86

86
Moore
I froze at the sight of him.
Jordan McWood.
The last time I saw him, I’d been undressed, humiliated beyond words, and in no state to properly face him. And yet, here he was, standing right in front of me as if nothing had happened.
Vivian had also been implicated in that rash decision of mine and I had hoped Lucien hadn't done anything to him too.
He seemed like such a cool guy who stood for me even when he had no idea who I was.
Without thinking, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him in a brief hug. It was instinctive, something I hadn’t planned, but it felt… right. He had been kind to me, and after everything, kindness was something I couldn’t take for granted.
When I pulled away, I cleared my throat awkwardly, realizing what I’d just done. "Sorry," I muttered. "I just… I never got the chance to properly thank you for what you did for me that day."
Jordan smiled. "You don’t have to thank me, Moo… Mrs Giodarno."
"No, I do." I shook my head. "You went out of your way to help me when My husband—" I stopped myself, swallowing the rest of my words. It still felt foreign to call Lucien my husband, but I had done it when speaking to Grey earlier, and now again in front of Jordan.
I saw the flicker of something in Jordan’s eyes at the mention of Lucien. Was it surprise? Annoyance? I wasn’t sure. But he simply nodded.
"I have no regrets about helping you," he said easily.
I smiled a little at that. "So what are you doing here?" I asked to look around while also avoiding eye contact with him. That would not sit right with all these paparazzi waiting for a scanda. Totally forgotten about them when I hugged Jordan. "Are you here for a medical checkup?"
His lips twitched, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Actually, I came to see you."
My brows shot up. "Me?"
He nodded.
“How did you know I would be here?” I was totally curious. How had Grey found out too?
He smiled, then he held up his phone, and I felt my stomach drop at the sight of the screen. It was an article—one of those gossip columns, the kind that thrived on sensationalizing every aspect of Lucien Giordano’s life. And right there in bold letters:
"THE RICHEST MAN’S WIFE RETURNS TO WORK AS A CLEANER AFTER TWO-WEEK ABSENCE."
I sighed. Of course. The paparazzi had been relentless this morning, cameras flashing in my face, lurking around the hospital, capturing every little moment they could exploit. How could I have totally forgotten that my life could be likened to a reality show where they're unexpected turns and twists.
Jordan let out a small laugh. "That’s how I knew where to find you."
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. "Of cause. So why exactly were you looking for me?"
His expression softened as he reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a beautifully wrapped envelope. He handed it to me.
"I wanted to invite you personally," he said.
I furrowed my brows, taking the invitation and glancing at it. "Invite for what?"
Jordan smirked. "I’m launching a new cooking television show. It’s my latest project, and I’d really like you to be there."
My eyes widened. "Wait… you’re a chef?"
"A renowned one," he said with a teasing smile. "You’re probably the only person in Italy who doesn’t know that." He said clenching his heart like he was hurt.
I let out a laugh at his joke, shaking my head. "Well, I do love cooking. This is something I wouldn't want to miss."
His gaze held mine for a moment, and then he asked, "So… will you come?"
I nodded without hesitation. "I’m coming."
A genuine smile spread across his face, and before I could stop myself, I hugged him again. "Congratulations, Jordan. I’ll be there."
Well the hug was just formal, possibly to tell those paparazzi we're just acquaintances. I can't be caught acting awkward, that will only make the false accusations look real.
He bid me farewell and walked away, and I turned back toward the hospital, staring down at the invitation for a moment before tucking it into my pocket.
I hadn’t even taken two steps inside before Giorgia appeared in front of me, arms crossed, that ever-present sneer on her face.
God this lady! Will she ever leave me the hell alone?
"You seem to be quite invested in men, huh, Moore?" she said, her voice dripping with disdain.
I sighed, already regretting that I hadn’t just taken another route.
"First, it’s Mr. Giordano. Then Ethan. Then your ex-husband. And now renowned fashion and food icon Jordan MacWood." She let out a mock gasp. "What kind of whore are you?"
I stopped in my tracks, my body tensing. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to hers, and whatever she saw in my eyes made her step back slightly.
"I’ll take a lot of things, Giorgia," I said, my voice low and steady but emitted just the amount of threat I wanted, "but I won’t tolerate you calling me names."
Her lips parted, but I wasn’t finished.
"It’s not my fault that you have so many issues that no man worthy of attention even gives you a second glance," I continued. "My life may be controversial, but don’t pretend like you wouldn’t trade places with me in a heartbeat." I leaned in slightly. "So watch your fucking mouth."
Giorgia was silent, her usual arrogance faltering under my glare. I had been too quiet for them; they had thought they could match me and go Scott free.
Then, just as I turned to leave, she spoke again.
"Miss Faris seeks your presence."
Athena.
I paused, my jaw tightening. Of course, she did.
Giorgia smirked, stepping aside. "Scary bitch," she muttered under her breath as she walked away.
I ignored her.
Athena Faris.
What the hell did she want now?