Chapter 1
RED FLAGS FEEL LIKE LOVE WHEN YOU’RE IN IT
Jackson Williams loved in a way that often made Xiandra Miller forget what it felt like to breathe calmly.
He didn’t hit. He didn’t yell in public. He never hurt her openly. Jackson hurt her in ways far more subtle—through words that sounded like concern, through looks that seemed caring, through sentences that always ended with Xiandra doubting herself.
“You’ve changed since you started working there,” Jackson said one night, his voice flat, his eyes scanning Xiandra’s face as if searching for a flaw she hadn’t yet noticed. “I’m just worried.”
Worried. That word was always his weapon.
Xiandra stood by the window of Jackson’s small apartment, staring at the city lights shimmering like thousands of hopes she had never truly held. She had just come home from work, exhausted after editing dozens of articles, yet she still came because Jackson said he missed her.
“I’m just busy,” Xiandra replied softly. “It’s my job.”
Jackson let out a small scoff. A thin smile appeared on his lips—a smile that once made Xiandra fall in love, but now felt like a warning she kept ignoring. “I know. But you’ve never been this tired before.”
And that was always where it began.
Not a direct accusation. Not a prohibition. Just a simple sentence that made Xiandra wonder if she really had changed. If her ambition was wrong. If loving her job meant she loved Jackson less.
Xiandra loved Jackson. She had loved him since the moment he entered her life with his wild aura and mischievous smile, with wounds he never fully explained. Jackson was a storm that made her life feel more alive. He was full of surprises—sometimes so gentle, sometimes unknowingly cruel.
On good days, Jackson was the man who waited up for Xiandra when she came home late, bought her favorite coffee, held her without words when the world felt too heavy. On those days, Xiandra believed that all her sacrifices were worth it. That beneath Jackson’s hard and cold exterior was a heart that simply needed to be understood.
But good days never lasted long.
“Why do you always defend them?” Jackson continued, his voice slightly louder now. “Your office. Your friends. As if I’m always the one who’s wrong.”
Xiandra turned around. “I’m not defending anyone. I’m just—”
“You’re always like this,” Jackson cut in quickly. “Twisting things around. Making me feel guilty just because I care.”
The words tightened Xiandra’s chest. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The things she wanted to say already felt wrong before they could escape. She had been here too many times—where every defense became proof that she was selfish, insensitive, and didn’t love him enough.
“I’m sorry,” Xiandra finally said.
Jackson stared at her for a long moment, then sighed as if burdened by something heavy. He stepped closer and took Xiandra’s hand. His touch was warm. Too warm for someone who had just made her feel small.
“I just don’t want to lose you,” Jackson said quietly. “That’s all.”
And Xiandra softened. She always did.
She hugged Jackson, resting her head against his chest, convincing herself that love was supposed to be like this—complicated, painful, full of compromise. She told herself that all couples fought. That Jackson was just afraid of being abandoned. That if she were patient enough, loving enough, Jackson would change.
She didn’t know when she first began shrinking herself just to keep Jackson whole.
***
The following days were painted with the same pattern. Jackson could disappear for hours without a word, yet grow angry if Xiandra didn’t reply to his messages immediately. He could belittle her writing under the guise of honesty, then smile sweetly when she looked hurt, claiming he only wanted her to be better.
“You’re too sensitive,” he said one afternoon when Xiandra finally dared to say that his words hurt. “I was joking.”
Xiandra laughed softly, even though her eyes burned. She learned to laugh at her own pain so Jackson wouldn’t feel guilty. She learned to hold her tears until she was back in her own apartment. She learned to endure.
Because Jackson could also be very kind.
Like the night Xiandra was sick and Jackson came with warm soup, sitting by her bed all night. Or when he hugged her from behind while she was cooking, kissed her forehead, and said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Those were the sentences that made Xiandra stay. Sentences that made her believe their love was real, merely being tested.
But slowly, Xiandra began to feel tired. Not tired of loving, but tired of surviving alone. She started to realize that she was always the one adjusting, while Jackson stayed the same. That every time she tried to set boundaries, Jackson made her feel guilty for “changing.”
***
One night, their argument was quieter than usual. There was no yelling. No doors slammed. Only Jackson’s cold stare when Xiandra said she wanted to go home early because she had work the next day.
“You always choose that,” Jackson said flatly.
“Choose what?” Xiandra asked softly.
“Everything except me.”
The words hit Xiandra harder than any scream ever could. She wanted to say it wasn’t true. That she had chosen Jackson over and over again. Too many times. But what came out of her lips was silence.
That night, Xiandra went home feeling hollow. She sat in her own apartment, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes looked tired. Her smile was forced. For the first time, she asked herself whether love was supposed to feel like this.
She loved Jackson. That had never been in question. But loving Jackson meant constantly questioning herself. It meant living in anxiety—afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of disappointing him, afraid of losing him.
Xiandra didn’t yet know that one day she would leave. That she would choose herself. For now, she was still here—convincing herself that love could heal everything, even someone who didn’t know how to love properly.
And Jackson, with all his red flags wrapped in concern, was still the place where Xiandra stayed. Not because she didn’t see the signs. But because she loved him too much to let go.
For now.
***
Xiandra woke up the next morning with her chest still heavy, as if something was pressing from the inside. Her phone vibrated on the small table beside her bed. Jackson’s name appeared on the screen.
“Are you mad?”
Xiandra stared at the message for a long time. She didn’t know how to answer. She wasn’t angry—she was just tired. But Jackson never truly understood that. To him, every distance was a threat.
“I’m just tired,” Xiandra finally replied.
A few seconds later, another message came in.
