Lighthouse And The Adrift Ship

Jerica's heart betrayed her the moment she saw him. It had been so long since Jared set foot in her office that his very presence sent her heart racing against her will. He usually avoided coming here, keeping their worlds separate, yet here he was.

A flicker of hope dared to ignite within her, fragile and foolish. Was she really still that in love with him? Could love be so stubborn, so powerful that it could erase the sting of his obligatory words and hollow actions from just that morning?

Seeing his face now—sharp jawline, thick brows furrowed in thought, those thin lips that rarely gave way to a smile—she couldn't stop herself from remembering the first time she saw him.

He'd just come out of a courtroom, looking every bit like the legend she'd heard whispered around the courthouse. The Siberian Beast. The man who took no hostages and left no one standing when he was done.

What had possessed her to approach him that day? She still couldn't say. His looks? His presence? There had to be more.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as his eyes swept across the office, and for a heartbeat—a single, agonizing heartbeat—they landed on her. In that briefest of moments, everything inside her stilled. Her heart ceased its frantic rhythm, her thoughts dulled into silence, and even her blood seemed to pause in her veins.

What am I, a teenager in love? She chastised herself.

But he was like a lighthouse—steadfast, distant, his light cutting through the fog of her emotions. And she was the ship, adrift in a stormy sea, always searching for that one solitary beam of light to guide her safely to shore.

He, the lighthouse, didn't need her—he didn't need any ship. His purpose was to stand alone, strong and unmoved by the turbulent waters below. But she? She needed him. She needed the light, craved its direction, its comfort and warmth, even if it was never meant for her.

Just as quickly as his gaze had found her, it moved on, like the rotating beam of that distant lighthouse, illuminating everything but the one ship lost in the dark.

She was drifting, and he remained unbothered, fixed to his course, unaware of how desperately she sought his attention and warmth.

Jerica could only sigh—again.

"Here comes your ex," Lila whispered with barely contained excitement, like a teenager watching her favorite trashy romance drama unfold. "Ex-boyfriend meeting the husband. Should we expect a steamy clash?!" Her voice was low, but her enthusiasm was anything but subtle, her eyes wide with gleeful anticipation.

She was practically vibrating in her seat, imagining the scandalous possibilities as if this was a plot twist straight out of her favorite rom-com. "Ah, both of them are so hot," she added with a dreamy sigh, hearts practically floating in her eyes like an emoji.

Jerica turned her gaze to her husband, Jared—stoic as ever, his cold demeanor like a wall that no emotion could breach. He stood tall, composed, every inch of him exuding that typical indifference that seemed to define him.

Next to him was Harold, hands shoved in his pockets—a telltale sign of his nervousness. Jerica knew him well enough to read that small gesture. For someone who talked a big game, Harold always fidgeted when he was uneasy.

Although Jerica detested drama, she couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity. She hadn't exactly gone out of her way to mention Harold's role in her past to Jared. There was no need, she thought.

But knowing her husband, the Siberian Beast, she had no doubt he'd done his own research. He probably knew Harold was her first boyfriend—her high school sweetheart, the boy she had loved for nearly all her teenage years.

A part of her wondered, would Jared be jealous? Though she found jealousy to be a childish and petty emotion, there was something undeniably feminine in her that wanted to see her husband care enough to feel it.

Some small, irrational part of her hoped for… something. A sign. A reaction. Anything that showed her he hadn't become completely numb to her existence.

She couldn't help but notice the similarities between the two men. Both tall, both with sharp features, thick brows, and a certain ruggedness to their appearance.

Boy, do I have a type, she mused with a wry smile.

Seeing them standing side by side was like seeing different versions of the same blueprint—one smoothed by time and the other still rough around the edges.

But the interaction between them was professional, cordial, not even a hint of tension in the air. It was the kind of exchange you'd expect from two men in the same line of work, not two people connected by shared history with the same woman.

It shouldn't have bothered Jerica, but it did. Something about their civility gnawed at her. She wasn't sure what she had expected—a possessive glare, perhaps, or a sharp exchange of words—but whatever it was, it wasn't this.

Meanwhile, Lila was leaning in closer, providing live commentary like an overexcited sports announcer. "Oh! Oh! He's doing the hand-in-pocket thing again—he's totally cool! Ooh, the Beast is looking at him now. Do you think he'll bare his fangs?" Her hushed but eager voice was like nails on a chalkboard, chipping away at Jerica's patience.

"Will you please stop?" Jerica muttered, shaking her head and turning back to her desk, determined to drown out the noise and get back to her work. Lila too got back to work as someone approached her.

If Lila was the embodiment of chaos, Jerica was the ruler of her own tiny kingdom—her workspace. The records, files, and documents spread before her weren't just paperwork; they were her playthings, pieces of a puzzle that only she knew how to solve.

Each case number, each form filled out—it was a mark of her creation, and she wielded it with the precision of a seasoned artist.

Here, she was the lord of her domain, and everything else—the drama, the men, the chaos outside her office—was irrelevant. This was her kingdom, and she was its queen.

While Jerica sank into her work, completely engrossed in her little kingdom of order and precision, she failed to notice a pair of eyes watching her intently from across the room. Jared stood there, his usual cool demeanor intact, but for the briefest moment, something softened in his gaze.

His lips curved ever so slightly, an expression so subtle that anyone else would have missed it. He watched as she focused on the screen, her fingers dancing over the keyboard with the same quiet intensity she brought to everything she cared about. There was a certain grace to the way she worked—methodical, deliberate, and yet full of passion, even if she didn't always show it.

That's my Jerica, he thought, the faint smile lingering longer than he realized.