Page 7 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless (The Rules We Break #1)

FOUR

STRATEGIC THREATS

JAKOB

I don't run to fights. I bring them to me.

Phillip Gardner's call comes as I'm reviewing the Moscow acquisition. Tyson sits across from me, feet propped on my desk despite my repeated glares.

"Jakob." Phillip's voice is strained. Formal. "We need to discuss the audit."

Tyson raises an eyebrow. I put the call on speaker.

"What about it?" I keep my tone neutral, even as I recognize the undercurrent in Phillip's voice. Something's wrong.

"There's been a development. The partners are considering reassigning leadership."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they want to replace Chanel Warren."

The room goes still. Tyson's feet drop from my desk.

"On what grounds?" I ask, voice cooling several degrees.

"Security concerns. Access irregularities. And…" He hesitates. "Her personal connection to you."

Someone found out . Someone connected the dots. Someone is targeting Chanel.

"Who raised these concerns?"

"Does it matter?" Phillip sounds tired. "The partners meet tomorrow morning. They've asked me to prepare transition options."

"Cancel it."

A beat of silence. "Excuse me?"

"Cancel the meeting, Phillip." I check my watch. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Jakob, I don't think?—"

"Twenty minutes." I hang up before he can finish.

Tyson watches me, face unreadable. "What are you going to do?"

"Handle it." I grab my suit jacket off the back of my chair.

"Handle it how?" He falls into step beside me as I stride toward the door. "This is exactly what we were concerned about. Someone's using your history against you."

"Against her," I correct him, punching the elevator button with more force than necessary. "They're using me against her."

"Same difference." He follows me into the elevator. "The question is who."

I already know who. Or at least, I have a strong suspicion. Only one person benefits from destabilizing the audit. Only one person has both the motive and the access.

Margana Ardano.

I don't say Megan’s name aloud. Don't give her that power.

"It doesn't matter who," I tell Tyson as the elevator descends. "What matters is shutting it down."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

The doors open to the lobby. I step out, Tyson at my heels.

"By reminding them what happens when they cross me."

Phillip Gardner's office at Rowe Stratton & Vale occupies the corner of the forty-first floor—a testament to seniority rather than power. Real power doesn't need the view.

He's not alone when I arrive. Wilton Hayes, RSV's managing partner, sits in one of the leather chairs facing Phillip's desk. His presence confirms my suspicion: this is more serious than Phillip let on.

"Jakob." Wilton stands, hand extended. "Unexpected pleasure."

I take his hand briefly. "Wish I could say the same."

Phillip gestures to the remaining chair. "Have a seat."

I don't. Instead, I move to the window, looking out at the city while I gather my thoughts. Let them wait. Let them feel the imbalance.

"I understand the partners have concerns about the audit," I say finally, turning to face them. "Specifically, about Chanel Warren's leadership."

Wilton nods, all calm authority and measured reason. "There have been some irregularities?—"

"Fabricated irregularities." I cut him off.

"That's a serious accusation." Phillip removes his glasses—a nervous tell.

"Not an accusation. A fact." I step away from the window. "Someone is attempting to compromise the audit by targeting Ms. Warren. I want to know what you're doing about it."

Wilton and Phillip exchange glances.

"We're investigating the security breaches," Phillip says carefully. "But there's still the matter of Ms. Warren's… personal connection to you."

"Which she didn't disclose," Wilton adds.

"Because it's irrelevant." I keep my voice level. "Our relationship ended four years ago. We share a child. Nothing more."

Another glance between them. Wilton clears his throat.

"Even so, Jakob, you must see how it looks. The appearance of impropriety?—"

"I don't give a damn how it looks." Now I take the chair, leaning forward slightly. "What I care about is the integrity of this audit. Ms. Warren is the most qualified person for the job. She knows the industry. She knows the players. And she has no reason to do me any favors."

"That may be true." Wilton's tone is placating. "But the partners feels?—"

"Let me be very clear." I cut him off again, voice dropping lower. "If Chanel Warren is removed from this audit, Novare Global Strategies will terminate our engagement with RSV. Immediately."

The room goes silent. Phillip's face pales slightly.

"That would be an extreme reaction," he says after a moment.

"No." I lean back slightly. "It would be the only logical response to a firm that allows outside interference to dictate its leadership decisions."

