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Married Before Midnight - Married Before Midnight by Sienna Quinn - Chapter 79
Author: Novels Audio
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Married Before Midnight
Chapter 79: The Moment of Truth
Charlotte Carter had spent the entire week replaying Jameson Blackwell’s voice in her head. His confession on that mixtape—raw, sincere, and so unlike the smooth-talking playboy she thought she knew—had burrowed under her skin. She had agreed to give him one real chance, but now, as she sat in her dorm room on a quiet Friday evening, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face what that meant. Her roommate, Dana, glanced up from her textbook. “You’ve been staring at that mixtape for twenty minutes.
Either listen to it again or throw it out the window.” Charlotte sighed, flipping the cassette between her fingers. “I don’t know what to do with him.” “The infamous Jameson Blackwell?” Dana smirked. “The guy who made you swear off dating for a whole semester after he flirted with half the theater department?” “That’s the one.” Charlotte groaned, flopping back onto her bed. “Except now he’s saying he’s falling for me. Like, actually falling. Not just messing around.” Dana raised an eyebrow. “And you believe him?” Charlotte hesitated. That was the problem—she wanted to.
The next morning, Charlotte returned home for the weekend, her mind still tangled in thoughts of Jameson. The Carter house was alive with its usual chaos—Lillian and Emily bickering over the last pancake, Hannah typing furiously on her laptop, and Olivia humming as she kneaded dough in the kitchen. Eleanor handed Charlotte a steaming mug of tea. “You look like you’ve been wrestling with ghosts, sweetheart.” Charlotte wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “Just… guy trouble.” Hannah snorted without looking up from her screen. “Let me guess—Jameson Blackwell?” Charlotte shot her a glare. “How did you—?” “Please. You’ve been sighing dramatically since you walked in.” Hannah finally glanced up, smirking. “So? What’s the playboy done now?” Charlotte hesitated, then pulled the mixtape from her pocket. “He made me this.” Olivia paused mid-knead. “A mixtape? That’s… surprisingly old-school romantic.” “Side A was just songs,” Charlotte admitted. “But Side B…” She bit her lip. “He confessed to me. Like, full-on ‘I think I’m falling for you’ confession.” Silence fell over the kitchen. Even Lillian and Emily stopped fighting over breakfast. Hannah leaned forward. “And?” “And I don’t know if I trust it.” Charlotte exhaled sharply. “What if this is just another game to him?” Eleanor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart, the only way to know is to give him the chance to prove it.”
That evening, Charlotte found herself standing outside Jameson’s apartment, her heart pounding. She hadn’t told him she was coming. She wasn’t even sure why she was here. She knocked before she could talk herself out of it. The door swung open, and Jameson stood there, shirt rumpled, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it. His eyes widened. “Charlotte?” “We need to talk,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. He stepped aside, letting her in. His apartment was surprisingly tidy, save for a stack of sheet music on the coffee table. Charlotte turned to face him, crossing her arms. “I listened to the mixtape.” Jameson swallowed. “And?” “I need to know if you meant it.” Her voice wavered. “Because if this is just another one of your games—” “It’s not.” He stepped closer, his usual smirk gone, replaced by something painfully earnest. “Charlotte, I’ve spent months trying to get your attention because I didn’t know how else to tell you that I see you. Not just the actress, not just the girl who brushes me off—you.
The one who argues with me about stupid movies, who laughs at my terrible jokes even when you pretend not to.” Her breath caught. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair again. “I’ve spent so long pretending not to care about anything that I don’t know how to do this right. But I want to.” Charlotte’s chest ached. She had spent so long assuming the worst of him that she hadn’t let herself consider the possibility that he might actually mean it. “Prove it,” she whispered. Jameson didn’t hesitate. He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Tell me what you need.” And in that moment, Charlotte realized she didn’t need grand gestures or perfect words. She just needed him—the real him, the one who was standing in front of her, vulnerable and sincere. “Just don’t break my heart,” she said softly. His smile was small, relieved. “I won’t.” And for the first time, she believed him