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  I know I shouldn’t. I learned to move on and accept that he’s the one who left me. A big part of me knows that I’ll always love him and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. Logically, it’s not since he did break my heart, but my soul calls for him and being this close to him brings back the memories that I tried so hard to bury.

  I remain silent as he guides me with an arm around my shoulder. As his big hands hold the umbrella towards me, he makes sure that my side isn’t wet by excessively tilting the umbrella to me.

  Peeking over, I see the droplets coming down on his shoulder and running down his inked arm. I curse my heart for having his man as my weakness; he makes me worry even after all this time.

  “I’m fine, you should shield yourself,” I murmur while looking on the ground to watch my steps as we cross the street.

  “No,” he grunts, pulling me closer when I try to put distance between us.

  My shoulder is warm from his body. It’s almost physically impossible for me to pull away from him.

  For reasons that I’m not ready to admit yet.

  “You’ll get sick; your body can’t handle having a cold.”

  He’s right, my immune system is weak, and a lot of food makes my tummy churn. I have to watch what I eat, and with the weather changing in different parts of the world, I have cold medicine in all of my bags.

  I also have vitamin powder to boost up my immune system. It could be just in my head, but I feel better once I have had it as a precaution.

  The rain is no longer hitting the umbrella, and I take this chance to rip myself away from his side, nod my head with a thank you readily out of my lips before I’m running towards the elevator which is about to close.

  I shove myself into the closing door, and I don’t turn around until it closes.

  I reach my floor, and my hands are shaking too much. The strawberry milk mocks my feelings. Aiden knows that I love drinking this, and now it’s a reminder of bitter memories.

  I’ll still drink it though.

  It helps me to drink away my feelings.

  Chapter Two

  Aiden

  I’m a jealous man, envious of those who got the attention of my sweetheart and possessive of her delicate, little body.

  I hate the storm raging in my stomach when I watch her snap pictures of men. I hate the way her green eyes gaze so intensely at them, and I hate that I have no rights to tell her what to do.

  Fuck that.

  She’s mine, still is, and will always be.

  She may think that this is a job that both of our agencies signed contracts on, but it was my idea to do this. I was the one who brought up this idea to Donna; she is the owner, and she is more reasonable than her partner.

  Violet doesn’t know a thing about this arrangement, but that doesn’t matter. All I care is that this will be the last job I do with my agency because I didn’t sign the contract for the next five years. I don’t mind being a freelance model.

  As long as Violet is looking at me, I can toss everything else away.

  This job is supposed to make her more comfortable with me after I have abandoned her for two years. Guilt and shame are all I feel every day, and not a day goes by when I don’t think of her. I have caught myself dialing her number that I have memorized, but then I remember that the only reason I didn’t call her is that I was the one who ditched my old phone.

  She couldn’t have contacted me even if she wanted.

  I wasn’t fair, and I’m still not fair.

  I hurt her badly. I shouldn’t expect her to wait for me, but I could see the hesitation and fear in her eyes when she saw me.

  It’s a spark of hope that I will cling onto.

  When the first batch of photos are taken in an industrial building that pulls off a rustic atmosphere, we are to have lunch in another building that’s been cleaned and set up with other equipment.

  As everyone begins to walk back towards the building, I scan the group for a mop of brown hair. The sun hits her head at an angle that brightens her hair to a light caramel color that sets off a gorgeous tone in her green eyes.

  There is no way I can fall out of love with her. I can only turn this love into an obsession.

  My lips turn down with a frown when she doesn’t look where she’s going; her eyes are glued onto the camera screen as she stumbles on little rocks.

  Still, the same habit that she can’t get rid of; once her hands are on a camera, everything else doesn’t exist around her.

  It’s dangerous in so many ways. She can get hurt by falling or someone could hurt her when she’s more vulnerable than before. Violet is in need of me, and I would be her guardian again. It’s not hard when she doesn’t even realize that she’s being watched. Violet never paid much attention to her surroundings.

  This is the reason why I had hired a bodyguard to trail after her when I left. In her head, she thinks I left for different reasons; I left because it was for her protection. I was going to come back to get her later once the contract between my agency and me ended.

  I wanted to keep her in the dark; bringing her into the cut-throat modeling industry would destroy her with rumors and politics.

  Thinking back, leaving a note without an explanation as to why I had to leave was a bad idea. Violet tends to overthink, and I have no doubt that her mind had conjured up the most ludicrous reasoning as to why I have left.

  She mostly blames herself, and I can practically see the self-deprecating smile when she’s alone in her room.

  I should have handled our separation better.

  I wouldn’t call it separation. I don’t know what to call it because she couldn’t have called off the engagement when I was unreachable, and I never broke it off with her officially. I didn’t plan on it either; she’s still my fiancée no matter what she thinks.

  When she forgives me, Violet is going to be my wife.

  As I see her stumble again, I step towards her to grasp the camera out of her tiny hands. Her startled green eyes fly up to mine, she stammers and aimlessly throws her hands towards the device.

  I keep it out of her reach, “You know what happens when you don’t pay attention.”

  She takes a step back and frowns, “Give it back.”

