Chapter 5 A Broken Rule
I knew I had to be strong no matter what and I also knew that I had been raised to be two things my entire life: perfect and quiet.
Perfect in posture, in decisions and in silence. Quiet when things hurt, when threats whispered behind closed doors and quiet when men with too much power like my father thought they owned the air I breathed.
That night, with a single rose petal turning brown and brittle in my palm, I finally understood how heavy perfection really was. How suffocating silence could become when fear pressed its thumb against your throat.
I didn’t cry when the threat replayed itself over and over in my mind, sharp and deliberate, like it wanted to carve a permanent space there. I could still smell the faint decay of the rose, feel the way it crumbled slightly when my fingers tightened without permission.
Something in me snapped. “I want to burn him down.”
My voice didn’t shake. That was the most terrifying part. It came out low, controlled, and steady in a way I barely recognized. It sounded like a woman who had already decided there was no going back.
Jack didn’t ask who.
There was only one man arrogant enough to leave roses as warnings. Only one man desperate enough to remind me that he still believed he could control the board, the company—me.
Conrad Vale.
But Richard Harrow would come later.
“He’s scared,” Jack said calmly, like he was discussing weather patterns instead of warfare. “This is a power play. He’s losing his grip, so now he’s going scorched earth.”
I lifted my eyes to his, and something dark and determined reflected back at me. “Then I believe it's time to meet him in the fire.”
The next three days blurred into a silent war fought behind screens, walls, and carefully chosen words. Not with shouting and drama but with precision.
Jack vanished into the digital underworld like it was second nature. Old Harrow Tech servers, encrypted contracts buried under years of corporate reshuffling, I watched him connect dots that had been intentionally scattered—offshore accounts, shell companies, names I remembered hearing murmured during my father’s private meetings.
Men who had smiled at me at galas. Men who had shaken my hand and congratulated me with eyes full of calculation. Yeah, those kind of men.
So while chaos churned beneath the surface, I found myself longing for something selfish and small. A vacation. Somewhere quiet with the kind of silence that wasn’t strategic. A place where my mind could breathe without calculating ten steps ahead.
Instead, I moved. I infiltrated the board quietly, and efficiently. I reminded members—subtly—where their shares came from. Where their loyalties should lie. I smiled in hallways, leaned in during brief exchanges, planted doubts like seeds and watered them with just enough truth to make them dangerous.
Those who had backed Conrad and Richard started shifting in their seats. Fear does that to people. It makes them reconsider where they stand.
One night, as I slipped off my heels and let the ache settle into my feet, Jack watched me with something close to awe.
“You’re terrifying when you want to be,” he whispered.
I smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I learned from the best.”
The words tasted bitter.
I stared down at my hands afterward, really looked at them. They were steady like they belonged to someone else.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked softly.
I lifted my head, opened my mouth—and immediately shut it again. The exhaustion crashed over me all at once, heavy and undeniable. I closed my eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
The lie sounded thin even to my own ears. God—I swear tears stung my eyes.
He didn’t believe me. I could feel it in the quiet way he approached, the way the mattress dipped when he squatted in front of me.
His presence grounded me more than I wanted to admit.
“Well, I don’t believe you,” he muttered.
I stared at him, my vision a little blurred. “I just feel… exhausted. And I know I shouldn’t feel that way now, not when we have to keep our heads up in this fight.” My fingers twisted together unconsciously. “But I can’t help it, Jack. I’m really exhausted.”
I didn’t intend to give off the idea of being vulnerable because I was supposed to be strong but I was totally exhausted about fighting Richard and my father. Why couldn't they leave me alone?
Heck, I've been fighting ever since I turned nine!
The tears surprised me. The way they shimmered but didn’t fall felt like my body mocking me.
Jack took my hands then, careful, like he wasn’t sure how fragile I was. He didn’t rush to fix anything, he just held me, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow reassurance. Maybe I needed that.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “And hell, I’m exhausted too.”
He chuckled softly, and despite myself, my lips curved into a thin smile.
“But you’re not alone.” His voice dropped. “We’re in this together, remember?”
I scoffed, suddenly amused by the absurdity of everything. “Is it like saying—we’re in this together until the contract do us part?”
“You can say that again.” He muttered but somehow the truth of it, hurt. Why couldn't I have anything normal?
But I laughed with him, the sound soft and much-needed, like air after being underwater too long.
When the laughter faded, my smile lingered.
“The messed-up affairs lately haven’t exactly given me the chance to compliment your beauty and bravery,” he said, half-amused, half-serious.
“Please,” I muttered, slapping his hands away as if the words themselves were too much.
“Woah,” he chuckled. “I just realized you’re allergic to compliments.”
I bit my lower lip, failing to hide my smile. “You’re crazy, Jack Roman.”
“I’ve heard worse.” His eyes softened. “But we could go on a trip. If you’d like.”
The way my brows furrowed told him everything. It felt like he had reached into my head and plucked out the very thing I’d been denying myself.
“A trip? In this mess?” I stood, pacing away, my mind pulled in two directions.
“There’s a way,” he said calmly. “If you’re open to it.”
I ran my hand through my hair, torn between responsibility and the fragile desire for rest. Jack didn’t push. He just nodded slightly.
“Think about it,” he said. “In the meantime, I prepared a bath for you.”
I stared at him. “No, you didn’t.”
His expression answered for him.
“You really did?” I laughed weakly.
“I figured it’s not a bad thing to take care of my little wife.”
“Little?”
“No offense,” he said quickly, raising his hands.
“None taken,” I replied, smiling.
“So,” he said gently. “A bath?”
“Certainly.”
For a moment, we just stood there, looking at each other. Seeking and searching and I felt naughtiness crawl into my chest.
“Care to join me?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
But regret followed instantly. I looked away, my pulse loud in my ears. “If you don’t want to—”
He was suddenly right in front of me.
The closeness stole my breath. My throat tightened as I swallowed.
“I do,” he murmured.
“O-okay.” My voice barely existed.
His gaze dropped to my lips, and I felt like I was standing on the edge of something irreversible. When his mouth brushed mine, barely there, my senses exploded.
“Jack,” I whispered like it was a sin to be this close to him.
“There’s no one here to perform for,” he breathed, his hands settling around my waist. “It’s just us.”
My heart raced. His eyes burned with want, and I tried—failed—to calm myself.
“And I understand if you want to stick to the rules,” he said softly. “If you want me to stay away—”
“No,” I cut in quickly, shaking my head. My body betrayed me, leaning into him. “I want this. I want you.”
That was all it took.
His lips claimed mine, deep and urgent, and the moan that escaped me felt like release more than desire. He pulled me against him, firm and possessive, guiding me back until my spine met the wall.
Clarity cut through the haze and red block letters flashed in my mind.
A RULE HAD BEEN BROKEN.
But somehow and in the heat of his kisses, I didn’t care.