✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

30-Anatomy of Burning

Anna's pov

The morning began with me ensnared in the embrace of the man I craved most. My husband. Our limbs intertwined, breaths synchronized in a silent dance, our bodies merging in a wordless communion. Yet, unbeknownst to him, his touch seared my skin with a fervent heat, igniting an internal blaze that threatened to consume me. The shame that clawed at my chest compelled me to escape, to disentangle myself from this intimacy before it suffocated me. But just as I steeled myself to move, I felt him stir, and I remained frozen, feigning sleep with every ounce of my being.

He sat up, his hands retreating from my body, and in that fleeting moment, all warmth vanished, leaving a void as cold as a tomb. His fingers, feather-light, brushed against my face, tucking away stray locks of hair. A delicate touch traced the path from my forehead to my nose, then to my lips. I did not stir; I had mastered the art of pretense, turning myself into a statue of stone. Pitch-black winter snow lives in my bones. His fingers hesitated at the scar near my eye—a blemish, a mark of imperfection deemed abhorrent by those of noble blood. He lingered there, a pause pregnant with unspoken words, before withdrawing his touch. The bed shook as he rose, and soon after, the sound of water running in the bathroom echoed through the room, signaling the start of our separate, divided mornings.

After Jake finished his shower, I stepped into the bathroom, letting the water wash away the remnants of the previous night. Once I was done, I headed to Jake's closet to stow away more clothes, ensuring my presence remained a constant in his life. I made my way to check on Alex, finding him still weary and asleep in his bed. The sight of him reminded me that today would be spent at home, keeping an eye on him and checking in on the Wild Joker, the unpredictable element in our lives.

I brewed a cup of coffee as a pre-workout ritual, then ascended to the chair seat where my favorite antique open-arm pull-up chairs stood by the enormous windows that offered a panoramic view of the estate. Taking two precise sips of my coffee, I spotted a Lamborghini pulling into the driveway. Out stepped Sana, the daughter of the Duke of York—the very woman who had glared daggers at me during the ball we attended. Her presence heralded a storm of tension, a reminder of the unseen battles that lurked beneath the surface of our seemingly calm existence.

She wore a mini dress adorned with a delicate floral pattern, the fabric hugging her figure and accentuating her curves. I watched her as she entered my house, her presence a sharp contrast to the tension that simmered beneath the surface. I downed the rest of my coffee in one swift gulp before heading downstairs, clad in my sportswear—a starkly casual choice given the circumstances.

The great hall was empty, a hushed void, suggesting she had already made her way to the great living room. As I approached the grand doors, the maid emerged, bowing her head slightly. "The daughter of the Duke of York is here to see his highness," she announced before heading up the stairs, presumably to summon Jake.

I stepped into the room and finally got a proper look at her dress. The fabric was a pristine white, subtly textured with the lightest of ruffles at the hem. The spaghetti straps revealed her slender shoulders, drawing attention to the smooth, unblemished skin that seemed to glow under the soft lighting. She was undeniably pretty, an image of grace and elegance. She was seated on one of the sofas, but as soon as she noticed me, she stood and extended her hand for a handshake—an odd gesture given our strained history. "Hi," she greeted me, her voice carrying a polite, almost rehearsed tone.

I took her hand, giving it a brief shake before seating myself in the chair opposite her. I studied her intently, waiting for her to explain her presence. "I heard from the help that you needed to see Jake."

She smiled a hint of condescension in her expression. "Yes, I wanted to talk to him."

"At eight in the morning?" I couldn't hide the skepticism in my voice.