"We're not allowing outside interference," Wilton protests. "We're responding to legitimate concerns?—"

"There's nothing legitimate about framing my ex-wife for security breaches she didn't commit." I stand abruptly. "Find the real source. Fix the problem. Keep Chanel Warren in place."

Wilton stands as well, bristling at my tone. "Or what?"

I smile thinly—the professional smile that has closed billion-dollar deals and ended careers. "Or I don't just pull the Novare account. I make sure every corporate client in Manhattan knows exactly why."

The threat hangs in the air between us, stark and undeniable. RSV can't afford to lose Novare. But more than that, they can't afford the reputation hit if I start talking.

"That sounds dangerously close to blackmail, Jakob." Wilton's voice has an edge now.

"Not blackmail." I button my jacket, a deliberate gesture of finality. "Just business."

I turn to leave, then pause at the door. "I expect confirmation by end of day that the partners meeting has been canceled and Ms. Warren's position secured. If I don't get it, my team begins transition planning first thing tomorrow."

I don't wait for a response. Don't need one. The message has been delivered.

In the elevator, I exhale slowly, loosening my grip on control. I didn't go there to defend Chanel. I went to protect the audit. To ensure its integrity. To maintain the timeline for the White Glove Pivot.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

But as the elevator descends, the truth presses against my chest like a physical weight: I didn't do this for the audit.

I did it for her.

Because despite everything—the divorce, the distance, the careful walls between us—I still trust Chanel Warren more than anyone in this city.

Including myself.

"Are you going to tell her?" Tyson asks later, sprawled in my office chair while I stand at the window.

"Tell her what?"

"That you went to bat for her. That you threatened to burn down RSV if they touched her."

I don't answer immediately, just stare out at the darkening skyline. Manhattan at dusk—all sharp edges and gold light, beautiful and merciless.

"No," I say finally. "She doesn't need to know."

"Doesn't need to? Or you don't want her to?"

I turn, giving him a look that would silence anyone else. Tyson just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"What good would it do?" I move to my desk, forcing him to vacate my chair. "She already thinks I'm interfering."

"Aren't you?"

"I'm protecting the audit."

Tyson snorts, sitting on the edge of my desk. "Right. The audit."

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with an incoming message. I glance down to see an alert from security: another breach—this one deeper. Someone accessed restricted files using Chanel's credentials. Files only accessible from inside Novare's building.

Someone is getting bolder. More reckless.

Or more desperate.

I forward the alert to Ethan Collins, my head of Cybersecurity, with a single instruction: Find them.

"Problem?" Tyson asks, watching my face.

"Nothing I can't handle." I set the phone down. "Don't you have work to do? Actual work, not just annoying me?"

"Probably." He stretches, making no move to leave. "But this is more entertaining."

"Out." I point to the door. "I need to think."

He stands, shaking his head. "You need to be careful, Jakob. Whoever's behind this isn't just after the audit. They're after you."

"I know." I've known since the first irregularity appeared. This is personal. Targeted. A message wrapped in sabotage.

And I have a pretty good idea who's sending it.

After Tyson leaves, I sit at my desk, staring at nothing. The breach is escalating. The pattern is clear. Someone wants to destroy Chanel's credibility. Someone with access to both RSV and Novare systems. Someone who knows our history.

Someone who wants to hurt me by hurting her.

I pull up the security logs, scanning through the access points, the timestamps, the file paths. Looking for the pattern. The signature. The proof I need.

The office grows darker around me. I don't turn on the lights. Don't need them to see what's happening.

Megan is back.

Not physically. Not yet. But her digital fingerprints are all over this—the precision, the escalation, the personal nature of the attack. Four years, and she's still trying to finish what she started.

I lean back in my chair, eyes closed, memories surfacing despite my efforts to keep them buried.

Megan in my office, voice soft but eyes hard: You love her? Then keep her out of this. Or I'll bury her with you.

Megan's hand on my collar, her mouth too close: We built this together, Jakob. You don't get to walk away.

Megan's final threat, delivered with a smile that didn't reach her eyes: If I can't have you, neither can she.

I open my eyes, the present rushing back. I made a choice then—to cut Chanel loose. To let her hate me. To give Megan the victory she wanted most: our separation.

It kept Chanel safe for four years.

But now she's back in the crosshairs, and it's my fault. Again.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Collins.

"Tell me you found someone,” I answer without preamble.