Chapter 18
I used to think his jealousy was cute. That possessive look in his eyes, the way his fingers would tighten protectively around mine in public, or how his messages would flood my phone like waves, one after another–checking in, asking what I was doing, who I was with.
At first, it made me feel wanted. Important. Like I was his whole world.
But lately… it felt like a cage.
Each day, Rozen’s jealousy didn’t just spark–it roared. It didn’t take long for the warmth of his love to start burning like wildfire. Consuming. Spreading. Uncontrolled.
“Why didn’t you tell me your client today was a man?”
That was his message from this morning. A man. Not even a name. Just a gender.
I ignored it.
Then another followed,
“Are you purposely keeping that from me?”
I sighed as I scrolled through his messages while walking to my car. There were seventeen unread texts. Seventeen. I used to smile seeing his name pop up. Now I dreaded it.
Alice glanced at me as she got into the passenger seat. “Another jealous text from your husband?”
I tried to laugh, but it came out tight. “Something like that.”
“You sure everything’s okay between you two?”
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted–meetings, deadlines, client calls, presentations. I just wanted a hot shower, a quiet meal, and silence.
But instead, I found him.
Rozen. Sitting on the couch in my apartment like he owned the place–his jaw tight, his eyes
darker than I’d ever seen them.
“You didn’t answer,” he said, standing.
“I was working.” I put my bag down, tension already curling in my spine. “I told you. I’m not glued to my phone.”
“You always answer. Until today.”
“Rozen,” I said, exhaling, “I’m tired. Can we not do this tonight?”
His expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t tell me you were meeting a male client. Again.”
“What does it matter?” I snapped. “You don’t own me.”
“I’m your husband!”
“And this is work!”
“Then quit.”
The room went silent.
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My fingers twitched at my sides. “What did you just say?”
“Quit. You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.”
I stared at him, the blood draining from my face. “So that’s it? I become your trophy wife? Just stay at home, smile, and keep quiet while you play husband of the year?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean, Rozen? Because all I’m hearing lately is control. Don’t work. Don’t meet men. Don’t do anything without telling me. Do you even hear yourself?”
His nostrils flared. “I just want to protect you.”
“From what?” I stepped closer, voice rising. “From male clients? My career? Myself?”
“You don’t understand-”
“No, Rozen. I do understand. You don’t trust me.”
He didn’t reply. And that silence told me everything.
I took a breath. “You’re punishing me for what Mina did.”
His head snapped up. “Don’t bring her into this.”
“I have to! Because you keep projecting your past onto me. I’m not her, Rozen. I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t lie. I didn’t leave. I was here. I am here. But if you keep this up, I won’t be.”
“You don’t mean that.”
I looked him in the eyes. “Don’t I?”
He looked stunned. Like he never thought I’d say it.
But I wasn’t finished.
“I can’t breathe, Rozen. I used to feel safe with you. Loved. Seen. But now… I feel like I’m always walking on glass. Every message you send feels like a trap. Every call like a test I have to pass. And I’m tired.”
His hands curled into fists, then relaxed. “I just don’t want to lose you.”
“Then stop pushing me away.”
“I’m not!”
“You are!”
We were shouting now. The walls seemed to echo every word.
He paced the floor, raking his hand through his hair. “You’re everything to me, Jasmine. I don’t know how to handle this. I’ve never-”
“Then learn,” I cut in. “Because I won’t live like this. I won’t be in a relationship where I’m not trusted. Again!”
He looked at me, hurt and anger mingling in his eyes. “So what, you’re just going to leave?”
“I need space.”
“Jasmine-”
I held up my hand. “Don’t.”
And then I walked to the bedroom. Each step was heavy. Each breath tighter than the last. I
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opened the closet. Pulled out the suitcase. Started folding clothes.
Behind me, I heard him come in. “You’re not serious”
“I am.”
He moved closer. “Please don’t go.”
“I need space,” I repeated. “To think. To breathe”
“I’ll change. I’ll do anything.”
“Will you stop being jealous of every man I talk to?”
He hesitated. And that hesitation broke something, in me.
I zipped the suitcase and turned. “I’m not asking for miracles. Just trust.”
“I do trust you-”
“You don’t.”
We stared at each other. Two people who once found comfort in silence, now drowning in it. He reached out, but I stepped back.
“This isn’t goodbye, Rozen,” I whispered. “But I can’t be here. Not like this.”
He didn’t follow me. Not when I rolled my suitcase to the door. Not when I put on my coat. Not even when I looked back one last time.
He just stood there. Broken. Silent.
And I left.
The elevator ride was suffocating. I didn’t cry. Not until I got into the car and drove a few blocks
away,
Then the tears came. Heavy, Hot. Unstoppable. Because I loved him.
God, I loved him.
But love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like drowning.
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