Chapter 8

Derek’s POV

I stood by the bed as I buttoned my shirt, my eyes lingering on her sleeping form. Jacqueline looked so peaceful, her hair spilling across the pillow, lips slightly parted as she breathed softly.

For a moment, I almost let myself crawl back into bed, wrap my arms around her and bury my face in the warmth of her neck. Almost.

But I couldn’t afford that today.

I turned away, running a hand through my hair, my mind already spiraling with numbers, reports, and the content of Trisha's message.

I stepped cautiously into the study, grabbing my briefcase and checking that all the documents were in place. The weight of it felt heavier than usual, as if it carried not just papers but my entire future.

I exhaled sharply.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

I didn’t want her to see me like this. Restless. Cornered. Weak.

The last thing Jacqueline needed was to wake up to my frantic pacing and sharp edges. She deserved the illusion of calm, at least for a few more hours.

I glanced at my phone, considering for a moment if I should wake her to explain. But no.

I recorded a voice note instead, forcing my voice into something steady,something that wouldn’t set off alarms in her mind.

“Jac, I had to head out early. Didn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep. I had an emergency to handle before I clock in at work. Calvin will pick you up. See you at work. Bye.”

I paused after sending it, staring at the message as if it could somehow carry all the words I wasn’t saying.

I clenched my jaw, pushing down the guilt crawling up my spine.

She wouldn’t understand, not yet, maybe not ever.

I took one last look around the apartment before stepping out, the quiet click of the door echoing in my chest.

“Hold it together, Derek,” I whispered to myself as I stepped into the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting a man I barely recognized.

A man holding on by a thread.

The thought of how good Jacqueline had always been to me tugged at the edges of my mind. A part of me, small, almost imperceptible, knew she didn’t deserve the heartache that would come with certain truths about me.

But that part was weak. Pathetic, really.

A stronger, louder part of me reminded me just how far I’d come, how close I was to the life I’d always imagined. The life I had clawed my way toward, step by calculated step.

Giving up now? Entertaining guilt? That would be riskier than anything else.

I could almost hear her voice in my head, gentle, hopeful, so certain that love alone could fix everything. I scoffed softly, shrugging the thought off as a steely determination surged through me.

I adjusted my grip on the steering wheel, my fingers tightening, knuckles blanching.

I was too close. Too damn close to let sentimentality sink me.

In the middle of my spiraling thoughts, my phone suddenly buzzed, slicing through the silence like a blade.

“Hello,” I answered, my voice low but steady.

A familiar voice crackled on the other end.

I exhaled slowly, almost relieved. “Everything is working as planned,” I said calmly, fully aware of what this call was about.

“No disappointments,” he reminded me sharply, then hung up without waiting for a reply.

I dropped the phone onto the passenger seat and rubbed my palm across my face, as though I could wipe away the heavy residue of all the choices I had made, and the ones still to come.

But beneath the exhaustion, a dark thrill simmered.

The game was on. And I wasn’t about to lose now.

I drove into the apartment complex and parked in the open lot. It was 6:50 a.m. by the time I arrived at Trisha’s place, following the message she’d sent me at midnight.

I rang the doorbell once. She opened the door immediately, as if she’d been standing there waiting for me.

“Hello,” she said, stepping aside to let me in.

“Hi,” I muttered.

“You’ll get rid of it,” I ordered, my tone sharp and cold.

She chuckled, a low, amused sound that grated against my nerves.

....

I rushed back to the office after receiving the email announcing the legal case. I had still been at Trisha’s place when the message came through.

As the site manager, I never had to explain my whereabouts. If I wasn’t in the office, everyone simply assumed I was out handling company business.

When I arrived, Jacqueline was standing at the reception, her presence soft but heavy with unspoken questions.

Our eyes locked for a brief moment, but I quickly looked away and headed straight to my office.

“Welcome, sir,” Jeron, my personal assistant, greeted me, falling into step beside me as he began listing my schedule for the day.

“Reschedule all meetings from 2 p.m. to tomorrow,” I instructed curtly. “Something has come up. There’s an emergency meeting in the conference hall at 3 p.m.”

“Understood,” he replied promptly.

Thirty minutes later she stood in the doorway of my office, her voice soft, almost apologetic.

“Hey… Can I come in?”

I didn’t bother looking up properly. I gave her a shallow nod, hoping it would be enough to keep her from hovering.

She kept talking, something about the email. The lawsuit. Her worry practically radiated off her in waves, but to me, it was just more noise.

I felt her hands on my shoulders, fingers pressing gently, as if she could knead the chaos out of me.

It annoyed me.

Did she really think a soft massage would fix this? Did she really think I had the time, or the capacity to sit there and let her coddle me while the entire structure I built threatened to come crashing down?

She asked a question. Something about why I left early.

My jaw tightened. God, she always wanted to talk. Always wanted to dig into the hows and whys, like some overeager therapist who didn’t know when to stop.

“Can we not ask questions now? We have a bigger problem,” I snapped, the words slicing out sharper than intended or maybe exactly as sharp as I meant them to be.

I heard the little choke in her throat, the way her hands stilled. But she didn’t push. She never really did.

“Okay,” she said, her voice small.

She started backing away. Good.

“I guess I’ll just go back to my office,” she added quietly, as though needing my permission to exist elsewhere.

I didn’t bother responding. What was I supposed to say? Comfort her? Hold her hand and tell her it would be okay?

I had no patience for that. Not now. Not ever, really.

The door clicked shut behind her, and I finally exhaled.

Alone again. Finally,

I slumped in my chair, fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest. My mind was already sprinting through potential angles: the investors I needed to pacify, the board members I needed to manipulate, the legal counsel I might have to threaten.

Jacqueline? She didn’t factor into the equation.

She was… convenient. A distraction when I felt generous, a decorative piece I could show off when I needed to look more human. But in moments like this? She was a liability, too emotional, too naive, too desperate to believe in fairy tales.

She had no idea what it took to build and protect an empire. No idea of the mess I’d already crawled through to get this far.

Her tears, her fragile loyalty… all useless now.

I didn’t feel guilty. Not really. I told myself I’d shielded her from the worst of it because I cared, but deep down, I knew the truth: I’d kept her in the dark because it was easier. Because the fewer questions she asked, the smoother my days ran.

And if she did eventually find out the full scope?

She’d cry. She’d look at me like I was a stranger. Maybe she’d even leave.

And so what?

I’d survive. I always did.

I stood up abruptly, pacing the length of my office, mentally rehearsing my lines for the conference hall. I needed to control the narrative, twist it until I looked like the savior instead of the saboteur.

I could already imagine Jacqueline sitting there, her wide, terrified eyes pinned on me like I was her lighthouse in the dark.

Pathetic.

She’d keep believing whatever I told her. That’s what she did best, believe.

And as long as she stayed quiet and didn’t complicate things, I didn’t really care what she thought or felt.

I checked my reflection in the glass, smoothing down my tie, adjusting my cuffs.

Outside, I heard the echo of panicked voices, the rising tide of scandal about to swallow the entire building.

But in my head, I was already on the other side of it. I’d weathered worse.

Jacqueline? She was just another piece I might have to sacrifice on the board.

And if she broke in the process?

I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

I glanced at my phone, no urge to check on her, no flicker of concern for her emotional state.

My focus was on the headlines, the power plays, the survival.

She’d either keep up or get left behind.

I turned away from the window, straightening my spine as I prepared to step into the hall.

This wasn’t about her. It never had been.

And in that moment, as the door opened and I heard the hush fall over the conference room, there was not an ounce of remorse in me. Only the cold, unwavering certainty that I would win.

At any cost.