Oops! I Married His Nemesis - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
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Only now did Jasper truly see me—really look at my face for the first time tonight.
Those warm eyes that once adored me had turned glacial, staring through me like I was some unwanted stranger.
When I distanced myself from Jasper, Hextor loosened his grip on my hand—almost as if afraid I'd vanish.
Jasper's voice cracked. "You're actually going through with this? Marrying Harrington?"
"Who the hell said you could harass my daughter, Callahan?"
My father's commanding voice sliced through the room as he stepped beside me, his glare pinning Jasper in place.
Jasper's shoulders instantly hunched, his bravado melting away. "I'm sorry..."
Around my father, he always shrank back into that orphan boy mentality—like he was still the charity case we'd taken in.
This time, I didn't rush to soothe him like I used to. No more empty reassurances that Dad's harshness meant he saw potential in him. No more lies about how Jasper would someday control more shares than me.
All the luxuries Dad gave him, all the devotion I'd poured into him—none of it stood a chance against Doria's manipulative whispers: "I understand how hard it is, Jasper, always relying on others' generosity."
Jasper's gaze darted between Hextor and me before forcing a stiff smile for my father. "I wasn't thinking straight. This is Charlotte's birthday and engagement party. I haven't even congratulated her yet."
He raised his glass toward me with pleading eyes, but Hextor smoothly intercepted it. "Charlotte doesn't drink. I'll take that for her."
He downed it in one fluid motion, his throat working in a way that demanded attention.
Watching Hextor's power play, Jasper went pale.
A flood of memories hit him—all those times I'd shielded him from unwanted drinks at business dinners.
Regret punched through him like a delayed hangover.
Eyes reddening, Jasper gave a bitter smile and vanished into the crowd.
Later, as the party died down, Hextor leaned close, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur. "So... is my fiancée taking me home tonight?"
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I—what?"
He studied me with those intense eyes, suddenly vulnerable in a way that made him even more irresistible. "You don't want me at your place? I get it—the wheelchair kills the mood. Most women can't handle it..."
This softer side clashed so starkly with his ruthless reputation that I tripped over my words: "God, no! The wheelchair doesn't bother me. I just—you came all the way from DC. I should've arranged your accommodations."
Behind us, Hextor's assistant rolled his eyes hard, refusing to watch his boss's Oscar-worthy act.
Hextor caught my hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on my skin. "You really don't mind all this?" His gaze flicked to his legs.
Mine followed—then accidentally traveled upward, lingering too long.
Damn.
"See something you like?" His confidence had returned.
My face burned as I jerked my gaze away. "N-nothing! I was just—"
"Don't worry about kids. We could always try IVF later."
He squeezed my hand, his touch lingering. "Why would we need IVF?"
I stammered, mortified.
Hextor's lips curved. "Having children should be... hands-on, don't you think?"
Then he gripped his armrests and rose to his full height—unfolding like a predator emerging from shadows.
The man towered over me by half a head—easily 6'3"—his broad shoulders blocking the chandelier light.
He pulled me against him with surprising strength, his touch featherlight despite the power coiled beneath. "The accident only damaged my legs. They're mostly healed after two years of therapy. The wheelchair is... convenient. Everything else you've heard is just theater."
Embarrassment flooded me—along with something warmer.
But I understood: the wheelchair wasn't just convenience. A "disabled" reputation had disarmed countless opponents.
That realization iced my veins.
If Hextor wanted Montclair Industries, I might be walking straight into his trap...
A cold sweat prickled my skin.
Either oblivious to my panic or expertly exploiting it, Hextor traced my jawline. "You're trembling. Cold? Let's get you somewhere warmer."
The double meaning wasn't subtle.
I nodded, my mind racing even as my body leaned into his touch.
With a smile that promised things I wasn't ready to name, Hextor slid a crystal bracelet onto my wrist, fingers lingering at my pulse.
The second I saw it, everything clicked. "It was you. You saved me that night."
