Page 40 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

"Find her,” I say, voice hardening with resolve. "Whatever it takes."

He nods once, understanding the weight behind my words. "Yes, sir."

After he leaves, I stand at the window, looking out at the city below. Manhattan spreads in all directions. Somewhere in that sprawl, Megan is moving pieces against us. Setting a trap.

For Chanel. For me. For the life we once shared.

Tyson moves to stand beside me, his reflection in the glass somber. "You need to tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"Everything." His voice drops lower. "The reason for the divorce. Megan's threats. All of it.”

I try to ignore the weight of guilt pressing against my chest.

"She deserves to know what she's up against, Jake," he continues. "Especially now."

"I know."

"Then why keep hiding it? It's been four years."

"Because some truths can't be undone," I say quietly. "Some choices can't be taken back."

He studies me for a long moment. "She's stronger than you think."

"It's not about strength." I turn to face him. "It's about protection."

"Is it?" He raises an eyebrow. "Or is it about control?"

The question hits home.

Control. The thing I've clung to. The thing I've used to justify every decision I've made since the day Megan threatened Chanel.

It’s not malicious—just me wanting to shield them from my choices and my life.

"I'll tell her," I say finally. "Soon."

He nods, satisfied for now, and heads for the door. "I'll check with Collins on the security protocols."

After he leaves, I'm alone with the burden of what's coming. My phone buzzes—a message from Chanel.

I’ll be there tonight. I need answers, not excuses.

No pleasantries. No softness. Just determination and the implied threat that this is her last concession.

I type back:I'll be waiting.

Then I set the phone down and return to the window, decision solidifying in my chest. Tonight, I'll give her some of the truth. Enough to keep her safe. Enough to keep her close.

But not all of it. Never all of it.

I look down at my phone again. The family photos stare back at me—Chanel laughing at the park, Jaden between us, my face unguarded in a way I've never allowed myself to see.

I touch her image on the screen, the glass hard and unforgiving beneath my finger.

For one moment—just one—I let myself feel the full impact of what protecting her has cost. What it's still costing. The grief of losing her. The emptiness of the life I've built without her.

Then I lock the phone, lock the feeling away, and turn back to the work of keeping her safe.