  “No,” I ignored her gasp, “You’re going to get hurt.”

  Violet bites her bottom lip and frowns deeper, “You don’t care.”

  A flame of anger licks my blood. I’m mindful not to crush the camera in my hand. The stones crunch under my leather shoes as I stand in front of her, close enough to see the unsettled fluttering of her thick lashes and distressed green eyes.

  Wrapping my hand around the back of her neck, I tangle my fingers through her silky, brown hair and yank her head back. She whimpers in shock, hands grasping the front of my suit to balance the little stagger when I jerk her body to mine.

  I slant my lips over her soft ones, muffling her cries and squeaks. Her futile strength to push me away isn’t enough. I’m far stronger than her, and my size alone can pin her down. I break apart just a little to silence her protests and have another taste of her sweetness. I miss this, and I miss the way her body fits into mine.

  “Don’t ever say that,” I growl against her red lips, “I care. I’ll always care, and I care too much.”

  Something must have snapped her out of her daze. She pushes me again, and her teary green eyes break my heart as she snatches the camera from my hand. She sprints away, stumbling and tripping on rocks as she lets the shadow of the building devour her little body.

  A buzzing sensation rush inside me. I lick the remnant of her sweetness with my tongue and watch her disappear into the building.

  That pretty blush and speechless expression are exactly what I wanted; she’s just as affected by me as I am with her. My heart lightens, echoing the thunderous blood in my ears. I unbutton the top buttons of my dress shirt and roll my shoulders from the stiffness of the suit jacket; the temperature is rising as the afternoon peaks.

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nbsp; I step into the building and search for a small head of brown hair. She’s seated on a chair, sipping a green juice. The grimace on her face tells the world that she hates the taste; Violet could never stand bitterness.

  I, on the other hand, like the dark bitterness of coffee. The only sweets that I like are her lips, her love, and her tight, little cunt when I get between her soft thighs.

  I go to my bag while keeping an eye on her sulking pout; the desire to kiss her comes again. Wrapping my fingers around the cold bottle of milk in my hand, I rise to my feet and leave my bag on the rack with other models’ belongings.

  There is a special compartment in my bag that I had specifically designed for my cold beverages, and it comes in handy when I store her favorite drink. I know how much she loves these disgustingly sweet drinks, and I know how much harder it is to find them, but I have my ways.

  I have a whole crate in my hotel room. Each day, I would give her one as a reminder that I will always take care of her. I have to start small, so I don’t scare her off, but I admit that kissing her was a lapse of judgment that I don’t regret.

  Nothing about Violet is regrettable.

  I just miss her too much to not have her melting under my arms.

  I take two sandwiches that are probably made from ingredients too fancy for a simple meal. Our schedules are packed for the day, and Violet needs the energy to do her work, but by the looks of it, she’s going to forget that she actually has to eat.

  There are snacks laying around for those who need more energy for the next set of pictures, but Violet is the photographer, so she rarely has time to do anything else.

  I kick a chair to move it in front of her. The reaction I get is the same as she jerks her surprised gaze up to mine. Trapping her in her seat with my glare, I drop down on the chair, and my long legs form a barrier around her chair.

  I take the thick and chunky green juice from her hand, but her attention is on the bottle of milk in my hand. She doesn’t react when I set the juice on the ground or when I push a sandwich into her hands; her eyes are channeling all their energy to the bottle.

  “You get this after you eat,” I said.

  Her eyes blink, and her frown is back. She can be upset and pout all she wants, but she needs to eat. The milk in my hand is her reward for eating, and I will drink this grossness in front of her if she doesn’t obey me.

  I am an ass, but it’s for her own good, and she knows that I will do it. It isn’t the first time I taught her a lesson when she doesn’t listen to me.

  The need for her daily dose of strawberry milk is more pressing than my discretion earlier, but I could see that she’s trying to be mad. My sweetheart is too kind to hold a grudge no matter how badly I fucked up, and I lost count of how many people try to take advantage of her when we were together.

  We still are, I remind myself. Neither of us had spoken out about the engagement, but I’m the one that walked away. I stopped being her fiancé the moment I wrote that pathetic note on her kitchen counter, and she stopped being my fiancée the moment she took off her engagement ring.

  It bothers me at how empty her little finger is.

  “What are you waiting for,” I grunt as I unwrap the sandwich.

  It’s a common idea that low sodium prevents bloating; it’s not surprising when I bite into the bread that everything is practically tasteless.

  One would expect that having top paying models on set would require expensive food, and this is expensive food because all the ingredients are fresh with a distinctive taste that only money can make.

  The appearance is nothing to be wowed at; it looks like the same as other sandwiches at stores.

  I’m used to the taste. I have had the worst with other photoshoots. I can eat something else for dinner, something more fulfilling than a sandwich that tastes like nothing.

  Violet avoids my stare as she nibbles on the bread. She’s sitting up with her back straight and awkwardly dodging any physical touches with me. It’s adorable; honestly, she’s going to have to try harder to get rid of me since her blatant avoidance is quite endearing.

  “Violet,” the team’s clothing designer comes up to her and leans down to show her a set of pictures.

