Chapter 3: Bids, Betrayals, and Bitter Truths

I stood there, numb, watching Jackson drink alone, not even noticing when Nathaniel came to sit beside me.

Why did Jackson help me? Was it possible…?

"I’m sorry."

It wasn’t until Nathaniel placed his hand over mine, the warmth jolting me back, that I saw his complicated expression.

He wore a dark green suit, thrown on in a hurry, a little wrinkled.

"I wasn’t here earlier because the mayor’s wife called. As soon as I heard something happened to you in the hall, I rushed over. You—"

"I’m fine." I cut him off, eyes dropping to the floral pattern on his sleeve, slowly pulling my hand away, feeling oddly calm.

The next morning, I put on a gold-embroidered dress, pinned a pearl in my hair, and baked cookies myself as a thank-you for Jackson.

As soon as I got out of the car at the Monroe house, I straightened my clothes and walked up to knock.

Creak—the side door swung open from inside, and a slender figure bumped right into me.

"Ah…"

I toppled over, cookies scattering everywhere. I managed to catch myself, but my lips hit the box, and I yelped in pain.

"I’m so sorry!" a guilty voice said above me. I looked up, teary-eyed, at the anxious woman hovering there.

She wore a blue dress with cloud patterns, looking delicate and elegant, a soft scent drifting from her sleeves.

I stared at her, sure I’d seen her before.

"You’re bleeding!" Her eyes went wide as she helped me up. "Let me take you to a doctor."

I shook my head, pulled out a tissue, and smiled. "It’s nothing."

She looked like she wanted to say more, but hurried footsteps sounded inside. She froze, shot me a guilty look, and hurried off.

I watched her go, suddenly realizing—she was the woman Nathaniel pointed out at the parade as Jackson’s real love!

What was she doing leaving Jackson’s house?

Just then, footsteps approached. I turned to see Jackson coming, police officers trailing behind.

He walked right past me, scanning the area with a slight frown, his eyes cold and searching.

After a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.

"Jackson?"

He finally noticed me, frowned, then glanced at the cookies on the ground and seemed to get it.

"Helping you at the party was nothing. No need to thank me. Please, just go home."

I didn’t say anything, just stared at the cut on his lip—it looked like someone had bitten him, hard.

His collar was rumpled, faint red marks on his pale collarbone.

Suddenly, I thought of the woman who’d just run off.

Wow, he really knows how to live.

Who would’ve guessed the legendary Jackson Monroe had a wild side? I couldn’t help leaning in for a better look.

"Miss Sinclair, please have some self-respect." Jackson caught my stare and said it coldly.

While I stood there, stunned, he turned and went inside.

I stared after him, wanting to ask about the woman, but the officers shut the door in my face.

Me: ...

So much for thinking he helped me because he liked me. Clearly, I was reading way too much into things.