Page 34 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless (The Rules We Break #1)

"Four years. Four years of believing I wasn't enough. That something in me failed to hold you."

"I never stopped loving you," I say, the words scraping my throat raw.

"That makes it worse."

She turns to face me fully, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Because love without trust isn't love at all. It's possession. Control dressed up as care."

Her words strike with surgical precision, finding the exact place where my intent and impact diverge. Where my protection became its own form of violence. The truth of it hollows me from inside.

"And now?" She gestures to the phone, to the threat still glowing on the screen. "Now she's coming after me anyway. So, what was it all for?"

The question hangs between us, unanswerable. Everything I sacrificed, every night I lay awake aching for her, every moment I forced myself to keep my distance—all of it undone by Megan's relentless pursuit of what she believes I owe her.

"I'll make security arrangements for your apartment," I say, certainty hardening my voice. My mind is already calculating, the battlefield mapped. "I'll have someone outside, monitoring. She won't touch you or your career."

"You still don't get it."

Chanel shakes her head, a single tear tracking down her cheek. The sight of it undoes me. In all our fights, all our fractures, I've seen her angry, hurt, distant—but rarely have I seen her cry.

"This isn't about what you can fix. It's about what you broke. What you're still breaking by thinking you can manage this without me."

She wipes the tear away with a quick, angry gesture.

"I suspected it was her, you know. I just needed to hear you say it. To see if you trusted me enough to tell me the whole truth. Not just the parts you deemed safe."

"I'm telling you now," I say, stepping toward her. The distance between us feels infinite.

She backs away.

"Too late. Four years too late."

The distance between us spans more than physical space. It's measured in secrets kept, in truths withheld, in the yawning gulf between my intentions and their impact.

I've faced down enemies, rebuilt empires from ashes, negotiated with people who would kill for advantage—yet I stand here now, powerless before the one person who matters.

"What happens now?" I ask, voice low.

"Now I go home," she says simply. "I need space to think. To decide what this means for us, for the audit, for everything."

"Megan gave you 48 hours."

"I don't operate on Megan's timeline." Her chin lifts slightly. "Or yours."

"And what about Jaden? The protective arrangement? You both living here isn't just about us anymore." The words come out harsher than intended. Another mistake. "Megan's threat is real."

"So I should stay trapped in your fortress, under your rules?"

Her eyes flash—obsidian fire.

"That's exactly the problem, Jakob. You create systems of protection that double as prisons. No. I need space from you to think clearly."

She moves past me, heading for the bedroom where her things are now organized in the closet next to mine. I follow, watching as she methodically selects what she needs, packing an overnight bag. Her movements are precise, controlled.

Only the slight tremor in her hands betrays the emotion she's containing.

She pulls a silk blouse from a hanger—deep burgundy, the one she wore the first day of the audit. I remember how it looked in the conference room, how it made my mouth go dry. Now it disappears into her bag, along with the artifacts of our rebuilt life.

Each item she packs feels like another door closing.

"I never meant to hurt you," I say to her back. The words sound hollow even to me, inadequate against the weight of what I've done.

She pauses, hands stilling over an open drawer.

"That's the problem, Jakob. You never do. You just make decisions that feel right to you, that protect what you value in the way you think best. And you call it love."

She zips the bag closed with a finality that echoes in my chest.

"But real love—the kind I thought we had—doesn't decide what truths the other person deserves. It doesn't calculate risk and reward through your eyes. That’s not protection. It’s control."

I reach for her bag, a reflex to help, to do something, anything to delay what's happening. Her hand covers mine, stopping me. The touch burns. Her skin against mine, warm and familiar, and I know it's the last time I'll feel it for a while.

Maybe forever.

My hand trembles beneath hers. I can't stop it. Can't hide it. This weakness I've spent a lifetime trying to eradicate breaks through, exposing everything I've fought to conceal.

"Let me drive you home," I say, voice rough. "Or call my driver."

"I'll get a car." She slips her phone from her pocket. "I need to call Jaden and let him know I'm leaving."

"I'll tell him." I grasp at this small thing, this one responsibility I can still claim. "Let me do that much."

She studies my face, searching for something. I don't know if she finds it.

"Fine."

I don't follow her to the door. Don't watch her leave. Standing alone in the bedroom where minutes ago we belonged to each other, I wait until I hear the elevator doors close before I let myself exhale.

When I emerge, Jaden stands in the hallway, confusion etched on his face.

"Mom's going home," I tell him, keeping my voice steady. "She needs some space. Adult stuff."

His eyes narrow, so like his mother's when she's assessing a situation.

"Did you mess up again?"

The question lands with perfect aim.

"Yes. I did."

He nods once, accepting this with a child's simple understanding of cause and effect.

"Are you going to fix it?"

I wish I could give him the answer he wants. That I could promise everything will be alright. That I'll make it better with the same confidence I solve business problems.

"I don't know if I can, buddy," I admit. "Some mistakes... they change things permanently."

His face falls, and I see in it the weight of the past four years. The way he's learned to live with disappointment, with broken promises, with parents who love him but can't seem to love each other right.

"Can I call her?" he asks.

"Of course." I hand him my phone. "She'll want to hear from you."

While he talks to Chanel, I move to the window, staring out at the city below. Somewhere out there, Megan sits waiting for her ultimatum to detonate our lives.

She miscalculated.

The damage was already done years ago—by my own hand.

I pull out my other phone, the secure line, and dial a number I haven't used in years.

"It's Giannetti," I say when the line connects. "I need everything on Megan Ardano. Everything. However deep you have to dig."

The voice on the other end confirms without question. This is how power works—instant, unquestioning compliance. The same power that convinced me I could shape the world to my will.

The same power that failed completely when it came to protecting what mattered most.

"Dad?" Jaden's voice pulls me back. "Mom says she'll pick me up tomorrow after school."

"Okay." I turn to him, forcing a smile. "How about ice cream? Before bed."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not a little kid anymore. You can't fix stuff with ice cream."

Another blow, perfectly placed.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

After he returns to his room, I stand alone in the kitchen, staring at the containers of food Chanel had arranged so carefully. The domesticity we'd been building sits in stark contrast to the wreckage of the present.

My phone vibrates with a text from Chanel: Tell Jaden I love him. I'll call in the morning.

Nothing for me. No goodnight. No reassurance. Just the bare minimum communication about our son.

I think of what she said. About decisions and control and calling it love. She's right. I've spent my life calculating risks, managing outcomes, protecting assets. And somewhere along the way, I started treating her heart like another commodity to safeguard.

The irony cuts deep—everything I did to shield her has left her more exposed, more vulnerable than if I'd simply trusted her with the truth from the beginning.

I don't reply to her text. There's nothing I can say that won't sound like another attempt to manage her, to influence her next move. Instead, I pour myself a drink I don't want and stand at the window, watching the city lights blur through unshed tears.

Megan thinks she's launched her final attack. She doesn't understand that she's already won. Four years ago. When I cut her out of Novare but let her cut me off from what mattered most.

It's almost laughable—I walked away from the woman I loved to protect her from the woman I was supposed to want. Megan never understood that she was my past. A life prescribed rather than chosen.

Chanel was my future. My choice.

Until I surrendered that choice to fear.

Now, as the night settles around me, I face a truth colder than any boardroom maneuver: Chanel doesn't need my protection. She never did. What she needed was my honesty. My vulnerability. My trust.

And I gave her calculation instead. Strategy. Control.

She walked away without another word. And this silence feels different than all the others we've shared.

Not angry. Not broken.

Just done.