  He’s Thomas, if I recall correctly. He’s the fashion stylist that helps the models adjust the clothes, and he is one of the owners with Donna., I don’t have much contact with him until I have to change into his clothes for the photoshoot.

  “Oh my,” Thomas puts his hand over his chest where a brooch is clipped, “Am I interrupting?”

  Violet pouts, “No.”

  “Yes.” I glare into her green eyes, and her shoulders are pulled up as a defensive mechanism.

  She knows the tone in my voice. I don’t like it when my time with her is taken away. Her undivided attention is only mine, and it’s hard to get that when there are other men being filtered through her lens.

  If I could, I would have thrown her over my shoulders and onto a plane to my home where I have a gated community with the best security system activated. She would be protected in there, and she belongs in my home with my wedding ring around her finger.

  As unreasonable as I am, I will tolerate this month and share her attention with other men. When she’s not working, she should only be focused on me, and I’ll shower her with my love. I don’t want to hurt her career after she has worked so hard to get to where she is, and I’m damn proud of her.

  I kept track of her for the past two years; I know everything that went on in her life, and she will never know how many men my bodyguard had scared away.

  They try to woo her and make her swoon with their pitiful flowers and adulterated intentions, but I know better. They see the loveliness of my Violet, and they want it, but once they take that bold step to even ask her name, I gave my bodyguard permission to do whatever it is necessary to make them understand that she will never be available.

  “I want this to show up as the main focus,” Thomas said while pointing to a catalog of clothes.

  Violet nods, looking at the pictures with so much interest that the sandwich is left unattended. I reach over, grasping her thigh and squeeze. While she focuses on the pictures and listens to Thomas, her body is so used to my commands that her hands hold up the food to her mouth.

  Her dimpled cheeks chew mindlessly, and I’m satisfied with the new discovery.

  It’s a short conversation, but the focused look in her green eyes is admirable. One of the expressions that I love about her is that the moment she sees something that triggers a spark of interest, her eyes turn a brilliant shade of emerald.

  When she would take pictures of me, she would wonder why I wasn’t a model. I never told her that I was, and it was a secret that impacted the relationship when I left since it was the sole reason why I had to leave.

  She thought that I was ashamed to be photographed with her, but I just wanted to protect her from being hated by the world as I was one of the highest paid models in constant demand.

  I would never be ashamed of her. I wanted to show her off to the world yet keep her to myself as I did not wish anyone falling for her beauty. I never allowed her to post any pictures of me or us on her website when she was a freelance photographer, and maybe I should have.

  However, that meant that I would breach the contract with my agency to remain unattached. The backlash would be insane, and it would have gotten worst when Violet gets hate for being my fiancée.

  It was a tough choice to make, but I ultimately wanted to protect her at all cost even if I had to hurt her first.

  The other choice would have been detrimental.

  I don’t care what happens to my career, but I will never do anything to take away her love for photography.

  “There is a sixty percent chance of rain this afternoon, and I want to use that. It brings out the concept better if we have less natural light,” Violet swallows her food and nods.

  Thomas’ eyebrows curl. Violet’s thinking process is difficult to gra
sp for those who don’t understand her. She sees the world in ways that make her special, and it’s why one of the biggest and most influential agencies had scouted her.

  Violet is so precious; it brings me great conflict to know that people have their eyes set on her; most are for her talent while a handful are for the radiant beauty that she emits.

  I saw articles and thousands of social media posts that pointed out the desirability of her from men in celebrity circles.

  They will never get the chance.

  “I can see where you’re going with this,” Thomas smiles while ruffling her brown hair, “It could really bring out the recherché sensational theme that the clothes are designed for.”

  Violet pauses, her eyebrows knotting adorably. “That sounds like a disease.”

  Thomas gasps, pinching her cheek with his fingers and she winces. My natural instinct is to smack that hand away since it’s hurting her, but the sound of her pretty laugh extinguishes the protectiveness that almost threw me off balance.

  “Alright, you cheeky girl, finish your lunch, and I’ll get started on the first model.” Thomas licks his lips, “Mm, let me get these fabulous hands on their coquettish bodies.”

  That’s a word that I don’t often hear with the association with men, but Thomas is known in the modeling industry to be idiosyncratic.

  “Please don’t scare them away,” Violet grins, and I get distracted by those dimples again.

  Thomas pats her cheek affectionately, and I rub her thigh with my hand. She doesn’t pull away or is aware of my touch.

  “You can’t flirt from far away.” Thomas blows a kiss to Violet before twirling away.

  She laughs, my heart thumps at the sound, and I’d do anything to make her laugh. When she turns back, her thighs jerk and she squeals in shock when her hand comes down to stop the advancing of my hand to her leg.

  A shuddering moan tumbles out as I press my thumb inside her supple thigh. Her cheeks turn red as she smacks my hand with kittenish strength.

  I smirk at her. She turns her eyes down to my hand. Her face gets brighter in color as she sees the twists of tattoos inked on my skin; it’s Violet’s other weakness along with many more. She is weak against the ink, and I use that against her when she’s stubborn about something. She gets defeated in a split second if I was in a dress shirt and roll up my sleeves.