Jake's pov:
Dining room
I sat alone at the dining table, the weight of silence pressing in on me like a heavy cloak. The other brothers had already left the room, their footsteps fading down the halls. Plates sat half-eaten, but the food had lost all appeal. I pushed the fork around my plate, not really tasting anything.
Today was Rohan's night with Syria.
The thought alone twisted something tight in my chest, like a cold knot that refused to unravel. I tried to remind myself it was how things were supposed to be, how things had to be. But the truth was, I could not stop thinking about them. About what was happening in that room right now.
What exactly were they doing? What was she feeling? Did she want it? Or was she just going to endure it since Fred ordered it?
I shook my head, trying to chase the thoughts away. It was none of my business. She was not mine. And yet… the image of Syria's face—flushed or vulnerable—kept playing behind my eyelids.
