She turns away, grabbing her clothes from the bed, and something in me snaps.
"You're not wrong," I say, my voice rough. "I am jealous, and it's eating me alive." She freezes, her back still to me. "But it's not because I don't trust you, Asha." I take a step closer. "I don't trust him, and I can't compete with someone who could actually offer you something real."
Slowly, she turns to face me, her expression unreadable.
"You want to know what I'm scared of?" I continue, the words coming out before I can stop them. "I'm scared that you'll realize you deserve better than a fake marriage with an expiration date. I'm scared that some guy like Rohan will show up and offer you exactly what you should have, something permanent, something that doesn't come with decades of family baggage attached to it." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm scared of losing something I don't even have the right to claim."
Her lips part, and for a moment, she just stares at me. "Trigger..."
"You asked me to tell you if you were wrong," I interrupt, my voice dropping. "You're wrong about one thing. This isn't about me not trusting you. It's about me knowing that on paper, I'm your husband. But in reality?" I meet her eyes. "I don't haveyou. Not really. And the thought of watching you realize that someone else might be a better option…that's what's killing me."
The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged. Her clothes are still clutched in her hands, and I can see her throat work as she swallows.
"We're wasting time," she finally says, her voice tight. She won't look at me. "We both need to get ready. You have to meet Dar in…"—she glances at the clock—"forty-five minutes. And I need to be in the stables in fifteen."
"Asha..." I try.
"I said we're wasting time." She moves toward the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower." She pauses at the bathroom door, her back to me. "And for the record?" Her voice is quieter now, almost defeated. "It doesn't matter who I'm thinking about. It doesn't matter what I want. We have a year. That's it. That's what we agreed to."
It doesn't matter what I want.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair. She's still running. Still hiding behind the contract, behind the expiration date, behind every excuse she can find to keep those walls up. And I just gave her exactly what she needed—a reason to retreat. My jealousy, my lack of trust in what we could be, my inability to just say what I mean.
Well, I'm done with that.
I'm done dancing around what I feel. Done pretending this is just business. Done waiting for the perfect moment or the right words or for her to magically decide I'm worth the risk. She'll run, she'll hide behind the contract and the feud, but it's my turn to show her that not everyone leaves, especially when they have something worth fighting for. It does matter what she wants. It matters because I think it’s me.
CHAPTER TEN
ASHA
The stables are immaculate. Rohan leads me down the center aisle, past stalls housing some of the most beautiful horses I've ever seen. Arabians, mostly, with a few quarter horses mixed in. But I'm barely seeing them.
I'm scared of losing something I don't even have the right to claim.
Trigger's words keep replaying in my head, no matter how hard I try to focus on why I'm here. The raw honesty in his voice, the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
I don't have you. Not really.
I adjust the bag on my shoulder. He's wrong…or maybe he's right. I don't know anymore. All I know is that hearing him say those things, admitting he's jealous, admitting he wants more than what the contract offers... It's everything I used to dream about hearing from him. And that's exactly why I can't trust it.
"She's in here." Rohan's voice pulls me back to the present. He opens a stall door at the end of the row, and I force myself to focus.
The mare is stunning, a dappled gray Arabian. She shifts her weight, and I immediately notice the slight favor of her back left leg, not the front left as Rohan said earlier. Interesting.
"Hello, beautiful," I murmur, approaching slowly with my hand extended. She sniffs my palm then allows me to stroke her neck. "How long has she been off her feed?"
"Three days, give or take." Rohan leans against the stall door, and I can feel his eyes on me, not the horse. "Started the same day she began favoring that leg."
I run my hands down the mare's shoulder, feeling for heat or swelling. "You said front left earlier."
"Did I?" There's something in his tone that makes me glance back at him. He's watching me with that same intense focus from this morning, like I'm a specimen under a microscope. "My mistake."
I don't think it was a mistake at all. Setting down the vet bag Rohan supplied, I pull out a stethoscope and begin a thorough examination. The mare stands patiently as I check her heart rate and respiratory rate and listen to gut sounds. Everything seems normal so far.
"Your father must be proud," Rohan says casually. "Having a daughter follow in his footsteps in business."
My hands still for just a moment. "I didn't follow in his footsteps. I'm a veterinarian, not a businessman."