“I only said it because I care. Don’t make it a big deal.”
Her chest tightened again. Even exhaustion felt like a mistake she had to explain. Xiandra took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then typed:
“I understand.”
Even though she didn’t.
At the office, Xiandra tried to drown herself in work. The words on the screen felt more honest than her conversations with Jackson. There, she could fix broken sentences, rearrange meanings, make something chaotic make sense. If only relationships could be edited like manuscripts.
***
Late in the afternoon, Jackson appeared unannounced in front of her office building. His smile was warm, her favorite drink in his hand.
“I was wrong last night,” he said gently.
And as always, that one sentence was enough to make Xiandra stay one more day.
***
That evening, as usual, Jackson came to pick her up.
He stood too close.
Xiandra noticed it even before he spoke. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched, and his gaze was no longer warm like it had been a few hours earlier. They had just walked out of Xiandra’s office building—a tall glass structure that always made Jackson feel like an outsider, as if the world inside didn’t belong to him.
“Who’s Nathan?” Jackson finally asked.
Xiandra stopped walking. “A coworker.”
“A coworker,” Jackson repeated slowly, as if chewing on the word. “The one who was laughing with you in the elevator?”
Xiandra inhaled. She’d been tired since morning, and she knew exactly where this was going. “Yes. He’s an editor too. We’re on the same team.”
Jackson let out a short laugh, humorless. “Funny. The way he looks at you.”
“What do you mean?” Xiandra frowned.
“I mean it’s obvious.” Jackson slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, restless. “Guys like him don’t just want to work.”
“That’s not fair,” Xiandra replied quickly. “Nathan is professional. You don’t know him.”
Jackson stepped half a pace closer. “Exactly because I know his type.”
His tone sent a chill down Xiandra’s spine. It wasn’t explosive anger—it was cold certainty that left no room for denial. Xiandra glanced around at the office courtyard filling with employees heading home. She hoped Jackson would lower his voice.
“Jackson, please. Don’t start.”
“Start what?” Jackson cut in. “I’m just being honest.”
Honest. That word again.
Xiandra sighed deeply. “I didn’t do anything. I was working.”
“Working while smiling?” Jackson’s eyes narrowed.
Before Xiandra could answer, a voice interrupted. “Hey, Xian.”
Nathan stood a few steps away, sling bag over his shoulder, his friendly face unaware of the storm ahead. “You left your meeting notes earlier. I thought I’d give them to you.”
Xiandra turned with relief that came too quickly. “Oh, thanks, Nat.”
Nathan stepped closer, handing her the thin folder. “Don’t forget the meeting tomorrow at nine. The editor-in-chief wants—”
“Who are you?” Jackson interrupted sharply.
Nathan froze, brows knitting together. He glanced at Xiandra, then back at Jackson. “I’m Nathan. Her coworker.”
“Coworker,” Jackson repeated dismissively. “You’re too close to my girlfriend.”
Xiandra gasped. “Jackson!”
Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but this is a workplace. I was just—”
“A workplace?” Jackson laughed shortly. “A workplace doesn’t need you smiling at her like that.”
People began to stare. Heat flooded Xiandra’s face—shame, fear, and anger twisting together. “Jackson, stop,” she said firmly. “You’re being excessive.”
“Excessive because I care?” Jackson snapped.
Nathan exhaled, trying to de-escalate. “Bro, there’s nothing going on. We’re all adults here.”
The word adults was a trigger. Jackson’s face hardened. “Don’t act grown in front of me.”
“Jackson, let’s go,” Xiandra pleaded softly, pulling at his arm.
But Jackson shrugged her off.
“I’m not done,” he said without looking away, eyes locked on Nathan. “Stay away from her.”
Nathan lifted his hands slightly. “Hey. Relax. You don’t get to control who her friends are. She’s your girlfriend. Not your wife. You don’t own her.”
And then everything happened too fast.
Jackson stepped forward and shoved Nathan in the chest. Not hard, but enough to make him stumble back a step. A small crowd formed. Xiandra let out a small scream, instinctively grabbing Jackson’s jacket.
“Stop! Jackson, stop!”
Nathan now glared at Jackson, no longer friendly. “Don’t touch me.”
“If you touch her again—”
“What?” Nathan shoved back, harder. “What are you gonna do?”
That push snapped something in Jackson. He swung a quick punch at Nathan’s shoulder. It didn’t land cleanly, but it was enough to make everything explode. People shouted. Someone yelled for security.
“Stop!” Xiandra screamed, her voice breaking. She stood between them, her hands shaking. “Please! This doesn’t make sense!”
Jackson was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. His eyes were wild, filled with raw emotion. “He likes you,” he said to Xiandra, as if it justified everything. “I saw the way he looked at you.”
“That’s in your head!” Xiandra cried. “You’ve humiliated me!”
The word hit Jackson harder than any shove. For a moment, his face changed—shock, then hurt. “I came here for you.”
“And you ruined everything,” Xiandra replied quietly.
Security finally arrived, separating them. Nathan was pulled back, still angry but restraining himself. Jackson was held by two guards, though he no longer resisted. His gaze stayed fixed on Xiandra, who stood frozen as silent tears streamed down her face.
“I just don’t want to lose you,” he said softly, as if that was enough.
Xiandra shook her head. Her chest felt shattered. “If this is how you love,” she said in a trembling voice, “you’ve been losing me little by little.”
Jackson wanted to say something. Wanted to pull her into his arms, fix everything with one sweet sentence. But Xiandra had already taken a step back.
And for the first time, Jackson saw something in the eyes of the woman he loved—not understanding. Not patience.
But fear.
