Chapter 3 Whispers Behind Us
It was the way Jack held the letter like it might combust in his hands.
I watched his fingers tighten slowly around the paper, his knuckles whitening, jaw locking in that way men do when they’re bracing for impact instead of reacting to it.
The Vale crest at the top of the letter glinted faintly under the kitchen lights—my family’s seal, elegant and merciless. Conrad’s signature at the bottom looked exactly like him... decisive and final. A threat disguised as formality. I knew that my father would stop at nothing to get what he wants and I was equally resolute.
Like father like daughter bullshit but I was far different from him.
I folded my arms, more to steady myself than to look composed. “Is it true?”
Jack didn’t look up. “Which part?”
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t have to. The silence carried the question for me—the version of him that existed before tailored suits and charm, before he was my husband in name and something far more complicated in reality.
Finally, he met my gaze.
“Yes,” he said. “I hacked for money. I did dirty and crazy things underground and in the hood. Took jobs from people who didn’t ask questions. I broke into things I shouldn’t have. I got caught. I cut a deal. I turned legit overnight.”
I absorbed that quietly and allowed it to settle.
“And now you run a cybersecurity firm,” I said.
He nodded. “One that your father and Richard Harrow have been trying to dismantle from the inside out.”
I turned away and paced the living room, heels clicking sharply against marble. Each step felt like a countdown. “You should have told me.” I muttered.
“I didn’t think we were trading childhood trauma and felonies,” he shot back, not unkindly. “This started as a transaction, Elena. It's all in the past and obviously your father has now decided to hunt me with it.”
A transaction, it seems everything with me starts that way. Besides we agreed to not share our past. The thought stung more than his words, it wasn’t his fault and I couldn't blame me either for picking a random tattooed guy at the bar to be my husband.
I clasped my eyes shut at the thought anyway.
“You want me to trust you?” I said. “Then you have to give me the whole story.”
Jack exhaled and leaned against the counter, his casualness was forced now. “Four years ago, I exposed a corporate cover-up. A dangerous one. They paid me to bury it. It wasn’t clean, but it saved lives. Your father tried to hire me right after but I refused.”
So he'd known my father before now.
My stomach tightened. “So this is revenge?”
He nodded like he was uncertain. “On both sides.”
Something clicked then. Not just about rebellion or my attempt at retaliation... It was the fact that my father had built my life like a machine—precise, controlled, and designed to serve his vision. But the fact that Jack had once tried to tear a piece of that machinery apart.
And now we were tangled together inside it.
Did I mess it all up? Did I choose the wrong man for this rebellious course?
The next event came too quickly—a Vale Global board meeting meant to introduce my husband to key stakeholders. It's majorly for performance, then a warning before it was ever a test for something that was necessary.
Normally, I walked into those rooms alone.
But this time, Jack walked beside me with a peek of his tattooed arms glaring at anyone who dared to stare or judge.
He wore navy, sharp and understated. I wore scarlet—structured, deliberate, impossible to ignore. When we entered the glass conference room together, the message was unmistakable: united front.
My father sat at the head of the table, fingers tapping softly. His smile never reached his eyes.
“Welcome, Mr. Roman,” he said.
“My pleasure,” Jack replied, smooth as glass.
But I just acknowledged my father with a slight nod and smiled like he didn't send over a threat.
The meeting dragged, but Jack watched everything with a confident smirk on his face. The whispers, vibes, and the shifts. He avoided gazes. When we finally stepped out, I muttered, “That smirk of yours is going to get you killed.”
He grinned. “You noticed the whispers.”
“I did.”
“I think your father’s planning a move,” he said quietly. “That next vote at the stakeholders meeting won’t go your way unless we act with strategy and fast.”
That night, I confronted my father.
“You’re trying to push me out?” I said with a slight tilt of my head as I watched him.
“You embarrassed this family, threw the Vale surname in mud with your rebellious actions.” Conrad said coolly. “And aligned yourself with a criminal.”
“Or your worst fear,” I snapped. “Someone I chose.”
For me.
He called me all sorts of names—crazy, impulsive, emotional, reckless—name it. But I didn't care.
Then I told him I’d already been running his empire silently for years on my terms. But now, I was an esteemed member of the board—a capable heir at that. But not like he'd ever find anything I did worthy of praise.
Then again, we both knew the truth hurt. He had controlled my life long enough for me to spit at his face. I hated his guts, especially after what he did to my late mother.
When I arrived at the penthouse, Jack stood on the balcony, city lights flickering beneath him like secrets waiting to surface.
“You were right,” I admitted immediately.
“That’s rare,” he teased.
“My father’s calling for a re-vote. He wants me off the board as if I'm a damn plague.” I sighed exasperatedly.
Jack nodded once, he looked calm like he had everything under control. “Then we have to hit back.”
“With what?” I raised a brow.
He placed a USB drive on the counter. “With Information.”
The USB held emails, shell companies and wire transfers linking Richard Harrow and my father. The weight of it made my hands shake.
Maybe Jack isn't the wrong husband after all.
“You were digging into my father this whole time?” I asked like I'd lost my voice.
“I never stopped actually,” he said. “I started after I backed out of his offer years ago like I mentioned, the least I expected was it to come in handy now. At first, it was for survival but now—” He paused. “Now it’s for you.”
I swallowed the lump at the back of my throat. Something shifted inside me then. I’d thought marrying him was a rebellious chess move.
Now I wasn’t sure what game I was playing.
At the next gala, the whispers followed us—but they’d changed. No longer is it real? but how deep does it go?
Jack kissed my hand sweetly for the cameras. I leaned into him without thinking. When we danced, I forgot the audience entirely.
In a quiet hallway later, he abruptly pressed me against the wall, his voice low. “Hush now... Elena—we’re being watched.”
My breath hitched as my gaze lingered on his lips. Would he kiss me if I asked him to? Well, it's just for show not like I genuinely wanted to have a taste of his mouth devouring mine.
“Then kiss me like it means something,” I whispered, as I clasped my eyes shut already failing to keep a steady voice.
And he did kiss me... for real. Well, it's literally for show but my stupid heart did a double take.
Our mouths moved in sync, hungry and desperate like we were trying to prove a point but at the same time, I damned the butterflies at the pit of my stomach.
And somewhere in the shadows, Richard Harrow, my ex-fiance watched probably balling his fists. But I didn't care.
The glass doors around us reflected a thousand fractured versions of the truth.
But I didn’t look away even when Jack's lips were on my neck and his fingers trailed between my thighs.