Page 60 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

"Fine by me," Jakob says, setting a plate in front of me. Perfect golden French toast, dusted with powdered sugar. Just the way I used to make it. "If your mom agrees."

And there it is—the careful parental choreography we've perfected. The neutral handoffs. The separate-but-aligned decisions. The performance of people who once shared everything and now share nothing but a child.

Except now there's a conference room table between us. Now there's the memory of his mouth on mine. And his body inside mine after years of emptiness.

I push those thoughts aside and focus on my child's expectant expression.

"Sure." I cut into the French toast and play house with my ex-husband. "As long as homework's done first."

Jaden pumps his fist in victory, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him. Jakob turns back to the sink; shoulders tense beneath his shirt. I eat mechanically, tasting nothing but the metallic tang of lies I'm telling myself.

I can handle this. It meant nothing. It won't happen again.

Three lies before 8 a.m.—a personal record.

* * *

"What's different about you?"

Latanya's question catches me mid-sip. Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim of my mug.

"Nothing." I set the mug down carefully on her kitchen counter. "Why?"

"Something's off." She studies me—head tilted, eyes narrowed slightly—the way she does when she's trying to piece together every area of my life. "You seem... I don't know. Lighter?"

I laugh, the sound sharper than intended. "Sleep deprivation. Makes me delirious."

"No." She leans forward, elbows on the counter. "It's something else. You're all... glowy."

Heat climbs my neck, impossible to control. "It's just makeup."

"You haven't worn blush since 2019." She's not letting this go. Latanya never does, once she gets her teeth into something. "Spill."

I consider deflection. Denial. The usual tactics. But something about her expression.

"I got laid." I shrug, aiming for casual dismissal. "So I'm great."

Her smile freezes. Just for a heartbeat. A microexpression I might have missed if I weren't looking directly at her. Her handtightens around her coffee mug, briefly before she relaxes her grip.

"Well, well." Her voice is light, but something in it catches like fabric on a nail. "Anyone I know?"

The question carries weight I can't quite parse. I take another sip of coffee, buying time.

"No one important." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. "Just... releasing tension."

"Right." She looks down at her mug, then back up with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Good for you, Nel. You deserve some fun."

Something shifts in the air between us—a subtle current I can't identify. But Jaden bursts into the kitchen before I can examine it further, carrying a video game controller like a trophy.

"Aunt Tanya, look what Tyler gave me!" He thrusts it toward us, face bright with excitement. "It's the special edition one!"

The moment breaks. Latanya turns to him, all warmth and attention, the strange tension dissipating like smoke. I watch her with my son—the easy affection, the genuine interest, the unconditional support she's offered since the day he was born. My rock. My constant. The one person who's never wavered.

"That's amazing, J!" She high-fives him. "Tyler's a good friend."

"The best." Jaden grins, then looks at me. "Mom, can Tyler come over to the penthouse sometime? I want to show him my room."

The penthouse. NotDad's houseanymore. The shift in language so small, so significant. The first sign of our fiction becoming his reality.