Jude showed up the next morning.
Not angry. Worse.
Quiet.
I opened the door still barefoot, Cassian's shirt hanging off one shoulder like an accusation.
Jude's eyes flicked over me, taking it in. He didn't comment.
"You stayed," he said.
"Yes."
"With him."
"Yes."
A pause. Then: "Did you sleep with him?"
I tilted my head. "Does it matter?"
His jaw tightened. "It matters to me."
I stepped closer, deliberately. "That's not an answer to my question."
His hand flexed at his side. "I don't like sharing you."
I smiled softly. "I don't like being owned."
"I'm not trying to own you," he said sharply. "I'm trying not to lose you again."
That landed. Harder than I expected.
"You already lost me once," I said quietly. "You don't get to act surprised that I didn't stay frozen in place."
Silence stretched between us.
Then he did something unexpected.
He reached out and touched my wrist.
Gentle. Familiar. His thumb brushing the inside, exactly where he knew my pulse would give me away.
"You feel different," he said.
I swallowed. "So do you."
He stepped closer. Too close. My back hit the door.
"I don't want to compete," he said. "But I will."
My breath caught.
"Careful," I whispered. "That sounds like a challenge."
His mouth curved into a dark smile. "You always did like those."
For one suspended moment, I thought he might kiss me right there.
Instead, he stepped back.
"This isn't over," he said.
"I know."
When he left, I leaned against the door, heart racing, body still buzzing from the echo of his touch.
Two men. Two different pulls. Both very real.
And I was no longer pretending this was accidental.