Page 17 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless (The Rules We Break #1)

"That's—" I shake my head. "That's insane."

"It's practical." Another step—close enough now that I can smell his cologne.

The one I used to buy him. The one that still haunts my dreams on nights I can't outrun memory.

"If we're together, the audit isn't compromised—it's expected.

The photos aren't damning—they're explained.

The narrative shifts from professional impropriety to personal choice. "

"And when the audit ends?" My voice betrays me, catching on the question I'm afraid to hear answered. "What then?"

"We let it fade." His eyes never leave mine, even as something shadowed passes behind them. "Quietly go our separate ways."

He's lying. Not about the plan—about his indifference to it. I can see it in the tension around his mouth, the careful way he holds himself just out of reach.

"And how would this work?" I press. "Logistically."

"You and Jaden would move in. Temporarily," he adds, like that single word might make this less dangerous than we both know it is. "Public appearances together. Family outings. Perhaps a gala or two."

The proposition hits like a physical blow. "Move in? Here?"

"It's the most logical solution." His voice is steady, reasonable, betrayed only by the pulse hammering visibly at his throat. "The penthouse has security. Space. And it sells the narrative completely."

I move to the window, needing distance from the heat of him, from the insanity of what he's suggesting.

Manhattan glitters below, lights blinking on as dusk settles. The same view I used to stare at when we were married, watching for his car, waiting for him to come home, wondering if building empires would always matter more than building a life together.

This isn't just a business arrangement. It's mutual self-destruction wrapped in strategic necessity.

I'm not naive. These past weeks have already unraveled my defenses one careful thread at a time.

The late nights working side by side. The shared meals at his dining table. The way my body still responds to his proximity like it never forgot the map of him.

I should be drawing firmer lines. Setting clearer boundaries.

Running in the opposite direction. Instead, I've drifted closer.

Let the walls thin. Let old habits resurface—the way I reflexively refill his coffee when I get mine, the easy rhythm we fall into when discussing the audit, the private language of glances we never quite unlearned.

Because it’s as natural as breathing.

But this—living together, playing at family, creating a fiction that is too close to the dreams that haunt me—is like stepping off a cliff with nothing but blind faith that the fall won't kill me.

Or worse, that it will.

"It could work," I admit finally, the words tasting like surrender. "From a strategic perspective."

"But?"

I turn back to him. "But it means living together. Spending all our time together. Acting like..." I can't finish the sentence.

"Like we don't hate each other?" A muscle ticks in his jaw. "I think we can manage that."

"I don't hate you, Jakob." The confession slips out before I can swallow it.

Something flares in his eyes—a dangerous spark in dry tinder. "Good. That will make this easier."

We both know it's a lie. Nothing about this will be easy. Nothing about this is safe.

"There have to be boundaries," I say, needing the illusion of control even as I'm agreeing to surrender it. "Professional and personal."

"Of course." His expression gives nothing away, but his eyes don't lie. They never could. Not to me.

"I mean it." I hold his gaze, needing him to understand. Needing to believe I'm not already drowning. "This is business. Nothing more."

"Understood." He studies me for a long moment, seeing too much. Always seeing too much. "Crystal clear."

"Good." I smooth my skirt, fingers trembling slightly against the fabric. "How do we start?"

"The Kensington Gala. Tonight." He checks his watch. "The Meyer Foundation's annual fundraiser. Half of Manhattan's financial elite will be there. It’s the perfect opportunity to introduce the narrative."

"Tonight?" My pulse kicks against my throat. "I'm not prepared?—"

"Everything's arranged." He interrupts smoothly, the puppet master who's already plotted every move. "A dress will be waiting in the guest room. Car arrives at eight."

Of course. "You assumed I'd agree to this."

"I hoped you would see the advantage." His lips curve slightly—almost a smile. Almost. "I didn't assume anything."

Footsteps pound down the hallway before I can respond. Jaden barrels back into the kitchen, face freshly washed, eyes bright with anticipation.

"Ice cream time!" he announces.

Jakob's expression softens instantly. "Coming right up, buddy."

I watch him move to the freezer, pulling out three flavors because he remembers Jaden likes to mix chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry into what he calls Neapolitan soup.

These are the moments that gut me.

The casual reminders that beneath the corporate shark, the ruthless strategist, the man who walked away—there's still this: a father who knows his son's ice cream preference. A man who remembers the small details that make up a life.

"Mom, you want some?" Jaden looks at me expectantly.

I shake my head. "Not tonight, baby. I need to get ready for a work event."

Disappointment clouds his face. "But you just got here."

"I know." I smooth his hair back from his forehead, skin against skin, the tangible reminder of what matters most. "But I'll see you tomorrow after school. And we'll be together for parents' day on Friday, remember?"

He brightens slightly. "Both of you?"

"Both of us," Jakob confirms, setting a bowl of multi-colored ice cream in front of him. "Together."

The word hangs between us— together —heavy with promise and threat.

Jakob meets my eyes over our son's head, resolution passing between us.

"What about our stuff?" I ask quietly, reality solidifying in my chest. "For moving in."

Jakob doesn't miss a beat. "We can pick up what you need tomorrow. The basics for tonight are already here."

As if some part of him knew I'd eventually walk back into this trap.

Jaden looks up, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. "Moving in?"

I exchange a glance with Jakob—a silent negotiation of how to frame this for our son.

"We're going to have a special long sleepover at Dad's for a while," I explain, voice careful and light, like I'm not bleeding internally. "After you get back from Tyler's tomorrow."

Jaden's eyes widen, ice cream forgotten. "Like... all of us? Together?"

"Just until Mom's big work project is done," Jakob adds, the lie smooth on his tongue. "It'll be easier for everyone."

"Like when we used to all live together?" Hope blooms across Jaden's face, so naked and pure it feels like a knife twisting between my ribs.

"Something like that," I manage, throat tight with guilt and want. "A temporary arrangement."

"Awesome!" Jaden pumps his fist, joy radiating from him like physical heat. "Can I bring my Xbox? And Cosmic Rex? And my space comforter?"

"All of it," Jakob promises, something suspiciously like triumph flickering in his eyes. "Whatever you want, buddy."

I bend to kiss Jaden's forehead, needing the grounding contact. Needing to remember why I'm agreeing to this beautiful, inevitable disaster.

"Be good for your dad."

"I will." He's already back to his ice cream, attention diverted, world righted in the simple way of childhood. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, baby." I gather myself, hyperaware of Jakob watching me.

I turn away, moving toward the guest room before I can change my mind. Before I can admit that somewhere beneath the strategic necessity and professional self-preservation lies a truth I can't face: part of me has been waiting to come home.

In the hallway, I pause, exhaling shakily. What have I just agreed to?

Pretending to reconcile with Jakob. Moving back into the penthouse. Playing at being a family again. Creating a narrative that feels too close to the wish I buried with our marriage.

It's just temporary , I tell myself. The lie, desperate on my tongue. Just business. Just protection.

But as I move toward the guest room, one truth rises to meet me:

Nothing with Jakob Giannetti has ever been temporary.

And this beautiful, poisoned arrangement will either save us both—or finish what we started four years ago: the exquisite destruction we’ve never had the courage to end, or the strength to outrun.