Page 13 of Off-Limits

Ryan.

Of course. That's what this is really about—his promise to my brother.

A sudden wave of anger takes over me, helping me push against Jake's chest with enough force that he takes a step back in surprise. "You're not serious," I say again, shaking my head as I take a step away from him. "I can't believe you would even suggest something like that."

Jake watches me warily, his expression guarded, as if he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. And maybe it should, but... part of me understands where he's coming from.

Because despite everything that's happened between us—and all the complications that come with it—I know that Jake Morrison would never do anything to deliberately put me in harm's way. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"So what if Ryan asked you to 'look after' me?" I say, crossing my arms over my chest as I glare at him. "That doesn't give you the right to follow me everywhere or know everything about me."

Jake takes a deep breath before responding, his voice steady despite the tension between us. "It's not about 'rights,' Mia," he says, his gaze never wavering from mine. "It's about keeping you safe."

I roll my eyes at him, frustrated by his stubbornness and by the fact that, deep down, I know he means well.

"I'll be perfectly fine with Emma," I say, turning away from him and grabbing a mug from the cabinet to pour myself another cup of coffee. "She's my best friend. She won't let anything happen to me."

Jake is silent for a moment before speaking again. "I know she won't," he says softly. "But... but I can't just sit here and do nothing, knowing you're going to be in a situation like this without someone there to watch your back."

As always, he's stubborn.

I move left but then turn around slowly to face him, my heart aching with a sudden realization. This isn't about Ryan at all—not really. It's about Jake—and his own sense of honor and duty.

Chapter 4

Jake

I stand in front of the mirror, buttoning up the crisp white shirt that goes with my suit. The fabric is smooth under my fingers, contrasting nicely with the rough callouses that have formed over years of manual labor and physical training. It's been a long time since I've worn something this formal, and I can't help but feel out of place, as if the clothes themselves are a reminder of just how different Mia and I come from.

My mind drifts back to yesterday's morning, to the way she looked then, the way her eyes kept flicking towards me when she thought I wasn't looking. There was a vulnerability there, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and defiance, that I can't help but want to protect. Even after everything that's happened between us—every moment we've shared and every line we've crossed—I still care about her more than anything.

I pause in my buttoning to run a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my forehead as I try to make sense of the chaos inside me. This is supposed to be simple—a chance to keepan eye on Mia without raising too many eyebrows—but nothing with her ever is. She's under my skin, burrowed deep in a place where I can't reach her or even understand why she affects me this way.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and I look up just as Mia comes into view through the open door. Shouldn't have left it partially open, I think. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her, and I have to bite back a low whistle of appreciation.

She's wearing a dress—the kind that hugs all those curves I've been trying not to notice, the ones that make me think of sinful things and late-night fantasies. The fabric is some shade of blue that reminds me of the ocean on a clear summer day, and it shimmers subtly with every movement she makes. It's really something else. I didn't know she had it.

But it's not just the dress—it's her. It's the way her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, the way her eyes meet mine for just a second before darting away shyly. She looks like a dream come true, something I never thought I'd be lucky enough to touch, let alone claim as my own.

I watch her in the reflection in my mirror, my heart pounding like a teenager's as she fusses with her dress and checks her reflection. She doesn't see me yet, too focused on whatever she's doing to notice anything else. And for just this moment, I can pretend that nothing is wrong between us, that we're not playing this dangerous game where the stakes couldn't be higher.

But then she looks in my direction, and our eyes meet in the mirror. For a second, there's something like fear in her gaze, but it's replaced almost immediately by defiance. She squares hershoulders and turns to face me directly, all traces of uncertainty gone as if they were never there at all.

"Nice suit," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. There's an edge to it though, something sharp that tells me she doesn't want to be having this conversation any more than I do.

I raise an eyebrow in response, playing along with her game even though every fiber of my being wants to close the distance between us and pull her into my arms. "Thanks," I say finally, turning to face her fully. "You don't look so bad yourself."

Her cheeks flush at that, a rosy hue spreading across them that makes me want to lean in closer just to see if they feel as warm as they look. Instead, I force myself to stay where I am, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.

The drive to the wedding venue is quiet, filled only with the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of a car passing by on the highway. Mia sits in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she stares out the window at the world rushing past us. I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves, and it takes all my self-control not to reach over and pry her fingers apart, offer some sort of comfort that I'm not sure either of us is ready for.

As we pull up to the grand old manor where the wedding is taking place, Mia's breath hitches beside me. "I can't believe we're actually doing this," she mutters, more to herself than to me. But I hear her, and it makes my chest ache in a way that I can't quite understand.

We make our way inside, weaving through the crowded ballroom filled with people dressed in their finest. Mia scans the room nervously, looking for familiar faces among the sea of strangers. More specifically, she's looking for her friend. I stickclose by her side, not because she asked me to but because it's where I want to be, where I need to be.

As we grab two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and make our way towards an empty table near the back, I can't help but steal glances at Mia. She looks good enough to eat. But more than that, she looks nervous, and it makes me want to wrap my arms around her and promise that everything will be okay.

We find our table, and Mia slips into a seat, crossing one leg over the other as she takes a sip of her drink. Her eyes are darting nervously around the room, taking in every detail like she's trying to commit it all to memory. I can't help but wonder what she's thinking about, what memories this place is dredging up for her.

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