Chapter 34 Boundaries
The door closed behind Jaxon with a soft click, but the tension he left behind lingered long after his footsteps faded down the corridor.
Elena remained where she was, standing in the middle of her office, her gaze fixed on the glass wall that overlooked the bustling design floor. People moved about with purpose outside—models, assistants, designers—completely unaware that her life had just been rearranged again, without her consent.
Slowly, she turned back to her desk.
The folded piece of paper lay there, neat and deliberate, just like the man who had placed it there.
She exhaled, then reached for it.
Elena unfolded the paper carefully and began to read.
Rules of Co-existence
No invading of personal space—physical or emotional.
Always knock before entering the other person’s room. Entry is only permitted if necessary.
Separate bedrooms. This arrangement remains non-negotiable.
Public affection is allowed when required. In private, boundaries must be respected.
No surprises in front of family, staff, or the media. All major decisions must be discussed first.
Privacy is to be protected at all costs—no personal matters are to be shared with third parties.
This remains professional until the contract expires.
At the bottom of the page was a single line, written in bold, steady handwriting.
— Jaxon A. Wentworth
Elena stared at the signature longer than she meant to.
For someone who claimed this was all pretence, the rules were meticulous. Controlled.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected—dominance, perhaps, or arrogance—but instead she found structure. Boundaries. A quiet warning that this arrangement would not spiral out of control.
At least not easily.
She folded the paper once more and placed it back on her desk, aligning it perfectly with the edge.
Then she leaned back in her chair, lips pressed together, her thoughts racing.
Living under the same roof as Jaxon Wentworth was no longer a future possibility.
It was inevitable.
Elena and Brielle met during lunch break at a quiet bistro not far from the office—one of those places that smelled like warm bread and roasted herbs.
Sunlight filtered in through tall glass windows, glinting off cutlery as waiters moved smoothly between tables.
Brielle arrived first, already seated and scrolling through her phone when Elena walked in. They exchanged a brief hug before settling into their chairs.
Menus were skimmed quickly—this wasn’t one of those lunches meant for indulgence, but for comfort. They placed their orders, and soon plates were set before them, steam curling lazily into the air.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the kind that only exists between people who are used to each other. Then Elena slowed, her fork hovering mid-air.
“Brielle,” she said quietly, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
Brielle looked up immediately. “What is it?”
Elena reached behind her, pulling out the folded sheet of paper Jaxon had left behind earlier. She slid it across the table, the paper stopping just beside Brielle’s plate.
Brielle frowned slightly, wiped her fingers with a napkin, and opened it. Her eyes skimmed through the neatly written rules—one brow arching higher than the other as she read.
“What’s this?” Brielle asked, looking up.
Elena exhaled. “He wants me to move in. Or rather—his father does.”
Brielle’s eyes widened. “What?” she blurted. “Why would he want that?”
Elena leaned back slightly, her voice steady but tired. “He thinks it’ll make everyone believe the story more. That we’re actually… in love.”
Brielle went quiet, staring at the paper again as if it might rearrange itself into something less serious. After a moment, she nodded slowly. “I mean… he’s not wrong,” she admitted. “It would look convincing. But—” she lifted her gaze, concern settling in her eyes, “do you really want to do this?”
Elena hesitated. Just for a second. Then she shook her head. “No. I don’t,” she said honestly. “But I’d rather do this than watch my father’s dream fall apart. MontLux is everything to him. I can’t be the reason he loses it.”
Brielle reached across the table without thinking, taking Elena’s hands in hers. “It’s okay, El,” she said gently. “It’s just for a while, right? And if he ever tries anything—anything at all—you tell me. Immediately.”
Elena let out a small chuckle, the tension easing slightly. “Relax. He wouldn’t dare.”
Brielle narrowed her eyes playfully. “He better not,” she said. Then she glanced down at her plate and sighed dramatically. “But please, can we continue eating? I’m starving. Like… I could swallow a whole horse right now.”
Elena laughed, genuine this time, the sound light and unguarded. “You’re unbelievable.”
They picked up their cutlery again, the weight of the conversation settling quietly between them—but for that moment, shared laughter and warm food were enough.
It was the weekend when Elena finally made the decision.
She didn’t call ahead.
She didn’t send a message.
In her mind, there was no point announcing something that had already been decided for her.
This wasn’t a visit—it was a transition.
A sleek black van pulled up in front of the towering glass building that housed Jaxon’s penthouse. The engine went quiet, and a moment later, the door opened. Elena stepped out gracefully, dressed in a flowing blue floral gown that brushed against her ankles with every movement.
The fabric danced lightly in the breeze, soft yet deliberate—nothing about her looked hesitant. Large shaded sunglasses hid her eyes, and a Birkin bag rested securely in her hand, polished and elegant.
She stood still for a brief second.
Just one.
Her gaze lifted, taking in the height of the building, the sharp lines, the reflective glass that mirrored the sky above. This was it. No turning back now.
“Bring my bags up to the penthouse,” she instructed the chauffeur calmly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, already moving to the trunk.
Elena turned away before doubt could catch up with her. She walked into the lobby, heels clicking softly against the marble floor, drawing a few curious glances from the staff. She didn’t slow down. Confidence—whether real or borrowed—wrapped around her like armor.
The elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the penthouse.
As the doors closed, the quiet hum of the elevator filled the space, carrying her upward—toward a new arrangement, a new performance, and a life that was about to change far more than she was ready to admit.
When the elevator came to a soft halt at the penthouse, the doors slid open slowly, almost ceremoniously.
Elena stepped out.
It wasn’t her first time in Jaxon’s penthouse, yet this time felt… unfamiliar. Different. Permanent. For a brief moment, it struck her that she had never really seen the place—only passed through it as a guest. Now, she was standing there as someone who was meant to belong.
Her gaze drifted to the walls, lined with carefully chosen photographs and framed art pieces—abstracts, black-and-white portraits, quiet elegance captured in still moments. She moved closer, studying them, trying to read Jaxon through the things he allowed to be displayed.
“Madam,” a gentle voice said behind her, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Elena turned to see a woman in her fifties, neatly dressed, her posture warm yet respectful.
“It’s so nice to finally see you,” the woman continued with a smile. “We knew you would be coming… I just didn’t expect it to be this soon.”
Elena returned the smile politely. “Please, call me Elena. And I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I didn’t have much work this weekend, so I changed my plans.”
The woman nodded knowingly. “Would you like me to get you anything before I show you your room?”
“Juice would be fine,” Elena replied.
“Of course,” the woman said, excusing herself as she walked away.
Left alone again, Elena felt herself being drawn deeper into the penthouse. Her steps were slow, curious. She passed more artwork, sculpted pieces placed strategically, every corner intentional—controlled.
Then she wandered into a space that made her pause.
The room was designed around nature—soft tones, greenery, and floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Beyond the glass lay a swimming pool, shimmering under the afternoon light. The sight pulled her in.
She walked closer and slid the glass door open.
Cool air rushed toward her, brushing against her skin, and for a fleeting second, peace settled in her chest. The city below felt far away. Quiet. Manageable.
She turned to her left—
And froze.
By the side of the pool was Jaxon.
He wasn’t alone.
A woman was with him—too close. Intimately close. Her hands were on him, his attention entirely on her, they were kissing as he moved his master in and out of her while she barely moan for more.
Elena’s Birkin bag slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft but sharp thud.
“What—?” she exclaimed, her voice breaking the moment like shattered glass.
Jaxon spun around instantly. The woman startled, stepping back as they both scrambled to put distance between themselves, shock written clearly across Jaxon’s face.
“Elena—” he started as he reached for his robe.