Chapter 36 Boundaries
Breakfast that same morning with Jack felt like a performance neither of us had rehearsed for.
The kitchen was flooded with the morning light, which was pale and almost forgiving, like it hadn’t subscribed to the awkward silence that lingered between us.
I hated the silence but I liked it at the same time.
Plates sat between us, food growing cold as we moved things around with our forks more than we actually ate. The clink of cutlery against porcelain sounded too loud in the quiet.
Even the coffee machine seemed to hum carefully, as if aware it was intruding.
Layla had barely left ten minutes earlier, but her presence still clung to the room—the weight of board minutes, bylaws, and my father’s fingerprints all over everything.
Then I broke the silence first.
“Layla came around earlier,” I said, my voice steady in a way that surprised me. “She informed me that Conrad already made a move. He’s started carrying out his threats.”
Jack didn’t look up right away. He took a slow sip of coffee, then set the mug down with deliberate care. That alone told me he wasn’t surprised.
“He called an emergency board meeting late at night,” I continued, pushing forward because stopping would only give the silence teeth. “Used a founder’s clause in the bylaws. Neither of us were invited or was supposed to attend.”
Now, he looked at me.
“Mark’s been given oversight of Special Projects,” I added. “A trial phase. Fresh leadership and legacy talk...” My mouth twisted. “You know the script.”
Jack nodded once, like this was a puzzle piece clicking neatly into place. “I figured it’d start there.”
That stung more than I expected.
“I know pretty well you expected that,” I said quietly.
“I just… anticipated.” He replied.
We fell back into silence, it was heavier this time—even more awkward and fragile. The kind that made every unspoken thought press against my ribs.
No doubt, I was tempted to talk about last night but I remembered that I was the one who proposed to pretend last night never happened.
I watched his hands on the table which was steady, controlled—and wondered how much he was holding back—how much he always held back.
Then he moved.
He stood, walked to the counter, and picked up a tablet I hadn’t noticed sitting there. When he came back, he didn’t sit immediately. He held it out to me instead.
“You need to see this,” he said.
I took it, my fingers brushing his briefly, and the contact sent an unexpected jolt through me like my body was on fire. I resisted the urge to bite my lower lip.
The screen lit up to a series of documents—emails, transaction logs, correspondence that had been scrubbed and redacted but not erased well enough.
“What am I looking at?” I asked, scrolling slowly.
“Recovered archive material,” Jack said. “Stuff someone thought was buried for good, I and my team managed to retrieve it.”
I paused on a particular thread. “Mark’s guardian overseas…” I murmured, reading aloud.
“Had connections to one of Conrad’s offshore assets,” Jack finished. “Same asset Mia’s been routing information through.”
My stomach twisted. This was further confirmation that my father wanted me out of the company.
“It’s all too neat,” he continued. “Too symmetrical to be coincidence.”
I leaned back in my chair, the tablet suddenly feeling heavier than it should have. My hands were numb and cold now.
“You think Mark planned this all along?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
Jack nodded. “I think he knew enough to step into the path when it opened.”
“And my father?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
Jack’s jaw tightened. “He’s definitely still pulling the strings, retirement be damned.”
The words settled between us like dust after a collapse.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The morning light shifted, climbing higher and harsher.
Outside, the world continued like nothing was wrong. Like my family wasn’t slowly turning into a battlefield.
Then Jack spoke again.
“I believe Mark is playing his own game,” he said carefully. “But your father?” He met my eyes. “He’s the sole architect.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, I needed no further convincing to know that.
“My mother warned me,” I said. “She said I should never forget who my father was.”
Jack studied my face, like he really looked at me, like he was trying to see past the title, past the bloodline, past the war. “And who are you, Elena?”
A beat passed.
The question hit harder than any accusation, I wasn't expecting he'd ask that.
I looked down at the tablet in my hands, at the proof of manipulation and legacy and rot. At the evidence that my life had been shaped by forces long before I was old enough to fight back.
“I’m still the woman you met at the bar that day..." I said quietly as I stood up and handed back his tablet to him. "The woman who’s done being a pawn,” I said.
Our eyes locked.
Jack nodded slowly, something like relief—and something like resolve—crossing his face.
"Elena...look, about last night..."
"Shhh..." I cut him off with my index finger against his lips. "I don't want to talk about what happened last night. At least, not for now—"
"But—"
I shook my head at him as he circled my waist with one hand.
"No buts Jack." I said as our breaths flushed our faces. "Like I said, let's just pretend that last night never happened."
But it did, I just wasn't in the right headspace to talk about it.
His expression softened but he still looked like he wanted to protest. Then he caressed my cheek with his thumb.
"I'm sorry about those horrible things your father said to you—" Jack's thumb slowly traced my lips.
