Part 1He Only Listens To Her

“If you just gave him the cold shoulder for once—let him feel a little fear of loss—you’d see if he ever dared to pull this kind of thing again.”

So, this time, I didn't back down.

A week later, he initiated the ceasefire.

A bouquet of flowers, dinner out, and a murmured apology.

I thought this was proof of his change.

Instead, I accidentally saw the text message from her.

She said:

Go apologize to Sierra.

Just mind me.

* * *

Jax was on the phone when I stepped out of the bathroom.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I know,” he said.

The call ended. The smile hadn’t quite faded from his face yet, and his mood was clearly brighter, lighter than when he first arrived at my apartment.

The motion of toweling my hair froze. My stomach dropped.

It’s impossible not to notice when you’ve known someone too well. Suspicion only needs a single sentence to bloom.

It was a perfectly innocuous sentence. But his tone was too docile.

It was like watching a vicious little street dog suddenly have its fur smoothed down by a loving hand.

It wasn't him.

I couldn’t help but ask, “Who was that?”

“What?”

“Who were you talking to?”

The lightness in Jax’s expression immediately curdled. “No one.”

He tried to pivot. “You must be starving! Go blow-dry your hair, and I’ll get started on dinner.” With that, he turned and walked into the kitchen.

His phone sat on the coffee table. A monumental temptation.

I gave in. I picked it up.

The first thing I checked was the call log. The most recent name: Dahlia.

I froze.

Dahlia? Why would it be Dahlia?

“What are you doing?”

Jax’s voice sliced through the silence.

I looked up. Our eyes met, and his face was stormy, his gaze arctic. He advanced toward me, step by step.

“What are you trying to find out?”

“Sierra, I’m asking you, what is it you want to check?”

He held out his own phone, brandishing it like a weapon. “Checking who I was talking to? Fine. It was Dahlia. And? Sierra, do I need to report every single conversation I have? Do I need to catalog every call I make, every text I send, and get your explicit permission?”

He straightened up, throwing the phone onto the sofa. His voice was cold. “Go ahead. Check! I dare you!”

Jax was furious. There was a thin, sharp edge of disappointment laced through the anger. His violent reaction stunned me into silence.

My thoughts were a muddy mess until the silence stretched between us, and the tension slowly solidified.

Why did I check his phone?

Because of his rare, misplaced gentleness. Because of that unnatural softness.

It wasn’t Jax’s nature. He was always a total jerk, swaggering like he owned the place, even when he spoke to me. He wouldn’t use soft words. He wouldn't speak kindly.

My friends never understood it. “How do you put up with him?”

I used to just smile. “Because I understand him.”

I knew the exact inflection that meant he realized he was wrong. I recognized the subtle shift in his eyes that signaled he was ready to surrender. I didn’t need him to actually say the words; I just knew.

So, when he adopted that soft, docile tone for someone else—how could I not feel that cold prickle of doubt?

Meeting Jax’s frigid glare, I picked up his phone again.

I ignored his sharp, dismissive scoff and tapped on their recent conversation.

The most recent exchange was from early that morning.

You still haven’t made up with Sierra?

Nope.

What is your problem? I told you to apologize ages ago.

Stay out of it.

Jax, go apologize. Now.

You don’t get it! Dahlia, she’s not like you.

Of course she’s not like me. That’s why you love her and not me, right?

Jax hadn’t replied to that last text.

After three minutes of silence, Dahlia had sent two more.

Go apologize to Sierra.

Jax, mind me!