Marry My Rival's Uncle for Revenge

I don't want to get hurt again.

Jonathan's POV

The words hang between us like smoke, curling into the quiet corner of the ballroom where the noise of applause and chatter has faded into a distant hum. Secrets. My jaw tightens. If anyone knows the poison that comes from secrets, it’s me. My ex-wife’s smile had hidden an affair for months before I found out. Her hand in mine, her head on my shoulder, her sweet little lies whispered at night, every one of them a blade she’d slid between my ribs while she was already building a life with another man. I remind myself of that as I look at Christine. She’s standing too close. Her eyes are searching mine, bright and steady, as though she’s daring me to admit something, daring me to trust her. I don’t trust her. I never will.

“Secrets, yes. Some are more dangerous than others.” I echo, letting the word roll out flat, clipped. She doesn’t flinch. Most people do when I let my tone cut like that. Christine only tilts her head slightly, the corners of her lips twitching like she knows I’m testing her.

“And yet we all keep them. Even you, Professor Stevens,” Christine says softly. I hold her gaze, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of looking away. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know that well. If only she knew about the wreckage I’ve crawled through to be here, but she’s sharper than I expected. She’s not just smart. She’s steel wrapped in silk. The thought unsettles me more than it should. I clear my throat, changing the subject.

“Congratulations, Christine. You earned this. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” My voice is steady, even if my pulse isn’t. Her shoulders straighten a little at that, though she’s trying not to show how much the words mean. I can see it in the way her breath catches, in the flicker of softness in her eyes before she hides it. I step a fraction closer, lowering my voice.

“But I’ll give you one piece of advice. Don’t let hate harvest in your heart. Not for Waltz. Not for Emma. Not for anyone. Hatred corrodes the vessel that carries it. And right now, you have too much ahead of you to let yourself be eaten alive,” I say. Her lips part, a sharp inhale. She wasn’t expecting that from me. She thinks I don’t notice the way her hands curl slightly at her sides when Emma’s name comes up. Or the way her gaze hardens whenever Mike is near. I notice everything.

“I’m not naïve. I know what hate can do. But don’t ask me to pretend I don’t feel it. Not after everything,” Christine says finally. Her honesty disarms me. For a heartbeat too long, I’m staring at her mouth, at the way the words shape themselves on her lips. I drag my eyes away, irritated with myself. I can’t afford this. I don’t want this yet… The silence stretches. Her perfume, something subtle, sharp with citrus but softened by vanilla, fills my lungs. I hate that I notice it. I hate even more that I want another breath of it.

“I’m warning you. Hate has teeth. It will bite down until you don’t recognise yourself anymore.” I murmur, leaning closer without meaning to. I know from experience. I have harboured hate in my heart for so long. Her chin lifts in quiet defiance.

“What about you, Professor? You sound as if you’re speaking from experience,” Christine says. A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

“Maybe I am,” I say. Her eyes don’t waver. She’s not afraid of my darkness, not recoiling like most do when they sense it. Instead, she leans in, studying me, as though she’s peeling back the layers of my defence. Damn her. The air between us is charged now, tight as a wire pulled to snapping. I can feel the pull, the dangerous magnetic field of her nearness. If I take one more step, if I let my guard slip for even a second, I will be lost in her. I shove the thought down.

“I’ll tell you something else. Don’t mistake your position for safety. Being head of this department puts a target on your back. You think Emma won’t use every trick to tear you down? You think Waltz won’t simmer with resentment until he finds a way to destroy you?” I say instead, tone sharper, harsher than I intend.

“I’m aware.” Her jaw tightens.

“Good. Then be ready. Strength will matter more than kindness,” I say. My eyes lock with hers. Her gaze flickers, not in fear, but in something that looks dangerously like respect. Maybe even admiration. It twists something in me I don’t want twisted. She steps closer now, close enough that if I moved my hand, I could brush her arm.

“What about you, Jonathan? Do you want me to be strong? Or kind?” Her voice is softer, lower, intimate in a way that slides under my skin. The sound of my name in her mouth does things to me I don’t want to name.

“I want you to survive,” I say. I swallow hard. Her eyes widen just a fraction, and then she smiles.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to be both,” She says.

My chest tightens. The stubborn determination in her, the fire! f**k, it’s dangerous. I remind myself she’s Baxter’s daughter. My colleague. Fresh out of a divorce that has left scars on her as deep as mine. She is the last woman I should even think about. And yet, when her gaze dips to my mouth for half a second too long, my body reacts like it hasn’t in years. No. I grit my teeth. I won’t be that man again, the fool who lets a woman carve out his heart and leave him bleeding. I’ve rebuilt myself from ashes once. I won’t burn again. I take a deliberate step back, breaking the current, forcing air between us.

“Go enjoy your evening, Dr. Baxter. You’ve earned it,” I say. I refuse to call her Dr. Waltz again. Her eyes linger on me, searching for something, maybe trying to read what I won’t give away. For the first time tonight, she doesn’t push. She simply nods. But as she turns, as the distance grows, I feel the pull like a rope tied around my ribs, tugging tighter with every step she takes away from me. I exhale slowly, fists clenched at my sides. I hate secrets. I hate lies. I hate the way women can smile while hiding a knife behind their backs. And yet, tonight, for the first time in years, I find myself hating something even more. The possibility that Christine Baxter might be the exception.