"Don't be," I looked away from him but he slowly guided my eyes to look back at him.
"You didn't deserve that..." he muttered and then my eyes lingered on his lips.
"I want to kiss you so badly—" He sucked in a breath.
Me too. I thought.
"Jack..." I clasped my eyes shut. "I said we're going to keep things professional." When I opened my eyes, his lips were only an inch away from mine. My legs wobbled.
"Screw that—" he whispered. "You want this, we both do..."
Before I could counter his words, he pressed his lips against mine and immediately, his tongue fought for dominance.
But I wouldn't be Elena Vale if I couldn't keep to my words. So I pressed my hands against his chest to push him away from me.
"No, Jack." my voice was soft, too soft to be mine. "I meant what I said about keeping things professional between us." I sighed softly. "I'll head to the office." I said and moved away from him but he held my hand to stop me.
A beat passed.
"I understand what you mean by keeping things professional but at least let me ask you this..." he said but I kept my back to him. "Do you deny our attraction for each other?"
I pressed my lips into a thin line for a moment before I turned to face him and then his hand fell back to his side.
I silently swore that those dark orbs of his could swallow me whole, maybe because it held secrets in them.
"We've fought side by side for weeks Jack, so it'd be unreasonable for me to deny it." I whispered the last part as I turned and walked away.
Later that afternoon, the atrium felt too open, and too exposed—glass stretching upward like a cathedral built for power instead of prayer. Voices echoed—footsteps overlapped.
The hum of Vale Corp went on, indifferent to the fact that my family was quietly tearing itself apart inside these walls.
Mark stood near the center of it all, exactly where he always seemed to end up lately as if he belonged there by default.
Then something in me hardened.
I didn’t hesitate. I crossed the floor with purpose, heels striking marble in sharp, decisive beats. When I stopped in front of him, he turned as if he’d sensed me coming.
I kept my voice level, calm enough to fool anyone listening from a distance.
“I know what you’re doing.”
Mark didn’t flinch. He didn’t even pretend to be caught off guard, his lips curved faintly, more curious than defensive. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I said. “You inserted yourself into this company like you owned it.”
He exhaled a soft laugh, almost amused, and tilted his head.
“Technically,” he said lightly, “I’m a Vale.”
The words landed heavier than he intended—or maybe exactly as he intended. My shoulders stiffened despite myself.
“So that’s what this is to you?” I asked. “A takeover?”
His expression changed then. It wasn't smug or calculating, it was something that felt quieter—almost… tired.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t come to take it from you, Elena. I came to earn what I was denied.”
I crossed my arms, refusing to let him see the flicker of doubt that stirred in my chest.
“And what’s that?”
“A seat at the table,” he said, a little too quickly like it had been lodged in his throat for years, waiting to be said.
For a moment, I didn’t trust myself to speak. Then I gave a thin smile that didn’t touch my eyes.
“In that case,” I said coolly, “good for you then.”
I turned and walked past him.
I’d taken maybe three steps when his voice followed me.
“Elena, wait.”
I stopped, my back to him, jaw tight.
“You’ve been with Conrad longer than I have,” he continued.
I turned slowly, irritation flaring. “What exactly are you getting at?”
He hesitated, and that alone unsettled me more than his confidence ever had.
“About yesterday,” he said. “At dinner…”
“I don’t want to talk about that night,” I cut in sharply. “Especially not with you.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I know how you must feel about me. And hell—I don’t even know what you’ve been through. I don’t know you.” He paused, then added, quieter, “But I just have one quick question.”
Against my better judgment, I didn’t walk away.
“Is that how he does it?” Mark asked. “Is that how our father uses people? Their pasts and their weaknesses are used as a weapon against them?”
I looked away from him then, my gaze drifting up toward the glass ceiling where sunlight fractured into sharp angles. My chest felt tight. There were too many memories pressing forward—doors closing softly, voices lowering, love turning into leverage.
I considered lying.
But instead, I nodded once.
“Yes,” I said. “Conrad would use anything and anyone as long as it benefits him. His family is no exception.” I met his eyes again, my voice clipped. “There. That’s your quick answer.”
Mark went quiet, like really quiet. The kind that wasn’t performative. His brow furrowed slightly, his attention turning inward, like a man reprocessing years of carefully arranged belief.
I watched him for a second longer than I meant to. Then bitterness rose up, sharp and unavoidable.
“But good for you,” I added. “That father is suddenly on your side. He’s backing you instead of breaking you.” I forced a small, cutting smile. “Must be because he’s finally trying to make it up to you for being his 'long-lost' heir.”
His mouth opened, like he wanted to argue or explain, or maybe confess something I wasn’t ready to hear. But I didn’t give him the chance.
I turned and walked away, my pulse pounding, my thoughts tangled and furious.