Page 29 of His Verdict
“Several of the senior executives from Meridian Technologies,” he says, his tone casual.
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water. “Meridian?” I ask, unable to keep the shock from my voice. “The company that you… thatwe… Why in God’s name would they meet with you?”
He just smiles that knowing, infuriating smile again. “Business,” he says, as if that explains everything. “You’ll be taking notes.”
I just stare at him, my mind reeling. The world no longer operates on any logical principles I understand.
I stand, my body feeling stiff and strange. The business is concluded. I am officially his. “I should go,” I say, turning to leave.
“No,” he says, the single word stopping me in my tracks. “You should spend the day with me.”
I turn back to him. The dynamic has shifted again, from employer to… something else entirely. It isn’t a request. It’s an order, wrapped in the pleasant fabric of an invitation.
“Don’t you have… work to do?” I ask, gesturing vaguely at the empty, imposing office. “An empire to run?”
He laughs, a genuine, low sound of amusement. “Olivia,” he says, walking around the desk toward me. “Thisismy work. And my most promising new acquisition requires a proper onboarding.” He reaches out and takes my hand. His fingers wrap around mine, warm and strong. “Come on.”
He leads me toward the elevator, his hand firmly holding mine. Dozens of employees in cubicles, heads down, are working. A few of them look up as we pass this time, their eyes widening in surprise as they see Mr. Wolfe, the untouchable titan, holding hands with a strange woman. Their whispers are almost audible, their surprise a tangible thing in the air.
He’s branding me.
The day is a surreal blur of curated luxury. He takes me to an impossibly exclusive boutique on a private, appointment-only floor of a department store. He doesn't ask me what I like. He simply stands, arms crossed, and points. “The cashmere coat in charcoal. The silk blouses in cream and black. The leather trousers. Two of the wool sheaths, one in navy, one in burgundy. And the knee-high boots.” The saleswoman, a woman dripping in her own quiet elegance, scurries to obey, treating his words like divine proclamations.
I stand there like a life-sized doll as they bring garment after garment. There are no price tags in sight. No moment of consideration. Just acquisition. He’s building my new wardrobe, my new skin, piece by expensive piece. I feel a dizzying, shameful thrill at the sight of the beautiful things, and a deep, profound unease at the way he’s doing it. He’s erasing me, dressing me in the image of the woman he wants me to be.
After the shopping, he takes me to lunch at an exclusive restaurant. The food is exquisite, the wine perfect, and the conversation is… pleasant. Strangely, terrifyingly pleasant. He asks me about my childhood, about my parents, my favorite books. It isn’t an interrogation. It’s a gentle, probing inquiry. He listens with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world. He’s collecting data, I know that. He’slearning my weaknesses, my pressure points. But it feels good to be seen, to be heard, in a way I haven't in a very long time.
By the time we leave the restaurant, the sun is beginning to set, painting the city in hues of orange and purple. I’m laden with expensive shopping bags filled with a life I don’t recognize. The pleasantness of the day has lulled me into a strange, disoriented state. I don’t know what I’m feeling.
The town car drops us not at my apartment building, but at Sapphire Heights. He leads me from the car, taking the shopping bags from me, and up the silent, private elevator.
Back in the penthouse, the scene of my undoing, he sets the bags down. The space is just as I remember it—vast, cool, and intimidating. But it feels different now. Less like a cage I escaped, and more like a destination I have finally arrived at.
“I’ll cook us dinner,” he says, shrugging off his suit jacket and heading toward the sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Make myself comfortable. The absurdity of the statement is almost comical. I stand in the middle of the cavernous living room, surrounded by evidence of my own capitulation, and watch as the man who systematically dismantled my life begins to calmly chop vegetables for my dinner.
The domesticity shatters the fragile truce of the afternoon. The confusion that has been simmering beneath the surface all day finally boils over. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live in this gray area, this undefined space between employee and lover, between captive and partner. I have to know.
I walk over to the kitchen island, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. He is focused on his task, the rhythmicthwackofa very expensive knife against a wooden cutting board the only sound in the room.
“Jasper,” I say, my voice quiet but firm.
He stops chopping but doesn’t look up. “Yes?”
“What are we doing?”
He finally lifts his head, his gray eyes meeting mine across the expanse of polished granite. “I’m making a risotto,” he says, a deliberate misinterpretation.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not what I mean. What arewedoing? This. Today. The shopping, the lunch, this… dinner. What is all this?” My voice starts to rise, gaining an edge of the desperation I feel. “Are we just playing house? Is this what my job is now? I go to court, take some notes, and then I come back here and play the dutiful, well-dressed girlfriend?”
I take a breath, my heart pounding, and ask the question that’s been screaming in the back of my mind all day. The question I’m terrified to know the answer to.
“What is this relationship? Did you buy me a new wardrobe just to have a better-dressed fuck-toy on your arm? Am I your lawyer, or am I just your personal whore now, or something?”
Chapter 13
The careful, rhythmicthwackof the knife stops. Jasper places the blade down on the cutting board with a quiet, deliberate click. He turns off the gas flame on the stovetop, plunging the kitchen into a sudden, weighted silence. He folds the dishcloth he's using with meticulous precision and sets it on the counter. Only when all his other motions have ceased does he give me his full, undivided attention. It’s the focus of a predator whose prey has finally stopped running and started asking inconvenient questions.