Chapter 14
JACKSON’S POV
"You’re unusually quiet,” I said, glancing at her. “What did you two talk about?”
I didn’t mean to pry. She had every right to her privacy. But I’d already grown used to her constant chatter, those bright, energetic bursts that spilt out of her like sunshine, hands flying as if her words weren’t complete without them. I’d only spent a few hours with her, yet I’d memorised that habit already.
But now, she was silent and seated quietly staring out the window.
Hannah had stormed out clearly upset, and Vera had barely said a word since. The energy around her was different, muted, guilty.
“I just hope I didn’t make a mistake by agreeing to this with you,” she finally said, her voice low and heavy. “I feel guilty. This is the second time I’m going against her, and the first time… didn’t end well.”
As the car stopped at a red light, I looked out the window, watching people cross from both sides. The light changed, the car eased forward again, but her words stayed with me.
I turned back to her. She was staring hard at me, like she was searching for something on my face.
I reached over and gently took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I won’t ask you to trust me,” I said. “But I promise, you won’t regret this. I’ll—"
“Oh, fck!” the driver yelled suddenly, stomping on the brakes.
The car jerked to a violent halt, and our heads slammed into each other.
“Ouch! Is that your head or a rock?” Vera winced, laughing a little as she rubbed her forehead.
I was relieved to see her smile even if it was through pain. But I needed to know what the hell had just happened.
“What happened, Max?” I asked, already climbing out of the car.
Max stepped out to assess the damage, and I followed. A delivery van had crashed straight into the front of my Bugatti Veyron. The driver scrambled out, hands raised in apology.
“I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to—”
“You’re sorry?” I cut him off, my voice sharp with rage. “Is ‘sorry’ going to fix the bonnet of my car? Where were your damn eyes?! This isn’t even your lane!”
The man dropped to his knees, clearly aware of the price tag on my car. That’s the thing with poor people, they always think sorry fixes everything. It doesn’t. Sorry doesn’t fix shattered glass, broken trust, or a crushed hood worth millions.
Vera stepped out of the car, brows furrowed in concern. “What happened?”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. Please help me beg your husband. I didn’t mean to bash his car. It was a mistake,” the van driver pleaded.
Husband?
I was certain she was thinking the same thing. Do we even look like a couple?
“Jack,” she said gently, “it’s just a minor crash. He’s already apologised and admitted he was at fault. I think you should let him go.”
That comment lit a fire inside me. Who is she to tell me what to do?
This—this—is exactly why I keep people out of my life. Why I shut my family out. I hate it when people try to dictate how I should feel or act. This is my life, my property, my car. No one gets a say.
“He smashed my car, and you’re telling me to let him go? Was he blind? Do you know how much it’ll cost to repair this thing?!” I yelled.
She flinched. I swear I heard a whimper escape her lips.
“I know it’s expensive,” she said, trembling, “but shouldn’t we be thankful no one got hurt? A car doesn’t cost more than a life, Jackson!”
And then I snapped.
“It does!” I roared. “This car costs more than your damned, wretched life!”
The words hit her like bullets.
Her eyes froze. Tears welled instantly. I saw it, the exact moment her heart shattered.
God. What have I done?
It wasn’t just one word, it was two, soul-ripping words that should never have been spoken.
I reached for her, regret surging through me, but she pulled back.
“No. Don’t touch me,” she said, voice hollow, pushing my hand away.
I braced myself for her to run. She should. I wouldn’t blame her. I was a monster, a cruel, broken mess who ruined everything he touched.
She didn’t run, though.
She walked back into the car, calmly, without looking at me, and sat down. Tears rolled down her face, but she didn’t make a sound. Her silence was louder than any scream.
Why isn’t she leaving? Why the hell won’t she leave?
"Hey, mister! What’s going on here?" a young officer asked, walking up to us.
Max, always reliable, stepped forward. “No problem here, sir. Everything’s fine.”
“Then clear the road,” another officer added. “This is a public street, not your parking lot.”
“Max, let’s get out of here,” I muttered, climbing back into the car, fuming…at them, at myself, at everything.
As we pulled away, guilt clung to me like smoke. I hated this part. Apologizing. Admitting I was wrong. That wasn’t something I did, ever.
But what I’d said… what I’d done...
She was in tears because of me. A woman who had given her body, her time, her peace just to help me, and I turned around and crushed her spirit.
When we arrived at the mansion, I jumped out even before the car fully stopped and rushed to her door.
She stepped down quietly, eyes dry now, but still not looking at me. She walked straight into the house like I didn’t exist.
I followed her, desperate to say something, anything, but I was stopped at the door.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Mrs. Briggs said, wringing her hands. “He kept insisting on seeing you. I couldn’t hold him back.”
Tim.
I swallowed hard as my son ran up and wrapped his arms around Vera.
She didn’t push him away. She didn’t show the hurt still carved into her chest. If it had been me, I’d have shoved the boy aside. But not her. She held it together, for him.
“Thanks for helping my dad,” Tim said, clinging to her legs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I’m glad you made him feel better.”
Vera bent down, mustering a smile as she met his gaze. “You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. Just promise to smile often and stay cheerful. That’s the best way to show you’re grateful, okay?”
“But your eyes are red,” he said, concerned. “Were you crying?”
She laughed softly, brushing the moment away. “Look at you! Such a smart little man. Don’t worry, grown-ups don’t cry. Something just entered my eye when I was packing earlier.”
“Packing? Wait, does that mean you’re going to stay with us? Me and Daddy?!”
“Yep! My bag is—”
“Let’s go get it! I’m so excited!” he shouted, running out the door.
She followed him, still pretending I wasn’t standing right there.
I watched them go, heart pounding with shame.
“Sounds great,” Mrs. Briggs said quickly, slipping past me. “I beg to take my leave now, sir.”
She was gone before I could say anything.
Now I was alone in the doorway, watching a woman who should’ve left… choose to stay.
And I didn’t deserve an ounce of it.