Those warm eyes that once adored me had turned glacial, staring through me like I was some unwanted stranger.
When I distanced myself from Jasper, Hextor loosened his grip on my hand—almost as if afraid I'd vanish.
Jasper's voice cracked. "You're actually going through with this? Marrying Harrington?"
"Who the hell said you could harass my daughter, Callahan?"
My father's commanding voice sliced through the room as he stepped beside me, his glare pinning Jasper in place.
Jasper's shoulders instantly hunched, his bravado melting away. "I'm sorry..."
Around my father, he always shrank back into that orphan boy mentality—like he was still the charity case we'd taken in.
This time, I didn't rush to soothe him like I used to. No more empty reassurances that Dad's harshness meant he saw potential in him. No more lies about how Jasper would someday control more shares than me.
All the luxuries Dad gave him, all the devotion I'd poured into him—none of it stood a chance against Doria's manipulative whispers: "I understand how hard it is, Jasper, always relying on others' generosity."
Jasper's gaze darted between Hextor and me before forcing a stiff smile for my father. "I wasn't thinking straight. This is Charlotte's birthday and engagement party. I haven't even congratulated her yet."
He raised his glass toward me with pleading eyes, but Hextor smoothly intercepted it. "Charlotte doesn't drink. I'll take that for her."
He downed it in one fluid motion, his throat working in a way that demanded attention.
Watching Hextor's power play, Jasper went pale.
A flood of memories hit him—all those times I'd shielded him from unwanted drinks at business dinners.
Regret punched through him like a delayed hangover.
Eyes reddening, Jasper gave a bitter smile and vanished into the crowd.
Later, as the party died down, Hextor leaned close, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur. "So... is my fiancée taking me home tonight?"
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I—what?"
He studied me with those intense eyes, suddenly vulnerable in a way that made him even more irresistible. "You don't want me at your place? I get it—the wheelchair kills the mood. Most women can't handle it..."
This softer side clashed so starkly with his ruthless reputation that I tripped over my words: "God, no! The wheelchair doesn't bother me. I just—you came all the way from DC. I should've arranged your accommodations."
Behind us, Hextor's assistant rolled his eyes hard, refusing to watch his boss's Oscar-worthy act.
Hextor caught my hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on my skin. "You really don't mind all this?" His gaze flicked to his legs.
Mine followed—then accidentally traveled upward, lingering too long.
Damn.
"See something you like?" His confidence had returned.
My face burned as I jerked my gaze away. "N-nothing! I was just—"
"Don't worry about kids. We could always try IVF later."
He squeezed my hand, his touch lingering. "Why would we need IVF?"
I stammered, mortified.
Hextor's lips curved. "Having children should be... hands-on, don't you think?"
Then he gripped his armrests and rose to his full height—unfolding like a predator emerging from shadows.
The man towered over me by half a head—easily 6'3"—his broad shoulders blocking the chandelier light.
He pulled me against him with surprising strength, his touch featherlight despite the power coiled beneath. "The accident only damaged my legs. They're mostly healed after two years of therapy. The wheelchair is... convenient. Everything else you've heard is just theater."
Embarrassment flooded me—along with something warmer.
But I understood: the wheelchair wasn't just convenience. A "disabled" reputation had disarmed countless opponents.
That realization iced my veins.
If Hextor wanted Montclair Industries, I might be walking straight into his trap...
A cold sweat prickled my skin.
Either oblivious to my panic or expertly exploiting it, Hextor traced my jawline. "You're trembling. Cold? Let's get you somewhere warmer."
The double meaning wasn't subtle.
I nodded, my mind racing even as my body leaned into his touch.
With a smile that promised things I wasn't ready to name, Hextor slid a crystal bracelet onto my wrist, fingers lingering at my pulse.
The second I saw it, everything clicked. "It was you. You saved me that night."
End of Oops! I Married His Nemesis Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to Oops! I Married His Nemesis book page.