Chapter 38 What We Want
My mind has been clouded with the thought of the leverage my father could possibly have over Jack. Whatever it was, a part of me knew it would hurt me deeply.
Because I was already in love with Jack, a reckless emotion I shouldn't let cloud my senses in the first place.
Sunlight streamed into my office in long unforgiving bands. From the outside, it must have looked like any other productive morning but something had already splintered inside of me.
My eyes landed on the envelope lying on my desk, figuring it hadn’t been there earlier before I stepped out for a brief meeting with Finance, I picked it up.
There was no return address or company seal, just my name is black ink and bold letters.
I stood there for a few seconds longer than necessary, my breath felt shallow and measured, as if my body already knew what my mind was trying to deny. Half of me expected the envelope to explode into something ugly the moment I touched it—maybe threats, demands, reminders of sins that never stayed buried for long in this family or even the idea of the leverage that hunted me.
But when I opened it slowly, a paper inside slid out without resistance. It was just a photograph.
An old black and white picture, worn down by years of handling, being folded and unfolded, and passed from one set of hands to another. Whoever had sent it hadn’t printed it looked like an original or something close to it.
My brow furrowed as I lifted it into the light.
And then my stomach dropped, Conrad Vale stood at the center of the frame. He looked younger and beside him stood a man that I didn't recognize.
The man stood a little too close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed and my father—wasn’t wearing his usual stone-cold detachment. His mouth was set in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t indifference either. His eyes held a softness I’d rarely seen directed at anyone. Well, certainly not at me.
I knew it in my bones that the man wasn’t just a business associate.
I leaned back in my chair slowly, the leather creaking beneath my weight, the photo still held between my fingers as my mind raced through mental archives but the man’s face belonged nowhere.
Was he an ally?
A weapon my father had once sharpened and hidden away?
Or worse—another son?
The thought sent a sharp and sudden cold chill down my spine. So I folded the photograph carefully and slid it into my desk drawer, turning the key with a decisive click before doubt could convince me otherwise.
Just after noon, Jack and I crossed paths in the corridor outside the Legal department.
I was walking briskly, a file clutched to my chest like armor, my heels striking the floor with more force than necessary in order to keep my thoughts from spiraling too far inward.
Jack approached from the opposite direction, phone in one hand, his focus clearly elsewhere—until he saw me.
My heart did a double take.
We both slowed instinctively like magnets resisting and yielding at the same time.
“Hey,” he said.
His voice was soft, but there was weight behind it.
“Hey,” I replied too quickly and cursed myself for it.
His eyes searched my face quietly like he was reading something written between the lines. “You okay?”
I nodded quickly—it was stupid—like a nervous school girl.
“Just… a lot this morning,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie, it was just incomplete.
He looked like he wanted to say something more before he decided against it, and then something flickered across his face.
Well, I did the same.
I thought against the idea of telling him about the photograph locked away in my drawer.
It was like all the things we didn’t say hovered between us—taut and fragile like invisible wires pulled tight enough to snap if either of us leaned the wrong way.
Then he brushed past me, his hand grazing mine just briefly. The contact was light, almost accidental but it lingered.
I stood there long after he disappeared around the corner, my heart thudding softly against my ribs.
Then it all started with a glance in the elevator.
I was stepping in just as Jack was stepping out, both of us moving on instinct, neither expecting the other—and then we froze.
The doors stayed open longer than they should have, like the building itself had stalled to watch us make a decision.
For a single suspended beat, the world around us narrowed. Then I saw it first—how tired he looked. It was definitely not the kind that sleep would fix but the kind that pierce deep into the bones.
The silence between us wasn't really awkward, but it was full of everything neither of us had said out loud.
Then the doors slid shut, I exhaled only after the elevator began to move.
Later, in the conference room, we sat across from each other at opposite ends of the long table.
Executive speeches, numbers were projected, strategy was dissected with cold precision— it was basically just another meeting. But every time my eyes lifted, they found Jack's and every time they did, the room blurred a fraction.
It was all getting to me. I even caught the smallest movement of his fingers twitching under the table, like restraint wasn’t coming easily. My chest tightened every time our gazes brushed, a sharp pull low and aching, like my body was reacting faster than my mind could intervene.
I took notes I wouldn’t remember later on and nodded at things I didn’t fully process. Damn—I was distracted and clearly out of my mind because all I could feel was the steady awareness of him across the table.
By the time the meeting ended, the tension between us felt unbearable like a stupid wire stretched too tight.
The drive home was worse.
Jack’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, I noticed his pale knuckles. We still didn't speak to each other.
He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him. The city lights passed outside the windows in streaks of white and gold, and I traced meaningless patterns against my thigh, trying to quiet the storm inside my head.
When will this damn drive end? I was suffocating now.
By the time the car pulled into the garage, my nerves were humming and the moment the penthouse door clicked shut behind us...
We broke.
I turned and Jack was already there in front of me before the space between us vanished in a heartbeat, like it had never existed at all.
His mouth met mine with a force that stole the air from my lungs, as a result weeks of restraint and confusion and unspoken need crashing together all at once. There was nothing careful about it.
I felt his hands at my back, grounding and urgent, and I clung to him like the world outside the walls no longer mattered. Then
we moved without thinking, guided by instinct more than intention, shedding the weight of the day as we crossed the space toward the bedroom with his lips still on mine.
He got rid of my top while I fiddled his shirt buttons with trembling hands.
Every touch felt like a truth we didn't dare to voice out.
At some point, I pressed my forehead to his, my eyes burning, and my voice unsteady.
“I don’t know where this ends,” I whispered.
Jack cupped my cheek, his thumb brushed my skin like a promise rather than a demand.
“Then don’t think about the end,” he said quietly. “Just stay with me.”
He claimed my lips once again and I finally got to push back his shirt off of him. When his lips traced the linings of my neck, I rolled my eyes like an idiot.
"Jack..." His name died in my throat when he got rid of my skirt and spun me around with my back to him.