Chapter 33 Inevitable
The engagement had ended, but its echoes still lingered.
Morning light spilled across the glassy surface of the pool at Jaxon’s penthouse, turning the water into sheets of silver and blue.
The city below was already awake—cars humming, buildings breathing—but up here, everything felt suspended, too quiet for a night that had been anything but calm.
Jaxon stood by the pool in a dark robe, his hands resting on the cool railing as his thoughts drifted unwillingly back to Elena.
To the way she had looked under the ballroom lights. To the way she had spoken to Caleb without fear. To the way the word alliance had begun to feel heavier than a contract.
“Sir.”
He turned to see one of the maids standing a few steps away, her posture polite but cautious.
“Mr. Wentworth is in the study,” she said. “He asked to see you.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened. His father had not informed him of any visit.
“I’ll be there,” he replied calmly.
Moments later, he made his way down the quiet hallway, the silk of his robe brushing against polished floors.
The study door was ajar. He pushed it open.
His father stood by the bookshelf, a hardback novel in his hand, completely at ease—as though this penthouse belonged to him as much as it did to Jaxon.
“Father,” Jaxon said.
Without looking up, his father smiled faintly.
“Have you read this book? April.” He turned it over in his hands, admiring the cover. “Brilliant writing. I couldn’t put it down.”
Jaxon closed the door behind him. “What brings you here Father?”
His father finally faced him, eyes sharp, assessing. “Last night was a success.”
Jaxon nodded once. “I agree.”
“The press loved it. The guests were convinced. The Montclairs were pleased.” He paused, then added, “Everything went exactly as planned.”
A silence settled between them, thick and deliberate.
“Which is why,” his father continued, setting the book down, “Elena should move in here.”
The words landed heavily.
Jaxon straightened. “What?”
“She should come and live here,” his father repeated, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.
Jaxon frowned. “Why? She’s supposed to move in after the wedding.”
His father studied him for a long moment, disappointment flickering briefly across his features.
“I thought I taught you better than this,” he said coolly. “Don’t you understand how strategy works?”
Jaxon opened his mouth to respond, but his father cut him off.
“The faster we close in on the deal, the better it is for everyone involved,” he said. “Public perception matters. Unity matters. Distance invites doubt.”
Jaxon tried to speak—tried to argue—but no words came. He always felt frightened by his father's demeanor.
Satisfied, his father reached for his coat. As he walked toward the door, he glanced around the study with a critical eye.
“And change the interior design of this place,” he added casually. “Add some color. It’s dull. Predictable.”
Then he left.
The door closed softly behind him, leaving Jaxon standing alone in the quiet room, the weight of the decision settling slowly but firmly on his shoulders.
Elena living here wasn’t just a suggestion.
It was inevitable.
Elena stood at the center of the design floor, her attention fixed on the spread of patterns laid out before her. Soft fabrics in varying hues were draped over long tables—ivory silks, muted gold satins, deep emerald chiffons—each one marked with pins and chalk lines.
She moved slowly, deliberately, her sharp eyes catching every imbalance, every flaw.
“This curve is too aggressive,” she said calmly, tapping a pattern with her finger. “It needs to flow, not fight the fabric.”
Brielle nodded beside her, holding another sketch. “And this bead placement is off. It’ll weigh the dress down.”
They walked together from one designer to another, offering critiques, suggestions, quiet encouragement. Each member of the pattern team stood proudly with their work in hand, listening intently as Elena and Brielle assessed every detail. The atmosphere was focused, respectful—creative energy buzzing through the room.
When they were done, Elena turned toward her office, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Her secretary followed closely behind, arms full of sketch folders and order forms.
“Mia,” Elena said without slowing, “have the bead orders from Singapore arrived?”
“Yes,” Mia replied promptly. “They’ll be ready for pickup by six this evening.”
“Good,” Elena said. “Make sure they’re picked up today and sent straight to the beading department. That piece needs to be finished before the end of the week.”
“Of course.”
As they walked, Mia smiled warmly. “And… congratulations on your engagement.”
Elena offered a small, composed smile. “Thank you.”
They reached her office. Elena pushed the glass door open—and stopped short.
Jaxon was sitting behind her desk.
In her chair.
Relaxed. Unbothered. Entirely out of place.
Elena slowly turned her head toward Mia. “Could you come back later?”
Mia hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”
The door closed behind her, sealing the room in silence.
Elena took a few measured steps forward, her expression controlled but sharp. “What are you doing here?” she asked coolly. “Have you forgotten one of our rules? Maintain boundaries. Respect privacy.”
Jaxon rose from the chair with infuriating calm. He moved closer—too close—then bent slightly so his voice was low, intimate.
“They’re watching,” he murmured, one hand settling lightly at her waist. “They expect to see the perfect couple.”
It was only then that it hit her.
The walls.
Glass.
Every single one.
Elena inhaled slowly, schooling her reaction. She leaned back against the desk instead, crossing her arms. “So,” she said evenly, “what brings you here?”
Jaxon straightened. “My father wants you to move in.”
The words stunned her.
“What?” She stared at him. “Why? We’re not even officially married yet.”
“I said the same thing,” he replied. “But he believes it’ll make things more convincing.”
Elena exhaled, a quiet groan slipping past her lips before she caught herself. Her composure snapped back into place almost immediately.
“I knew this would happen,” she said tightly. “Just not this soon.”
“I came to tell you,” Jaxon said.
She arched a brow. “Seriously? You came all the way here for that? You could’ve just called.”
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, placing it neatly on her desk. “I also came to give you the rules.”
Elena scoffed softly. “I think I should be the one setting rules,” she said. “I’m the one being forced into this.”
“It’s my house,” Jaxon replied coolly. “My rules.”
Before she could respond, he stepped closer again. His hand settled at her lower back, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“I can’t leave without a kiss,” he murmured. “What would everyone think?”
There was no kiss.
Just the threat of one.
Then he straightened, turned, and walked out.
Elena remained where she was, staring at her reflection in the glass wall, the city stretching endlessly beyond it—wide, beautiful, and suddenly very confining.