Page 46 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
"What about our stuff?" I ask quietly, reality solidifying in my chest. "For moving in."
Jakob doesn't miss a beat. "We can pick up what you need tomorrow. The basics for tonight are already here."
As if some part of him knew I'd eventually walk back into this trap.
Jaden looks up, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. "Moving in?"
I exchange a glance with Jakob—a silent negotiation of how to frame this for our son.
"We're going to have a special long sleepover at Dad's for a while," I explain, voice careful and light, like I'm not bleeding internally. "After you get back from Tyler's tomorrow."
Jaden's eyes widen, ice cream forgotten. "Like... all of us? Together?"
"Just until Mom's big work project is done," Jakob adds, the lie smooth on his tongue. "It'll be easier for everyone."
"Like when we used to all live together?" Hope blooms across Jaden's face, so naked and pure it feels like a knife twisting between my ribs.
"Something like that," I manage, throat tight with guilt and want. "A temporary arrangement."
"Awesome!" Jaden pumps his fist, joy radiating from him like physical heat. "Can I bring my Xbox? And Cosmic Rex? And my space comforter?"
"All of it," Jakob promises, something suspiciously like triumph flickering in his eyes. "Whatever you want, buddy."
I bend to kiss Jaden's forehead, needing the grounding contact. Needing to remember why I'm agreeing to this beautiful, inevitable disaster.
"Be good for your dad."
"I will." He's already back to his ice cream, attention diverted, world righted in the simple way of childhood. "Love you, Mom."
"Love you too, baby." I gather myself, hyperaware of Jakob watching me.
I turn away, moving toward the guest room before I can change my mind. Before I can admit that somewhere beneath the strategic necessity and professional self-preservation lies a truth I can't face: part of me has been waiting to come home.
In the hallway, I pause, exhaling shakily.What have I just agreed to?
Pretending to reconcile with Jakob. Moving back into the penthouse. Playing at being a family again. Creating a narrative that feels too close to the wish I buried with our marriage.
It's just temporary, I tell myself. The lie, desperate on my tongue.Just business. Just protection.
But as I move toward the guest room, one truth rises to meet me:
Nothing with Jakob Giannetti has ever been temporary.
And this beautiful, poisoned arrangement will either save us both—or finish what we started four years ago: the exquisitedestruction we’ve never had the courage to end, or the strength to outrun.
NINE
GHOSTS IN SILK
CHANEL
The dress waits like a death sentence.
Hanging on the closet door, barely concealed by protective plastic, it mocks my fragile stability.
Black silk. Floor-length. Backless. Not just any dress—the dress. The one he bought for our last anniversary. The one that witnessed our final public performance as husband and wife before everything collapsed.
The one he peeled from my body afterward, his voice rough against my neck:Black silk against your skin is my undoing.
