Chapter Seventeen

Jake.

The door slams behind me, rattling the walls of the penthouse. My head spins, the scotch burning through my veins, and the world tilts just enough to remind me how much I drank. Too much. Not enough. Never enough.

I yank my tie loose and stumble toward the living room. The city lights pour in through the glass windows, mocking me with their cold brightness. My chest is heavy, my thoughts louder than the echo of my own footsteps.

Eleanor’s face won’t leave me. Every time I blink, she’s there. The set of her jaw. The storm in her eyes. The cruel reminder that she’s alive, that she’s back, that she didn’t even flinch when the world gasped at her resurrection.

“Jake,” Amina’s voice cuts through the haze.

She’s standing at the edge of the room, arms crossed, her silk robe clinging to her curves, hair perfectly pinned back even at this hour. Her eyes are sharp, accusing, like knives pointed directly at me.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demands. “Do you realize what tonight looked like? You pulling Eleanor off the red carpet like some desperate man while you have a wife”

“Don’t,” I mutter, raising a hand, swaying slightly. “Not tonight, Amina.” I was in absolutely no mood to fight, especially about eleanor. 

“Not tonight?” She lets out a bitter laugh that slices through me. “Jake, the entire world saw you chasing after her. Do you know what the headlines are saying right now? They’re painting me as the other woman all over again, when I have been the one by your side for five years. Five years!”

Her voice rises, sharp and trembling with something that almost sounds like fear. “And now she’s back, and I know what this means. You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” she continues, and I know Amina, when she gets like this, it's hard to calm her down. 

I press a hand against the edge of the sofa, steadying myself. My temples pound, and guilt chews at the edges of my conscience. “Amina”

“Don’t lie to me!” she snaps, eyes blazing. “You never loved me. Not really. I was always second place, always the substitute for her. And now that she’s back, I know it’s only a matter of time before you throw me aside like I never mattered.”

Her words cut deeper than the alcohol in my bloodstream. I close my eyes, dragging in a ragged breath. “That’s not true and you know it”

“Yes, it is,” she spits, voice cracking. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you look at her pictures when you think I’m asleep? The way you avoid saying her name, as if it doesn’t haunt you every single day? You were never mine, Jake. Not fully. And tonight proved it.”

I stagger toward her, hands outstretched, guilt pressing heavy on my chest. “Amina, listen to me, please.”

She flinches, eyes glassy now, fury and heartbreak tangled together. “No. You listen to me. I gave up everything for you. I stayed, even when people called me a thief, a homewrecker, a parasite. I thought.. I thought one day, you would finally choose me. Really choose me. But you never did, even after the fact that I gave you a son. Something she was never able to give you. What is it about her? She has been alive for five years and she never reached out once to tell you she was alive and okay, do you think she loves you as much as you love her?”

Her voice breaks, and for a moment, she looks smaller, more fragile than I’ve ever seen her.

Something inside me twists.

I grip her shoulders, steadying her. “Amina, I’m not leaving you. Do you hear me? You’ve been by my side when no one else was. You’ve carried the weight of my demons, even when I didn’t deserve it. Whatever’s happening now, it doesn’t erase that, it's just a lot to take in seeing her alive and breathing.”

Her lip trembles, but her gaze sharpens, desperate. “Then prove it. Don’t let her take you away from me.”

My chest tightens. I don’t know how to give her what she wants. I don’t know how to erase the ghosts that claw at me. But I can’t stand the way she’s looking at me like she has already lost.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I pull her against me.

Her breath hitches, soft and broken, before her hands fist in my shirt. She tilts her head up, searching my face, needing something, anything that tells her she still matters.

“I need you, Jake,” she whispers, the words a plea and a curse all at once.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear of what Eleanor’s return means but I lower my head, pressing my mouth to hers.

Her lips are urgent, desperate, angry. My hands tighten on her waist, pulling her closer, trying to drown out the chaos, the questions, the storm Eleanor left in her wake.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the heat of her kiss, the ache of her body pressed against mine, the illusion that maybe I can bury the past if I hold onto her hard enough.

But even as I lose myself in her, the ghost of Eleanor lingers at the back of my mind, unshakable.