The next morning, Elena awoke to the scent of fresh coffee and the low hum of music echoing through the penthouse. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding — not because of fear, but because of the dissonance. Her home, once silent and orderly like a showroom, now buzzed with life.
She quickly slipped into a robe and padded barefoot down the marble hallway. In the kitchen, Jack stood in nothing but jeans, barefoot, his tattoos on full display, his hair still wet from the shower. He was dancing— dancing while flipping pancakes. Elena perked up a brow. “You are in my kitchen.” She said flatly. He turned without missing a beat. “Good morning, wife.” She ignored the twitch in her stomach at the word. “I didn't authorize breakfast.” He plated the pancakes with the flourish. “It's not for you. It's for me. But I made extra just in case you woke up less terrifying.” She gave him a look that could freeze a boiling water, but he only grinned. “Do you always invade people's homes like you're claiming territory?” “Only when I legally marry them.” Elena folded her arms. “We need rules.” Jack took a bite of his pancake and nodded. “I was wondering when that hammer would drop.” Soon, they say across from each other in the study, a formal contract on the table between them. Elena, pen in hand. Jack, lounging like he owned the place. “Rule one” she said. “We're married for six months. At the end, we file for a clean, and quiet divorce.” “Agreed.” “Rule two. Public displays of affection will be performed only when necessary. Galas, press events, board meetings. But nothing in private.” “Cold,” he muttered under his breath. “But expected. Go on.” He urged her. “Rule three. No sleeping in the same bed. You'll take the guest room.” He raised an eyebrow. “That's such a shame.” She paused. Her face betrayed nothing. “Rule four. No questions about the past. Not yours, not mine.” This time, Jack's smirk faded. “Fair.” She slid the contract towards him. “Sign.” He took the pen and hovered for a second. “One more amendment.” She frowned. “What?” “No lying. If we're going to fake love, the least we can do is be honest in private. No masks when we are alone.” She stared at him. “That's not part of the deal.” “It is now.” She considered it. Then nodded. Jack signed. For Elena, living with Jack was like sharing space with a storm. He left half drunk coffee mugs on bookshelves, played music too loud in the shower, and let his boots dry on the living room floor. He cooked like it was a performance art and talked to her dog— technically her security drone with full conversations. Elena hated it. And didn't. Then hated that she didn't. On day four, she came home late from a board meeting to find Jack asleep on the couch, a half read book on his chest, and a movie paused on the screen. The dog sat curled at his feet like it had found its new alpha. She watched them both for a moment. Then she turned the TV off, gently pulled the book from his hand, and covered him with a throw blanket. In the morning, she claimed she had no idea how it got there. Their first event as a married couple came on day eight: the Harrow Foundation Gala. Elena's face had been splashed across every tabloid for a week. Heiress Marries Rogue Tech CEO in Sudden Twist. Richard Harrow was furious. Her father, worse. But silent. Jack appeared in a well tailored tux that looked criminally good on him, his tie undone, smirk in place. “You cleaned up.” Elena muttered, eyes scanning the flash of photographers outside the car window. “I aim to dazzle.” He offered his hand as they stepped out. The flashes started immediately. Questions flew. “ Mr Roman, how does it feel to marry into the Vale Empire?” “Elena, was this arranged?” “Is this love or strategy?” Elena smiled coolly. “Why can't it be both?” Inside the ballroom, Jack was a hit. He charmed CEOs, danced with heiresses, and whispered things in Elena's ear that made her laugh — genuine, unguarded laughter. People noticed. So did Richard. He cornered her near the champagne tower. “You think this changes anything?” He hissed. “That man is beneath you.” She tilted her head. “You're right. He's not pretending to be something he's not. Maybe that's why I married him instead of you.” Richard's face darkened. “You will regret this.” She walked away from him before he could say more. But she felt the burn of his glare long after. Later that night, back home. Elena stood at the window, watching the city flicker. Jack approached quietly, holding two glasses of whiskey. He handed her one. “Careful,” he said. “You almost looked happy tonight.” She took a sip. “Don't get used to it.” They stood in silence for a while. Then Jack asked, “ Did you mean what you said to him, to Harrow?” She looked at him. “Which part?” “That you married me because I wasn't pretending.” There was a pause. “Yes,” she said. “You're the only person in my world who's not trying to manipulate me.” “That sounds like a lonely world.” “It is.” There was another silence. Then Jack leaned against the glass beside her. “You ever think this whole contract thing is just you trying to prove to your father you're not a puppet?” “She gave him a sideways glance. “You psychoanalyzing me now? “Only a little.” He sipped his drink. “You're not wrong.” She admitted. “No masks,” he reminded her. And in that moment, Elena Vale — the ice Queen of Vale Holdings, felt something thaw. The next morning, she found him in the kitchen again, humming and stirring oatmeal. “You cook like we are an actual couple,” she said. Jack didn't turn. “You glare like I should be dead.” They both smiled. She sat across from him and picked up a spoon. “You're not terrible.” She muttered. “High praise.” He chuckled. Then came a knock on the door. A courier. Elena opened the envelope and paled. “What is it?” Jack asked. She handed him the letter. It was from Conrad. A list of demands — and a warning: Terminate the marriage within 14 days. Or I go public with what I know about Jack Roman’s past. Jack clenched his jaw.The penthouse was quiet that night—except for the soft hum of the city outside, bleeding in through the tall windows like a lullaby neither of them could fully relax to.Elena lay curled beside Jack, the two of them wrapped in the kind of closeness that felt new and yet strangely inevitable. Their bodies were warm beneath the sheets, legs tangled, breath shared. Whatever tension had hung between them earlier had been chased away by touches and silences. But what was left in its place felt heavier. Truer. A quiet, unspoken honesty neither had the strength to ignore.Jack’s fingers traced slow circles on her back. Usually, his touch calmed her. But tonight, it only stirred her thoughts.Her mind kept circling back to that envelope. That photo. That question that refused to let go.