Page 10 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

Only fear.

Pure and simple.

My place is a penthouse in Tribeca—private, secure, strategically located.

I considered selling it after the divorce. But I couldn’t walk away—even though it isn’t warm. It isn’t lived-in.

Nothing like the brownstone Chanel bought after the divorce.

This place reminds me of what I lost. And what I won’t have again.

I loosen my tie as I enter, dropping my keys on the console table. The sound echoes in the emptiness. Four nights weekly, this place resembles a mausoleum. The other three—when Jaden stays with me—it feels like penance.

Tonight, he's here. I hear him before I see him, the excited chatter of an eight-year-old in full storytelling mode.

"And then Ms. Easton said my story was the best in the whole class, and she's gonna put it on the board tomorrow, and everyone's gonna read it?—"

I follow his voice to the kitchen, where Mrs. Abernathy—the nanny I hired after the divorce—prepares dinner. Jaden sits at the island, still in his school uniform, hands animated as he speaks.

He spots me, and his entire face illuminates. "Dad!"

No matter how brutal the day, no matter what demons I carry, that smile penetrates every defense. I drop my briefcase and open my arms just in time to catch him as he launches himself at me.

"Hey, buddy." I lift him, marveling at how he grows between visits. Soon he'll be too big for this. Too mature to embrace his father with such uninhibited joy. The thought constricts my chest. "Sounds like you had a good day."

"The best day," he confirms, wriggling free. "Ms. Easton says I'm a natural storyteller."

Like his mother. I tousle his hair, ignoring the twist in my gut at the comparison. "She's right."

Mrs. Abernathy smiles from the stove. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, Mr. Giannetti."

"Thank you." I loosen my tie further. "Jaden and I will be in my office. We have a volcano to perfect, don't we, bud?"

Jaden's expression widens. "You remembered!"

As if I could forget. He's been sending me design ideas for weeks, each more elaborate than the last. The science fair remains two weeks away, but in Jaden's world, preparation is everything. Another trait inherited from his mother.

We head to my home office, where I've cleared space for his project. The framework of a volcano sits on a plastic tarp, half-painted and surrounded by bottles of food coloring and baking soda.

"Mom helped me with the base yesterday," Jaden explains, pulling on the lab coat I purchased—child-sized but otherwiseidentical to those worn by actual scientists. "But I wanted to wait for you to do the explosion part."

"Strategic decision." I remove my suit jacket, rolling up my sleeves. "Explosions definitely require two-person coordination."

For the next thirty minutes, we combine vinegar and baking soda, testing different color combinations to achieve what Jaden deems‘realistic but also cool’lava. He chatters continuously about school, about his friends, about the book he's reading with Chanel before bedtime each night.

I listen, questioning at appropriate moments, absorbing these fragments of his life that I miss during our separation. The guilt accompanies me constantly—that I’m absent for countless moments, countless milestones. That I’ve made choices that fractured our family into scheduled visits and divided holidays.

But watching him now—eyes bright with excitement, hands gesturing wildly as he explains the difference between shield volcanoes and stratovolcanoes—I know I'd make those identical choices again. If it meant protecting him. Keeping him untouched by the darkness that threatened to consume us all.

"Dad?" Jaden's voice pulls me back to the present. "Is it supposed to be this goopy?"

I examine the mixture he's stirring. "Actually, no. Let's add more vinegar."

He grins, reaching for the bottle. "More boom!"

"Controlled boom," I correct, guiding his hand. "Scientists are precise, remember?"

Dinner unfolds in ordinary rhythm—roast chicken, broccoli, potatoes.