Chapter 42 Sketches
Morning had arrived quietly, dressed in a pale wash of light that filtered through the tall glass windows of the penthouse dining room. The city beyond was already awake—cars gliding along the streets below, distant horns echoing faintly—but inside the house, everything felt suspended, as though time itself had decided to pause.
Elena sat alone at the dining table, cutleries resting delicately in her hands. She was dressed with her usual effortless elegance: a three-quarter oxblood printed skirt that hugged her waist and flowed gently over her knees, paired with a flowered turtleneck blouse with long sleeves that softened her sharp, poised silhouette. Her hair was drawn back into a neat ponytail, exposing her neck and the calm composure she worked so hard to maintain.
She stared at her plate, though she barely tasted the food before her.
Her mind was elsewhere—lost in fragments of the night before. Jaxon’s voice lingered in her memory, low and restrained, yet dangerously intimate. I don’t know how long I can continue to play by the rules. The words replayed endlessly, each repetition tightening something in her chest. She had never been one to let emotions dictate her actions, yet lately, control felt like something that was slipping through her fingers.
She took a slow breath, steadying herself.
Then footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
Jaxon appeared at the entrance of the dining room, dressed in a sharp corporate suit tailored flawlessly to his frame. Every detail was deliberate—his cufflinks glinting faintly, his watch snug around his wrist, his posture controlled and unreadable. He looked exactly like the man the world knew: confident, untouchable, composed.
They did not greet each other.
He took his seat across from her without a word. A maid appeared almost instantly, placing his breakfast before him with quiet efficiency before retreating. The silence that followed was heavy, stretched taut by unspoken thoughts and unresolved tension.
“Rough night, huh?” Elena asked at last, her voice even, her eyes still fixed on her plate.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Jaxon replied, reaching for his fork.
“Not that I’m worrying,” she said calmly. “I’m just asking.”
“Well…” He paused, then added with restrained irritation, “you can stop asking.”
The words landed sharply between them.
Silence returned, thicker than before. The only sounds were the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain and the distant hum of the house coming to life.
After a moment, Jaxon spoke again. “My mom wants us to have dinner at the estate tonight.”
“Okay,” Elena replied without hesitation.
“I’ll have to clear my schedule when I get to the office,” she added, placing her fork down.
“Good. I’ll come pick you up at five.”
“I can come on my own,” Elena countered evenly. “There’s no need—”
“What will they think when we pull up in different vehicles?” he cut in. “No objections. I’m not giving my parents a reason to start throwing questions at me.”
Elena opened her mouth to respond, then stopped herself. She rose from her seat instead.
“Well, I’ll be heading to work,” she said simply, and walked away.
The drive to work was quiet, the city unfolding before her in familiar patterns of glass, steel, and movement. Elena pulled into the garage of the Wentworth estate building later that morning, exhaling deeply as the engine died down. She lingered for a moment, gripping the steering wheel as if grounding herself.
She grabbed her black Hermès bag, stepped out of the car, and locked it with a soft beep.
The elevator ride up felt longer than usual.
When the doors finally opened to her floor, she stepped into the calm precision of her workspace—a place that had always felt like a sanctuary. Today, however, even that comfort seemed distant.
Hours passed unnoticed.
Sketches lay scattered across her desk, each one started with intention and abandoned halfway through. Elena prided herself on originality; she drew every design herself, every line deliberate, every curve intentional. That was what made her work distinctive. Yet today, no matter how hard she tried, something was missing.
She pressed her palms to her temples, eyes closing briefly.
Jaxon.
The memory of his nearness intruded uninvited—his breath warm against her skin, the intensity of his gaze, the restraint that seemed to vibrate beneath the surface. She shook her head slightly, as though that might drive the thoughts away.
The door opened.
“El,” Brielle’s voice chimed brightly as she stepped inside.
“Brielle… hey,” Elena replied, forcing a smile.
“What are you doing?” Brielle asked, taking a seat opposite her.
“I’m trying to create some designs,” Elena said, gesturing toward the papers. “For the Belelé clients.”
“And how’s that going?” Brielle asked, lifting one of the sketches and studying it closely.
“I’m not getting anywhere,” Elena admitted.
“Well, maybe you just need to rest and relax.”
“Yeah,” Elena sighed. “I guess so.”
Brielle tilted her head thoughtfully. “So… tell me about the wedding.”
Elena leaned back slightly. “Oh...that,Our parents want to finalize everything. Seal the engagement. Jaxon and I agreed to go through with it so the contract can finally end.”
“And are you fine with that?” Brielle asked gently."the wedding?"
“Yes,” Elena answered after a pause. “I just want my life back.”
“Well, if you’re okay with it, then so am I,” Brielle said. Then, hesitating, she added, “But don’t you think you might grow feelings for him?”
“Elena exhaled slowly. “Jaxon is not someone who falls in love. He’s secretive, a playboy, and I’m not supposed to pry.”
“The rules,” Brielle said knowingly.
“I heard him scream last night,” Elena added quietly. “I think he had a nightmare. I tried asking him this morning, but he shut me out.”
“Maybe he’ll tell you when he’s ready,” Brielle suggested.
“It’s not like I’m worried,” Elena said quickly. “I just need to get myself together for dinner tonight at his parents place.”
“Dinner?” Brielle smiled. “Nice. Tell me everything later but now I'm going to pick up something at the fabric floor.”
That evening, a black limousine pulled up to the Wentworth estate, its polished exterior reflecting the warm glow of the estate lights. Elena stepped out beside Jaxon, her posture poised, her expression calm.
“You really didn’t need to pick me up,” she whispered.
“We already talked about this,” Jaxon replied quietly.
Inside, Eleanor Wentworth greeted them with radiant enthusiasm. “Oh, Elena, my darling,” she exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. “You look wonderful.”
Dinner was soon served beneath crystal chandeliers, the long table set with precision and elegance. Conversation flowed easily at first—discussions of business, art, and upcoming events—but beneath it all, something unspoken lingered.
Then a guard approached Richard Wentworth. “He’s here, sir.”
Richard nodded. “Send him in.”
Jaxon frowned slightly. “Are we expecting someone else?”
The doors opened.
“Mr. Caleb Donovan,” Richard announced.
Caleb stepped forward, impeccably dressed, a slow smile curving his lips. His eyes flicked briefly to Elena, then to Jaxon, lingering just a moment too long.
“Well,” Caleb said smoothly, “this is quite the gathering.”
The air shifted instantly.
Elena felt it—the subtle tightening, the way Jaxon’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. Caleb Donovan was not a man who appeared without purpose. His reputation preceded him: charming, ruthless, and dangerously intelligent.
“Please,” Eleanor said politely, gesturing to an empty seat. “Join us.”
Caleb took his place, his gaze never quite leaving Jaxon. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” Richard replied evenly. “Your timing is impeccable.”
As dinner continued, Caleb’s presence loomed large. He spoke easily, offering polished remarks and clever observations, yet his eyes constantly assessed, measured.
“So,” Caleb said eventually, swirling the wine in his glass, “I hear congratulations are in order.”
Elena stiffened slightly.
“Yes,” Eleanor said eagerly. “The wedding will be finalized soon.”
Caleb’s smile widened. “How delightful. An alliance like this—powerful, strategic, beautiful.”
His gaze flicked to Elena again, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.
Jaxon’s jaw tightened.
Elena met Caleb’s gaze calmly, refusing to be unsettled. Yet somewhere deep within her, a quiet unease took root.
Because she knew—without a doubt—that Caleb Donovan had not come simply to congratulate them.