“I need to tell you something,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.Jack’s hand stilled. “What is it?”She shifted slightly, just enough to look at him. “Someone slipped an envelope under my of
Jack’s car idled at the curb, engine barely murmuring beneath the midday buzz of city life. He sat still, one hand on the wheel, the other holding his phone, his eyes locked on a blinking dot on the screen.The GPS tracker he’d planted beneath Mia’s car last night—it had worked. And now, here he was, in the West End, parked just down the street from a nondescript warehouse that looked like it belonged to no one. The kind of building the city forgot about.Mia’s car was parked across from it.She hadn’t gone inside yet.But someone else had.And Jack had recognized him instantly.He leaned forward, squinting through the tinted glass as if it would help sharpen the face he’d just seen. The walk, the posture, the cool detachment—it hadn’t changed. Not even after all these years.Marcus Trent.Jack’s jaw tensed. His pulse picked up.Ex–black ops. Former fixer. Once a ghost in Conrad Vale’s arsenal of puppets, long vanished after an international scandal tied to Vale Corp’s murky acquisiti
A FEW DAYS LATER,Elena sat in her office, the USB drive clenched in her palm like a blade she wasn’t sure she had wanted to use. She hadn’t even looked at Jack as they left—couldn’t. Not with the audio of Mia’s voice still ringing in her ears.“…Conrad wants to make sure he still has leverage if Jack doesn’t comply…”Leverage.That word lingered longer than it should have. Longer than she wanted it to.Down the hallway, Jack paced.He hadn’t known Mia was still acting under Conrad’s thumb—not directly. But the mention of leverage cut into him in ways he didn’t admit. What leverage? What part of his past was still being used to control him? He thought he’d buried all of it.And then there was Conrad.Despite everything, he hadn’t blinked when the audio played. He’d sat still, collected, the shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.Like he had more cards.Like the game had only just begun.---By late afternoon, Jack’s thoughts had started to spiral.He stood in the far co
The boardroom wasn’t cold because of the air conditioning. It was cold because of the undercurrents—the quiet tension that stretched across the long glass table like invisible wires. You could feel it in the way people sat a little too straight, in the clipped tones of their greetings, in the tight smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Elena stood at the head of the table, shoulders squared, a digital report clutched tightly in her hand. Her expression was unreadable, but her fingers betrayed her—the slightest tremble as they gripped the edges of the screen. She hadn’t spoken yet. Not a word. She was waiting. Across the table, Mark lounged back in his seat. Calm. Poised. His fingers tapped slowly against the armrest, one beat off rhythm. His suit was perfect, his tie a shade too dark to be casual. And yet, there was something rehearsed in his ease. Like he was prepared for a fight, and didn’t mind being the one to draw first blood. He’d made a move—again. Quietly. Strategically. He
Elena didn’t go to Mark. Not yet. The letter from her mother felt like a shard lodged deep in her chest—painful, immovable, and far too raw. Her mother had written in gentle honesty, but it carried the weight of a blade.So she did what her instincts had always taught her to do: she hunted for the truth.She and Jack retreated into the bowels of Vale Corp, down into the archives where the lights flickered like tired secrets and the air smelled of old data and colder betrayal. Security clearance codes, thumbprints, two-factor identifications—it took everything to get in. And once inside, the chill that met her felt less like air conditioning and more like ghosts.“What are we even looking for?” Jack asked quietly, sifting through an index that hadn’t been touched in years.Elena didn’t answer at first. Her fingers danced across file tabs and blinking logs, until her gaze landed on a strange pattern—an inactive project listing that had somehow never been officially closed: Project Arden
The sun dipped behind a bank of late afternoon clouds, casting a gray light over the Vale Corp tower. Inside the building, the halls were quiet except for the soft tapping of heels echoing through the executive floor. Elena walked beside Jack, the silence between them not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of everything unspoken.They had left early that day, earlier than usual, citing the need for rest after a week that had felt like a year. Jack’s fingers brushed lightly against Elena’s as they exited the elevator and walked into the apartment. It was a simple touch, but it anchored her. She didn’t pull away.The moment the door closed behind them, Elena let out a slow breath. Jack watched her carefully. The days had drawn something taut in her spirit—fatigue, betrayal, and the pressure of carrying a legacy she hadn’t asked for. He wanted to take some of that from her, even if just for a while.“Sit,” he said gently, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch. “I’ll get you