CHAPTER 17: MACARONI AND GOING FORWARD.

CHAPTER 17:

Holding the sleek silver key fob in my palm, I looked up into James's earnest silver eyes. Every cold, clever line I usually kept ready had vanished. I couldn't find a single reason to refuse him.

"Thank you, James," I whispered, clutching the key. "I'll... I'll drive it."

A quiet breath of relief escaped him. He gave me a small nod and left my bedroom so I could rest.

The following morning, I took the matte-gray BMW out for its first spin. The engine purred, and for the first time in months, driving felt liberating rather than terrifying. I parked right outside Charles's cozy bakery, and the scent of fresh bread met me at the door.

Charles glanced out the kitchen window, and his eyes went wide at the luxurious car parked out front.

"Well, well," he grinned, setting down a tray of croissants. "Look who arrived in style! Let me guess, James bought you that beauty?"

I sat on a high stool at the counter, twirling the keys around my finger. "He did. He was so worried about yesterday that he bought it so I wouldn't have to take public transport again. Charles, I don't know what to do. It's way too expensive. How do I even begin to pay him back?"

Charles wiped his hands on his apron and leaned against the counter with a smirk. "Simple. Learn to be a good wife."

I choked on my breath, my cheeks flushing hot. "Me? A good wife? Don't be ridiculous. It's a contract, and it's ending anyway. I only have to put up with him for six more months."

Charles chuckled, his expression softening. "Oh, my friend. I know you. You're falling for this man, and it terrifies you."

I looked down at the counter, my throat tight, my defenses flaring again.

"Soren," he said gently, patting my hand. "Not everyone is Matthew, and not everyone is Tyla. You survived their cruelty, but you can't lock your heart in a vault forever. You deserve a second chance."

His words stayed with me long after I left.

On the way home, I stopped at a high-end department store for a few personal items. A glass display caught my eye: an exquisite silk tie beside a handcrafted wristwatch, both resting on velvet. I told myself I was only looking. Then I found my card in my hand, and both were being wrapped for James. It was only after the cashier handed me the bag that I noticed the price, and the irony. I'd just complained about an expensive gift.

The next morning, I tied an apron around my waist before James woke and spent an hour in the main kitchen, my hands oddly unsteady as I cracked eggs. By the time I was done, there was a full English breakfast: crisp bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, eggs, and toast. I set the steaming plate at his place just before he came downstairs for work.

James froze in the doorway of the dining hall. He looked up at me in silence, a quiet warmth softening his eyes, then sat down and finished every bite before heading off to Vance Enterprises.

By noon, I had the apron on again and was pulling a pan of mac and cheese from the oven, rich, creamy, and golden on top. I packed it into a double-layered insulated lunch box and drove the BMW straight to the corporate headquarters.

I pushed open the heavy door to James's private office. He sat behind his massive desk, buried under reports and looking exhausted.

"Soren?" He stood at once. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine." I set the box on his desk and lifted the lids. The smell of baked cheese filled the quiet office. "I brought you lunch. And I got you these."

I placed the velvet gift box beside his coffee cup.

"A small thank-you for the car," I murmured, my cheeks warming. "Eat while it's hot. I'll see you at home."

As I turned to leave, James caught my wrist. With one smooth motion he drew me back and pulled me down onto his lap, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist, his smoked-cedar scent surrounding me. My breath hitched, my face burning as I rested against his broad chest. He looked down at the tie and the steaming lunch, and a rare, breathtaking smile lit his silver eyes.

At that exact second, the door clicked open. Arthur walked in with a stack of files. "Sir, I have the revised—"

He froze, taking in the sight of me in James's lap. A swift, amused smile crossed his face as he backed toward the door. "My apologies, sir. I'll step outside."

"Yes, you should," James said smoothly, not loosening his hold. "I'll call you when I need you."

"Right away, sir." Arthur chuckled and pulled the door shut.

I scrambled to my feet, tugging at my hoodie to hide my embarrassment. "I'll... see you at home, James."

He smiled, his gaze following me until I slipped out the door.

**James**

The moment the door closed, James called Arthur back in and pointed proudly at the lunch box and the velvet case.

"Arthur," he said, brimming with satisfaction. "My friend is doing very well. His partner brought him homemade mac and cheese, and gifts. He told me to thank you for your advice."

Arthur looked at the food, then at his employer's glowing face, and laughed. "I told you, sir. Actions speak louder than contracts. Your friend is making wonderful progress."

James picked up his fork and savored every bite.

That evening he returned to the estate lighter than he had felt in months. He climbed the grand staircase toward Soren's suite, the gift box held carefully in his hands, eager to thank him properly.

He eased the heavy bedroom doors open. "Soren...?"

The room was empty. But as he stepped toward the connecting hallway, a tense, angry whisper drifted from the estate library down the corridor.