Chapter 136
Jack's POV
I pulled away from Diana's building slowly, checking my mirrors more than necessary. The streets of Silverton were nearly empty at this hour, streetlights casting pools of orange across wet pavement. I should've felt tired—it was past one in the morning, and I'd been up since six—but my mind was too active for sleep.
I kept seeing the moment Diana had stumbled getting out of the car. The instinct that had made me reach for her before conscious thought caught up. The brief, startling second when she'd been close enough that I could see the exhaustion bruising the skin beneath her eyes, could feel the slight tremor in her arms.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
She's been carrying too much alone.
I'd known that intellectually—anyone looking at her case load and her hours could see she was burning herself down to nothing. But feeling the physical reality of it, the way she'd swayed on her feet like she might just collapse right there on the sidewalk, had hit differently.
Different.
That word kept circling back through my thoughts as I navigated the empty streets toward my apartment. Diana Clarke was different from anyone I'd dated in Silverton's professional circuit. Different from Claire, who'd wanted me for my connections and had weaponized our relationship when it didn't pan out. Different from the women at networking events who saw "Rowan Reynolds' Chief of Staff" first and a person second.
Diana had looked at me tonight and seen someone who could help. Not someone to use, not someone to impress. Just… a person who happened to be available when she needed an extra pair of hands and a ride home.
You sued me, I thought with a wry internal laugh. And somehow that's the most honest interaction I've had in years.
A red light caught me. I eased to a stop, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel.
I thought about her apology the day she'd dropped the case—the way she'd met my eyes and taken full responsibility, no hedging, no saving face. The way she'd looked at me tonight when I'd offered to help, wary but grateful, like she'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone on her side.
The light turned green. I accelerated, muscle memory guiding me toward home while my mind stayed at that curb outside Diana's building.
I'd spent weeks being professionally distant after the lawsuit, maintaining boundaries, staying out of her way. It had seemed prudent—a clear line between business and personal, no room for misunderstandings.
But tonight had shifted something.
Watching Diana fight for a woman she'd never met, dedicating herself to a case that wouldn't pay well and wouldn't boost her career, just because it was right—that had gotten under my skin. The fierce concentration when she worked, the way she'd spoken to Katya's photograph as if the dead woman could hear her promises. The guilt and purpose driving her forward even when exhaustion tried to drag her down.
I understood that kind of drive. I respected it.
When did respect become something else?
I turned onto my street, the question echoing in my head. Because it had become something else, sometime between watching her sleep in my passenger seat and catching her when she stumbled. Maybe even earlier, during those thirty minutes of working side by side, finding a rhythm so natural it felt like we'd done it a hundred times before.
I pulled into my parking garage and killed the engine, but I didn't get out immediately. Just sat there in the sudden silence, replaying the night.
The way Diana had looked when I'd draped my jacket over her shoulders—that flash of vulnerability before the walls went back up. The surprised laugh when I'd told her to sleep in a bed instead of on her keyboard. Her face in that split second before she'd steadied herself outside her building, surprise and something else I couldn't quite name.
And the way she'd said my name. Thank you, Jack. Like she meant all of it—the help, the ride, the fact that I'd stayed until she was safe inside.
I grabbed my phone, pulled up my calendar, and stared at it for a long moment. Then I typed a reminder: Two weeks. Ask Diana to dinner.
I deleted it immediately. Too calculated. If I was going to do this—and apparently I was considering it—it needed to be genuine. Not another transaction in a city full of them.
I climbed out of the car and headed for the elevator, a small smile playing at my mouth.
Claire had accused me of being manipulative, of using her. The entire ordeal had made me question every interaction, second-guess every kindness. Was I being genuine, or was I performing generosity? Did I actually care, or was I just going through the motions of what caring looked like?
But tonight, helping Diana, had felt uncomplicated. No ulterior motives, no expectations of return. Just the simple human impulse to help someone who needed it.
And the fact that she was brilliant and dedicated and had eyes that went soft when she looked at that photograph of Katya Ivanov—well. That was just a bonus.
The elevator doors opened onto my floor. I walked down the hallway to my apartment, fishing out my keys.
Inside, the space was dark and quiet. I dropped my keys on the counter and loosened my tie, not bothering to turn on the lights. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Silverton glittered below, countless lives playing out in those lit windows.
Somewhere out there, Diana was probably lying awake, her mind still running through case files and timelines. Or maybe she'd collapsed into bed immediately, finally letting exhaustion win.
I hoped it was the latter.