Wrong Date, Right Man: Lock Me Into His World

The moment Jeremy appeared, all the drunken arrogance drained from Roderick's face.

He shot to his feet, panic flashing across his features before he quickly forced a servile smile. "Mr. Yates, this is just a misunderstanding. I had no idea this lady was your..."

"And now you're aware?" Jeremy's voice was low, carrying an unmistakable chill as he looked down at him.

"Yes, yes, of course! I understand now." Roderick nodded repeatedly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Please, Mr. Yates, take a seat. I'll have the staff bring fresh dishes immediately. Dinner is on me tonight!"

Jeremy didn't spare him another glance. His attention remained entirely on Madison.

Madison steadied herself, drawing in a quiet breath before turning back to Roderick. "Mr. Palmer, regarding the project—"

"Miss Wallace—oh, no, I should say Mrs. Yates now."

Roderick's tone shifted dramatically, all arrogance gone, replaced with careful politeness. "It's not that I'm unwilling to proceed," he continued hastily. "But the project has already been reassigned. Our Vice President, Mr. Leandro Swain, will be handling it. He'll leave town tomorrow at three in the afternoon."

Madison's expression tightened. "And you couldn't have told me that earlier?"

Jeremy watched the flash of irritation on her face, a faint, almost amused smile touching his lips. He slid an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go."

They were nearly at the door when Jeremy stopped and glanced back. "Mr. Palmer, if you encounter my wife again in a professional setting, I expect you to treat her appropriately." He paused, his tone turning colder. "My patience is limited."

Roderick bobbed his head repeatedly, his smile stiff and ingratiating.

Only then did Jeremy turn away, guiding Madison out.

Once they reached the parking lot, Madison had just settled into the passenger seat when Jeremy leaned closer.

She stiffened immediately.

Instead of anything unexpected, he pulled a pack of wet wipes from the glove compartment. Taking her hand, he began to clean it carefully.

His movements were unhurried, almost methodical.

Under the soft glow inside the car, his gaze remained lowered, lashes casting faint shadows across his face. His expression was focused, almost meticulous.

He wiped her palm, and then the back of her hand, before moving on to each finger individually.

When he finished one hand, he moved on to the other.

Madison felt a flicker of unease and tried to withdraw, but his grip held firm.

Without looking up, he asked, "Aside from your hand, where else did he touch you?"

She hesitated briefly before answering, "My shoulder."

A darker look settled in Jeremy's eyes; he clearly regretted not dealing with Roderick more harshly.

He took another wipe, continuing the same careful motions, though his hold tightened slightly.

The atmosphere in the car shifted, growing subtly tense. Just as she was about to speak, something caught her attention—a small marking visible beneath his collar, near his collarbone.

It looked like part of a tattoo... letters, perhaps.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned in slightly, trying to make it out more clearly.

But Jeremy reacted instantly. His hand came up, adjusting his collar with deliberate ease, concealing the mark entirely.

"What are you staring at?" he asked, his tone relaxed, almost languid.

Madison quickly looked away. "Uh... nothing."

Her expression remained as distant as ever, but her thoughts were anything but calm.

The way he had hidden the tattoo so quickly, it was obvious he didn't want it seen.

Could it be someone's initials? Someone important?

The thought lingered for a moment before she pushed it aside. It wasn't her concern.

Their marriage was nothing more than an arrangement. Whatever past he carried had nothing to do with her.

The car cut through the quiet night streets, and about thirty minutes later, it stopped in front of her apartment building.

After saying a brief goodbye, Madison stepped out and headed toward the entrance. Before she could reach it, someone suddenly stepped into her path and snapped at her, "Madison, who was that guy who dropped you off?"

It was Kieran.

Her brows knit together slightly. She pulled her arm free from his grasp and glanced over her shoulder.

The black sedan remained parked nearby, its tinted windows revealing nothing of the person inside.

She turned back, her expression calm and indifferent.

"My husband," she said calmly.

Kieran blinked, and then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Maddie, seriously? You expect me to believe that? What, did you hire someone to put on a show for me?"

Madison didn't bother answering. She simply moved past him toward the entrance.

Kieran stepped in front of her again, blocking the way.

His voice softened, almost coaxing. "Maddie, I know you're upset, but haven't you dragged this out long enough? Apologize now, and maybe I'll forgive you. What happened with Kristina... it was all just a misunderstanding."

Madison stopped. A quiet, cold laugh slipped from her lips.

"Kieran," she said, her voice sharp with disdain, "who do you think you are? And why would I be the one apologizing?"

The color drained from Kieran's face.

"Take that act of yours back to Kristina," she added coolly. "It doesn't work on me."

Without another glance, she pushed open the door and walked inside.

Kieran remained where he stood, his expression darkening.

For a moment, anger flickered across his face, but it quickly gave way to a smug smile.

To him, this was nothing new. He assumed she was just playing hard to get, something he'd seen countless times before.

Eventually, she'd calm down. She'd realize her mistake.

After all, he had supported her for five years. Where else could she go?

He was certain she'd come back. He'd just wait and see how long she could keep up the act.

But then, his gaze drifted back to the black sedan as it slowly pulled away.

A crease formed between his brows. That license plate... why did it seem so familiar?