Page 14 of Wrapped Up

“Jack,” she says, hands planted on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. I strain to hear his response.

“Honey, let me explain...” His deep voice carries over the noise.

Honey? My mind races, struggling to make sense of what I'm hearing. No way. He wouldn't do that. Not after everything we've shared.

The woman continues talking, frustration dripping from her every word. “I've been waiting for you for hours. You said you'd be home when I arrived.”

Home? My stomach churns as everything starts to click into place. He lives with her.

“I know, I'm sorry,” he says, filled with regret. “Something came up and time slipped away from me.”

Something came up? Is that all I’m to him? Just a distraction, an inconvenience?

The blonde woman snorts, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Something always comes up with you, Jack. You promised you'd be there.”

Anger surges through me along with the hurt. He promised her. He has obligations to her. And I was just a fleeting moment of pleasure, easily discarded.

“I'm really sorry,” he says softly. “I'll make it up to you.”

Each word is like a dagger in my heart.

“Oh, you know how you can make it up to me,” I hear her add with a suggestive raise of her eyebrows.

A wave of nausea washes over me as I listen to the intimacy between them, their familiarity and ease with each other. It confirms my worst fears—he's been lying to me this whole time.

Disappointment and heartache fill me as I realize I had been foolish to believe his lies. How many times must I fall victim to my own naive optimism before I learn?

I try to keep my composure as tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. I refuse to let him see me broken. With determination, I straighten up, turn and walk away while salvaging what little pride I have left. Fool me once; shame on him. Fool me twice; shame on me. I should have known better than to trust in the charm of a handsome stranger.

Stepping out into the chilly night air, I take a deep breath and fight back tears. Everything feels different now—colder, harsher.

Love,I remind myself, is nothing but a fickle and cruel mistress.No, it's worse than that—it's a venomous snake waiting to strike at the most vulnerable moment. And as I fade into the darkness, I make a silent promise: never again will I fall for the false allure of love or a fucking Christmas Prince.

Chapter5

Jack

Istand in front of my closet, frowning at the array of clothes before me. Suits feel too formal for a dinner at Peter and Anna's, but I want to make a good impression.

My hand hovers over a crisp button-down before moving to a soft blue sweater. Casual, but not too casual. I pair it with dark jeans, the ones Honey always says make me look “less like a youth counselor and more like a guy who actually remembers how to have fun.”

As I pull on the sweater, my mind drifts to Peter and Anna. It’s only been a few months since Peter started at the Youth Center, but we clicked instantly. There’s something about him—his easy smile, his patience with the kids—that made me think, “This is someone I want in my corner.”

I remember the day he first mentioned Anna. His whole face lit up, eyes crinkling at the corners as he talked about their weekend plans. I felt a pang then, a bittersweet reminder of how I used to feel talking about Sarah.

But there is something different about Peter and Anna's relationship. A solidity, a warmth that goes beyond the honeymoon phase.

I shake off the melancholy thoughts, focusing instead on the excitement of the evening ahead. I'm curious to finally spend some real time with Anna, to see firsthand the woman who's captured Peter's heart so completely.

I adjust my collar, smoothing down the soft wool of the sweater. “Not bad, Daniels,” I mutter to my reflection, trying to project more confidence than I feel.

My phone buzzes, and I see a text from Peter: “Looking forward to seeing you tonight, man. Anna's gone all out with the decorations. Her best friend will be joining us too.”

I type a quick reply, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips at the thought of meeting someone new. It's been a month since that night at the club, but I can't shake the memory of her—the mysterious woman who vanished like smoke after our encounter in the stairwell.

I close my eyes, and suddenly I'm there again. The dim light, the soft sounds she made as I touched her. The way she looked at me—with desire and vulnerability in equal measure. And then... nothing. She never showed up at the bar, leaving me with nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume and a head full of questions.

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