Page 41 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

Even if she hates me for it. Even if she never forgives me.

Even if it means I'll always be the villain in the story of us.

I check my watch. Jaden's karate class ends in forty minutes. I need to be the father who shows up, who remembers, who doesn't let work consume everything.

Maybe the one piece of us I haven't broken beyond repair.

I grab my keys as I step into the elevator. I wonder if Chanel's looking at those same photos right now. If she sees what I couldn't hide—the raw truth that four years, a divorce, and a life of dark decisions couldn't bury.

I still look at her like she's the only light in a world gone dark.

And tonight, when she comes to the penthouse demanding answers, I'll have to decide how much of that darkness to let her see.

EIGHT

THE DEAL

CHANEL

I don't press the buzzer.

The elevator doors open to the thirty-eighth floor, and I stand frozen, caught in the gravity of a moment I shouldn't want.

A sound drifts down the hallway—Jaden's laughter, bright and unguarded. Then lower, richer—Jakob's voice, the one I've spent years teaching myself to forget.

My body betrays me before my mind can defend itself. Mouth dry. Heart stuttering against my ribs. Heat climbing my neck as my fingers curl around the shoes I've slipped off. The natural recognition of territory that was once mine.

I move toward the sound, silent on bare feet. Each step closer to the kitchen peels back another layer of protection that shields my heart.

Then I see them.

The image sears itself into my chest—not warm, not nostalgic, but a violent collision of past and present.

Jakob stands at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms flexing as he stirs something that smells like the life I've pretended I don't miss.

His jacket discarded, tie loosened, guard down in a way I rarely saw in our final year together. This casual intimacy between father and son—this is what divorce stole from us all, regardless of who signed the papers.

Jaden perches on a stool at the island, legs swinging, backpack detonated across the marble counter. His eyes track his father's movements with reverent attention, their easy rhythm evidence of a relationship that's grown in the years since our separation.

A relationship I've only glimpsed in fragments—during rushed exchanges and scheduled handoffs.

I dig my fingernails into my palm, needing the sharp sting to ground me. This is what leaving cost me. This is what our son has only gotten in fragments.

This is Jakob as he should have been—present, engaged, belonging to something besides his empire.

"But Tyler's has a bigger explosion," Jaden is saying, chin propped on his hands.

"Bigger isn't always better." Jakob tastes whatever he's cooking, then adds something from a small dish. "It's about precision. Intention. Execution. The explosion will take care of itself."

"Like how you blow up deals?"

Jakob's mouth twitches, eyes crinkling at the corners as he fights back laughter. "That's... not exactly what I do." His voice softens with the gentle affection he always shows our son.

"But you said last week you blew up the Richardson deal because their numbers were trash."

The sound tears from my throat before I can strangle it—something between a laugh and a gasp. They both turn, caught in the act of being what we should have been all along.

A family.