Ares didn’t answer.
His attention cut past everything else in the world and settled on Lara.
Not on her face.
Not at first.
His gaze dragged over her with slow, deliberate precision — from the copper strands of her ponytail damp against the graceful line of her neck... down the clean, fitted contours of her top clinging to her still-warm skin... to the curve of her hips... the long strength of her legs moving beside another man...
...and then back up again.
His gaze was possessive, asuring and shalessly territorial.
As if he were cataloguing what belonged to him — and noting exactly who had been standing too close.
Heat crept up Lara’s spine despite the cool air.
When his gaze finally reached her eyes, it hit like ice water.
Cold enough to frost glass. Sharp enough to cut.
He said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just stared.
And sohow, that silence felt far more dangerous than words.
Lara’s pulse stumbled.
Because for one terrifying second—
—it didn’t look like he was angry at her.
It looked like he was angry at Asher.
"What?" Asher asked, eting Ares’s stare with lazy indifference, one brow lifting. "I was just out jogging and happened to run into Larissa. You know what they say — the early bird catches the worm."
"Your phone," Ares said flatly.
Asher blinked. "Huh?"
Then he felt the vibration at his waist.
He pulled out his cellphone, glanced at the screen — and his expression shifted, not surprise or annoyance, but with suspicion.
His eyes flicked back to Ares, sharp now.
"I need to take this," he said, already stepping away.
Ares watched him go for several long breaths, his expression unreadable, before turning back to Lara — as if Asher had never existed at all.
"You didn’t get a chance to see the east wing," he said coolly. "There’s an orchard there. You might want to pick so fruit."
Was it an invitation, or an order? Could it be a pretext?
Lara held his gaze, searching for the trap — and finding nothing she could na.
"Then lead the way."
He started jogging without another word.
She fell into step beside him.
Not touching. Not speaking.
But acutely aware of the charged space between them — like the air before lightning strikes.
...
Several ters away, Asher pressed the phone to his ear, a crooked smile tugging at his lips, brows arched in amusent.
"That brother of mine," he muttered under his breath. "Still pulling strings just to get rid of and steal ti with a woman."
"What did you say?" an elderly voice rasped from the other end.
Asher’s expression softened instantly.
"Nothing, Grandpa. I’ll co visit you soon."
"You’d better, you little brat," the old man grumbled. "I haven’t seen you in a year. Starting to think you’ll only show up for my funeral."
"Don’t say that." Asher’s tone turned teasing — but gentle underneath. "You’re still tougher than most n half your age. You haven’t even held your great-grandchild yet."
A weary chuckle crackled through the line.
"I’ll be long dead before that cold-hearted brother of yours fathers a child."
Asher’s smile widened, eyes glinting as he glanced toward the distant figures jogging side by side.
"Who knows, Grandpa," he said lightly. "One of these days, Ares might surprise you with a wife."
There was silence. Then, sudden, electric excitent.
"Really?" the old man demanded. "Has that stubborn boy finally learned how to court a woman?"
Asher’s gaze lingered on Lara — on the way Ares subtly angled his body toward her, shielding her from the wind without seeming to notice.
His smile turned slow. Knowing.
"Oh," he murmured, "I think he’s past learning."
He paused, voice dropping with quiet amusent.
"I think he’s already chosen."
...
The path to the east wing curved away from the manicured lawns, the gravel gradually giving way to packed earth softened by fallen leaves.
The air changed first.
Cooler. Quieter. Heavy with the green, living scent of trees instead of trimd hedges and polished stone.
Then the orchard revealed itself.
Rows of fruit trees stretched across the gentle slope like a private forest, their branches bowed with the weight of ripening fruit — peaches blushing gold, velvet apples burnished red, citrus glowing like drops of captured sunlight. Dew still clung to the leaves, scattering light into a thousand tiny sparks.
Birdsong threaded through the hush. Sowhere deeper in the grove, water trickled faintly.
It felt secluded. Hidden. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with walls.
Ares slowed to a stop beneath a sprawling tree whose branches dipped low enough to form a natural canopy.
"Family orchard," he said. "No pesticides. The old man insisted."
His voice was calm again — almost too calm. Like a storm that had retreated just out of sight.
Lara reached up, brushing her fingers against a cluster of fruit.
"You brought here to pick fruits?" she asked lightly.
...
"No." The single word dropped between them, heavy as a stone.
When she turned, he was already watching her. Not with the open coldness from earlier. Not with indifference either.
But sothing tighter. Focused. Controlled.
"Why were you with him?" Ares asked.
There it was.
Not if. Not how. But why.
Lara leaned her shoulder against the tree trunk, folding her arms — a posture that looked relaxed but put solid bark at her back.
"He told you. We ran into each other."
His jaw shifted.
"That wasn’t what I asked."
The leaves above them stirred, scattering light across his face — gold, shadow, gold again — making his expression harder to read and sohow more dangerous.
"He talks too much," Ares continued. "He gets close to people too fast. It’s deliberate."
"And you don’t?" Lara shot back softly.
Silence.
A muscle ticked along his cheek.
"I don’t pretend," he said at last.
For a mont, neither of them moved. The air felt thicker here, perfud with fruit and sun-ward bark, charged with everything neither of them was saying.
Lara reached up and twisted a peach free from its stem.
The motion brought her closer to him — closer than she realized until she turned and nearly collided with his chest.
He had stepped in without a sound and stood too close.
She could feel the heat of him through the thin space between them. Could see the faint rise and fall of his breath. Could sll clean soap, leather, and sothing darker that was simply Ares.
Her pulse tripped.
He didn’t move back.
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