Page 66 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

Her eyes meet mine, a flash of heat quickly banked. "Indeed they do."

Jaden, oblivious to the subtext, happily continues crimping dough. "Mom says we're going to the aquarium tomorrow. All of us!"

I raise an eyebrow at Chanel, who shrugs slightly. "I might have mentioned it was a possibility."

"The aquarium." I nod, decision forming. "And maybe the park after. Make a day of it."

"Really?" Jaden's eyes widen, hope raising his voice half an octave. "The whole day? Together?"

The emphasis on that last word—together—slices through me, exposing the cost of our separation in a single syllable. The innocence of his excitement a rebuke to the choices I made. The man I've been.

"The whole day," I confirm, eyes finding Chanel's. "Maybe the whole weekend."

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, wariness, a hint of the same hope I hear in our son's voice. "Don't you have meetings?"

"They can wait." Words that would shock my team.

Chanel’s eyes narrow slightly, assessing me with the precision I've both admired and resented. Searching for the catch, the agenda, the strategy behind the surrender.

But there is none. Just fatigue. Just the hollowness of hunting shadows while what matters stands in front of me, covered in flour and fragile possibility.

"I think that sounds perfect," she says finally, her voice soft with something I don't dare name.

Jaden whoops, flour billowing as he throws his arms up in celebration. "Can we get ice cream, too? And go to the big lawn with the kites?"

"All of it," I promise, meaning more than he understands. "Everything."

* * *

Jaden has fallen asleep on the drive home, exhaustion claiming him after hours of darting through aquarium exhibits, racing down park paths, and devouring ice cream with the single-minded focus unique to nine-year-old boys.

Chanel glances at him in the rearview mirror, smile softening her face. "He hasn't done that since he was little."

"Done what?"

"Fallen asleep in the car. He always fought it, even as a baby. Too afraid he'd miss something." Her voice carries the weight of a thousand moments I wasn't present for. A thousand battles fought alone. A thousand victories celebrated without me.

I adjust the mirror to see him better—head tilted against the window, mouth slightly open, limbs sprawled in the boneless abandon of childhood. My chest aches with something that feels dangerously like happiness. Like peace.

"He had a good day," I say, the understatement deliberate. Calculated. Safer than admitting I did too.

"We all did." Her hand reaches across the console, fingers brushing mine before retreating. The brief contact electric. Forbidden. Necessary.

We drive in silence for several miles, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between us. The facade of co-parents on a family outing growing thinner with each glance, each almost-touch, each shared memory of our son that bridges the gap between what we were and what we are.

"I've missed this," she says finally, voice barely audible over the hum of tires on asphalt. "Not just for him. For me."

The admission costs her. I can see it in the tightening of her fingers in her lap, the slight lift of her chin—a gesture I've cataloged over years of watching her prepare for difficult conversations.

"So have I."

She doesn't respond, but her exhale shudders slightly, a tell I recognize from quieter, darker moments. From whispered confessions in bed. From arguments that ended with surrender rather than victory.

When we reach the penthouse, I lift Jaden from the backseat, his weight substantial against my chest. He stirs but doesn't wake, arms instinctively circling my neck, face burrowing against my shoulder.

Chanel walks ahead, unlocking doors, turning on soft lights, creating a path through darkness with the efficient grace that defines her. I follow, carrying our son to his room, lowering him onto sheets she turns down without our needing to coordinate. A choreography of parenthood we once performed nightly, now unfamiliar but not forgotten.

She removes his shoes while I pull off his jacket. She grabs his pajamas while I find his favorite stuffed tiger, hidden beneath pillows with the self-consciousness of a boy caught between childhood and something more. We move around eachother in the small space without touching, without speaking, united in purpose if nothing else.