Forty-Three
Aubrey
The skyline glitters beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass like a graveyard of dying stars. Jack’s office is too clean, too polished, the kind of place built for men who make their living hiding rot beneath marble and leather. I sit on the edge of his desk, legs crossed, watching him pour himself a drink he doesn’t need.
He’s quiet for a moment too long. I hate when he does that—when he tries to look thoughtful. It never suits him.
“She’s coming back,” he finally says, voice low.
I blink once. “Excuse me?”
“Ellie. We talked yesterday. She’s moving back in.”
I laugh—sharp and quick, like glass cracking under pressure. “You’re kidding.”
He doesn’t look up from the ice swirling in his glass. “She said she forgives me.”
“Well, that makes one of us.”
Jack sighs and takes a sip. “She wants to try again. To rebuild. She said maybe she hadn’t been giving enough. That she understands why I—whywe—happened.”
“That woman couldn’t ‘give enough’ if she came with a bowand a receipt,” I snap. “Jesus, Jack. You had your tongue halfway down my throat two nights ago, and now she’s back in your bed like it never happened?”
He flinches. Just a flicker, but I see it.
“She caught us,” I continue. “She saw. And she still came crawling home? Do you hear yourself?”
“She’s been... vulnerable,” he says, softer now. “This year’s been hard on her. I can’t just throw her away.”
“You don’t have to throw her away.” I lean in, smile slow and cruel. “You already broke her.”
Jack sets his drink down too carefully, the kind of control that reeks of guilt.
“You’re not seeing the full picture,” he says. “We have to be more careful now. No more hotel rooms. No more surprise visits to the apartment. She’s watching everything.”
I arch a brow. “Really?”
Jack doesn’t respond.
“Look,” I say, sliding off the desk and smoothing my skirt. “Ellie’s not dangerous. She’s weak. A spineless little rabbit who wants so badly to be loved, she’ll swallow any betrayal if it means someone holds her hand after.”
Jack shakes his head. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“Please.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve known her longer than you have. I know the type. You give her a false sense of safety, and she’ll cling to it like a child clings to a burning blanket. She came back once, Jack. That’s proof she’ll always come back. You can do anything you want now.”
He looks at me then. Really looks. Like he’s trying to decide if I’m the devil or the only one who sees clearly.
I smile. “She gave you permission to take whatever you want. Now you don’t have to worry about repercussions. Notfrom her.”
Jack presses his fingers to his temples. “You make it sound so... calculated.”
“It is.” I step closer. “That’s the point. You’re not a boy, Jack. You don’t stumble into affairs. You build them. You mold the story you need to survive.”
His hands drop to his sides. He looks tired. Haunted.
“I don’t feel good about it,” he says. “None of it. Lying to her, manipulating her, watching her unravel because of us... I didn’t mean to go this far. But I can’t dig my way out if I tried. I’m already buried. And there are people involved—very powerful people—who won’t let me back out now.”
I touch his chest gently, then trail my hand to his shoulder, thinking about all the secrets this man has told me under the guise of pillow talk. “You’re not getting out, Jack. Not because they won’t let you... but because you don’t want to. You want to win. You always have.”
