Page 57 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
“You were never silent,” Jack says. “You just didn’t have anyone who heard you.”
His words undo me. Tears threaten, but I blink them back. “I didn’t leave because I doubted you. I left because I didn’t want you to carry the burden of me. I thought if I disappeared, you’d be free to fight without looking over your shoulder.”
Jack rises slowly, cupping my jaw in one hand. “You were never a burden. You were the reason I fought harder.”
We stand like that for a moment, two people forged in the fire of someone else’s ambition, choosing each other anyway. My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
A message from Sienna lights the screen:Rosenthal wants to meet this afternoon. Says it’s time.
Jack catches the flicker of the screen and meets my gaze, his voice steady but warm. “I’ll be there. We’re both involved in this, Ivy. This wasn’t just your fight or mine. We finish it together.”
I nod.
“Yes. I think this is where we close the last of it.”
It’s not just about wrapping up logistics or hearing legalities read aloud, it’s about stepping out from under a shadow that once felt too large to name. Jack doesn’t ask questions. He simply takes my hand, as if to say: we face this together.
The weight of the message hangs between us, not heavy, but decisive. A line in the sand, and the first steps past it.
“Of course.”
We get dressed slowly, moving around each other with the ease of people who’ve come undone and found each other again. My hands linger on his shoulders when I straighten his collar. His fingers trail down my spine when he zips the back of my dress.
We head out just after noon, the city already buzzing beneath the weight of the morning’s headlines. In the back seat of the car, Jack reaches for my hand without a word, his thumb brushing slow circles over my knuckles. The streets blur past, but I can feel the tension in his grip, like he’s holding something back, rage, relief, maybe both. I turn toward him and catch the shadow in his eyes.
“You think this will hold?” I ask.
He exhales, gaze fixed on the window. “I think we lit the match. Now we watch what burns.”
A moment passes, heavy with all the things we’re still afraid to say. Then Jack’s voice softens. “Whatever happens, we walk in side by side.”
I nod, pressing my shoulder to his. The car hums underneath us, steady, but my pulse does not match its rhythm. This isn’t over. Not yet. Paparazzi wait near the entrance, but Dawson had a team clear the alleyway for us. We slip into a waiting car and take the long way downtown.
Inside Rosenthal’s office, sunlight glints off polished wood and glass. She’s waiting, calm and unreadable. Sienna is already there, scrolling through something on her tablet.
“You’ve done it,” Rosenthal says simply. “Now let’s make sure it sticks.”
Jack nods. “We’re not walking away. Not yet.”
We sit. And for the first time since the storm broke, the air feels different, like something final is settling into place.
Rosenthal spreads a few documents in front of us, pointing to specific names and timelines. “The federal charges won’t vanish overnight, but between the financial records Conrad tracked, Talia’s interview, and the leaked statements from Marcus and Marla, we’ve secured enough independent confirmation to keep Derek from buying his way out. And with the DOJ now involved, RICO’s on the table.”
I nod slowly, absorbing it. “So what do we do next?”
“You step back from the wreckage,” Rosenthal says. “Let it fall where it needs to. Your role was proximity, publicly, you were engaged to him. That connects you, yes, but also gives you a clean exit. You’re not implicated. You won’t face legal consequences, but that doesn’t mean the court of public opinion won’t have questions. You’ll need to decide how you want toanswer them, or if you want to at all. You don’t need to be his shadow anymore.”
I blink at that. It sounds so simple, as if I can just walk away and never look back. But part of me clings to the wreckage, not out of loyalty to Derek, but because this storm marked me. I lived in its shadow, tried to shield others from its damage, and when I finally broke free, I didn’t expect the ghosts to follow. There’s a part of me that still wants answers, still wants to know how I let it go so far. And even though I know I should be running toward the future, untethered and clear, something deep in me resists, because moving on means accepting that the person I was is gone, and the woman I am now is still learning how to breathe without bracing for impact. But the truth is, this became personal long before it became public.
Sienna leans in, her tone gentle but firm. “He’s right. You were never part of the Wilson empire, Ivy. You stood beside it, not inside it. You don’t owe anyone your silence, or your name.”
Jack places his hand over mine. “You’re free to build whatever comes next. On your own terms.”
Outside, headlines echo through a city too busy to pause, but inside this room, it feels like the eye of a storm finally passed.
What comes next is ours to define, not just rebuilding a brand, or salvaging a reputation, but rediscovering who we’ve become. For me, it means taking the pieces of my past and reshaping them into something that finally feels like mine. For Jack, it means learning that love doesn’t weaken his armor, it sharpens his edge.
As we rise to leave, Jack gently catches my hand. “When this is done,” he murmurs, “let’s disappear. Just for a while. No phones. No statements. Just you and me.”
