Mr. and Mrs. Frost [completed]

XXVI: Quarrel

Jack's heart hammered in his chest as disbelief and rage churned together like a storm. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene before him. Elsa, his Elsa, had turned down his invitation for a date, claiming she had urgent matters, only to meet with another man. It wasn't just any man—it was the Prince of the Kingdom. Even beneath his casual disguise, Jack recognized him instantly. Jack was an NBI agent; his trained eyes could see through layers of deception and appearances. That knowledge only worsened the stabbing pain in his chest.

His knuckles turned bone-white as they gripped the steering wheel. Every breath burned with a mix of fury and heartbreak. The two of them sat at a small table on the café's balcony, smiling, leaning in close as if sharing secrets. It felt like a cruel, twisted nightmare. Jack's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he watched the prince reach for Elsa's hand. Something inside him snapped. He couldn't watch anymore. Without a second thought, he started the car and sped away, unable to face the image of her with someone else.

Rage and despair battled for dominance in his mind as he drove aimlessly, streets blurring past. He needed an escape, something to numb the sickening ache that twisted his insides. Eventually, he found himself parked in front of a bar. Jack stumbled inside, seeking oblivion in whatever bottle he could find. He drank deeply, the bitter liquid burning his throat but doing nothing to quench the fire inside. He didn't care who saw him or what might happen. All he wanted was to forget.

As he drank, questions gnawed at him like cruel teeth. Was he not enough for her? Did Elsa need more than he could give? He had loved her with every fiber of his being, yet here she was, with another man. Was her love a lie? Did it pale in comparison to his? Why would she betray him? The agony was like a knife twisting in his chest. His vision blurred, but he refused to let tears fall. Crying would mean accepting that he had lost her. He wasn't ready to give up, even if his heart felt like it was shattering with every breath.

The bartender eventually cut him off, urging him to go home. Jack obliged mechanically, stumbling out into the night. Though he was unsteady, he wasn't completely intoxicated, and he somehow managed to drive himself home safely. The house was cold and quiet as he entered, a stark contrast to the tumult inside him. He collapsed onto the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling. The silence pressed down on him, amplifying every doubt and every ounce of pain.

But then, a realization struck him like a jolt of electricity. He wasn't ready to let her go. He wouldn't back down without a fight. If Elsa was slipping through his fingers, he would do whatever it took to hold on. He clenched his fists, determination hardening in his eyes. No man would take her from him. If he had to fight, to keep her close, even if it meant becoming possessive or desperate—then so be it. He would do anything to keep Elsa. Anything.

❆❆❆❆❆

Elsa pushed open the front door as quietly as she could, the hinges creaking in protest. The soft glow of the living room light spilled into the entryway, stopping her in her tracks. She'd hoped Jack would be asleep, that she could slip in unnoticed, but fate had other plans. There he was, sitting on the sofa, his posture rigid and eyes burning straight into her soul.

She swallowed hard, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You're still awake."

"Obviously." Jack's voice was cold, laced with venom and disbelief. "Where have you been?"

Her chest tightened, each heartbeat a painful thud. This was it. "I was at a café... meeting with someone."

"Who?" His words cut the air like a blade.

"Just a friend," she replied, averting her gaze. Every muscle in her body was taut, prepared for the confrontation she'd known was inevitable. She had to sell the lie, to make him believe it, even if it tore her apart.

Jack stood abruptly, closing the distance between them in three angry strides. He grabbed her shoulders, his grip firm but not painful. "Just a friend? You met a 'friend' and came home at this hour?" His voice rose, fury crackling in every word. "I'm not an idiot, Elsa. Tell me who he is!"

"He?" She feigned confusion, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Yes, he." His grip tightened. "The man you met at the café. Don't play games with me."

"You followed me?" Elsa said, her voice tinged with disbelief. She forced it to sound genuine.

"Of course, I did." Jack's jaw clenched, his words sharp as knives. "When did it start?"

"Start what?" She played dumb, hating herself for every word.

"Just answer me!" He released her roughly, taking a step back as though her touch burned him. "Since when did you start cheating on me?"

Elsa's throat closed up, every instinct screaming at her to tell him the truth. But she couldn't. Instead, she said nothing, her lips pressed tightly together. He advanced on her again, and she backed up until she was against the wall, his arms caging her in.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered, fighting to keep her voice steady.

Jack recoiled as if struck, then turned away, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of pure frustration. "This is why I don't trust CIA agents," he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of pain and bitterness. "You're all trained liars. You'll say and do anything to get what you want."

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She closed her eyes, struggling to hold back tears. She deserved this. It was her punishment. But when he continued, his voice hard and relentless, each word felt like a lash across her soul.

"You lie so easily," Jack sneered. "You manipulate, you deceive... it's what you're good at, isn't it?"

The tears she'd been fighting spilled over, hot and stinging. She hadn't wanted to hurt him. She'd done it to protect him. But now, standing here, she realized the depth of the pain she'd caused. She saw it in his eyes—the betrayal, the devastation. And she hated herself for it.

Jack saw the tears, but he refused to let himself be swayed. Not this time. "Don't," he said coldly. "Crying won't work on me."

Memories of their time together flashed through his mind—every kiss, every touch, every promise. All of it, he thought bitterly, a lie. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. Had she given herself to another man? Had every intimate moment between them been nothing more than a ploy?

"Did you lie about everything?" His voice was raw, broken. "Did you give yourself to him the way you gave yourself to me? Were all those moments just another part of the game?"

Elsa's tears fell harder. She had to keep up the charade, had to drive him away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring at him through her tears. "Is that what you think of me? That I'd give myself to anyone for information?" Her voice cracked. "You were my first. You were the only one."

He stared at her, cold and unmoved. "Do you really expect me to believe that?" His laugh was dark, empty. "Playing the innocent victim now?"

The sound of her slap echoed through the room. Jack's head snapped to the side, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. Tears streaming down her face, Elsa turned and ran to her room, slamming the door and locking it behind her.

Jack stood frozen, his cheek stinging. He wanted to chase after her, to beg for the truth, to hold her and make everything right. But he couldn't move. He'd been consumed by rage and jealousy, blinded by the thought of betrayal. Now, all that remained was regret—a crushing, suffocating weight that left him paralyzed.

In her room, Elsa collapsed onto the bed, sobbing until she had no tears left. She told herself she had to be strong, that this was for everyone's safety. But the pain of hurting Jack, of driving him away, was almost too much to bear. She whispered apologies into the darkness, praying that one day he would understand.