he even want to?
The driver slowed at a red light, and I caught my reflection faintly in the glass.
I sat up straighter.
It had been one night.
A good night.
That didn’t mean it needed a sequel.
By the time the black sedan pulled up to my building, the morning at his estate felt distant.
Stepping into my apartment, I finally embraced the familiar, insulated quiet of my own space.
I kicked off my shoes, headed straight for the bathroom, and let the hot water wash away the lingering memory of him standing shirtless in the morning light.
My phone rang just as I stepped out, a towel wrapped tightly around me.
Nia.
“Good morning, sinner,” she said without a preamble.
I rolled my eyes, walking into my bedroom.
“Relax.”
“I cannot believe the most popular athlete in the league is into you.”
“He’s not into me.”
She scoffed loudly.
“Mars.
Please.”
“He asked to see me again,” I admitted, tossing the towel aside to pull on a plush robe.
“And I told him no.”
There was a sharp pause.
“You’re allergic to happiness.”
“I’m realistic.”
“You’re thirty-one.”
“And?”
“You cannot die alone just because you’re committed to comfort.”
I laughed despite myself, tying the robe's sash with a sharp tug.
“Is sharing my life with someone supposed to sound appealing?
Besides, you don’t date seriously either.”
“That’s different.
I have options.”
I gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to my chest.
“So do I!”
Nia laughed, the sound warm and familiar through the speaker.
I paused, letting a beat of silence stretch as a smirk crept onto my face.
“By the way... you and Cal left together last night.”
Dead silence on the other end.
“Goodbye, Mars.”
“I knew it!”
I burst out, my laughter echoing through the room.
“You know nothing,” she shot back defensively.
“We just talked.
You need to focus on your own business.
Like why you keep turning down tall, fine, wealthy men.”
“It’s better this way,” I said, the amusement fading as reality settled back into my chest.
“Sure,” she murmured, her voice dropping into something genuine.
“Keep telling yourself that, Mars.”
We disconnected.
Trying to shake off the conversation, I pulled on a matching yoga set and made my way down the hall to my home office.
The second I sat down at my desk, the phone vibrated violently in my palm.
Cal’s name flashed across the screen.
I answered on the first ring.
“Hey—”
“You need to see this.”
His tone wasn't playful or relaxed.
It was flat, clipped, and laced with an undercurrent of panic.
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
“Cal, what’s wrong?”
“Just... look at your phone.
I just texted you a link.”
A notification banner slid across the top of my screen.
I tapped it.
The webpage loaded agonizingly slowly, building a terrible kind of suspense.
When the article finally appeared, the bold headline felt like a physical blow.
MYSTERY WOMAN LEAVES JALEN CARTER'S RIVER OAKS ESTATE
My stomach dropped so violently I felt sick.
The photo was blurry, clearly taken from a distance through a long lens, but anyone who knew me would recognize me instantly.
The stride.
The way my hair flowed down my back.
The black sedan waiting at the curb as I stepped through Jalen’s front gate.
Beneath the photograph, paragraph after paragraph was filled with reckless speculation.
I scrolled down, making the mistake of looking at the comments.
Thousands of them were already rolling in.
“Who is she?”
“New girlfriend? ??”
“Damn, Jalen keeping secrets.”
“Is this the one?
She looks bad even blurry.”
“She’s definitely spending the night over there.”
My chest tightened until taking a full breath became impossible.
The internet had already decided what my story was before either of us had been given the chance to tell the truth.
“Mars?”
Cal’s voice finally broke through the noise in my head, sounding thousands of miles away.
“Tell me that’s not you.”
I stared at the screen as the comment count climbed higher by the second.
“They got a picture,” I whispered, my voice barely sounding like my own.
And just like that, the private life I had fought so hard to protect cracked wide open.