Chapter 34 Shaken
'... I would have done the same thing if it were you.'
His words clung to my skin.
By the time I got back to my office, the anger and frustration had settled into my bones.
It wasn’t sharp or explosive enough to make me want to slam doors and throw things, it was heavier than that. It was the kind that pressed behind my eyes and tightened my chest until breathing felt like work.
My heels clicked against the floor as I crossed the room, each sound too loud in the silence, like the space itself was watching me unravel.
Jack was already there.
He stood near the window, hands in his pockets, staring out over the city as if it might offer answers. The late afternoon light cut across his shoulders, outlining him in gold and shadow. For a moment, the sight of him grounded me just a little. Well, it was enough to keep me from pacing like a caged animal.
The of my father's threat made my jaw tighten.
I dropped my tablet onto the desk harder than necessary and exhaled through my nose, trying to bleed the tension out of my body. I refused to let him see how deeply it still affected me—even in my own head. I’d spent too many years shrinking, compromising, bending just enough to keep the peace.
But I was done bending.
Jack turned when he sensed me behind him. “You okay?” he asked gently.
I nodded automatically, then shook my head just as quickly. “No. But I will be.”
I walked past him, moving around the office like I needed to reclaim it—my chair, my desk, my space. I rested my palms against the cool surface of the table, grounding myself.
“He wants to see me,” I said finally.
Jack’s expression sharpened. “Your father?”
“Yeah, a family dinner tomorrow night.” I mumbled.
Jack didn’t say anything right away, he waited like he understood that I needed to hear my own thoughts out loud before I could handle his.
“He didn’t sound happy earlier at the meeting,” Jack said carefully.
I let out a humorless laugh. “That’s his default state where I’m concerned.”
I turned to face him, folding my arms over my chest.
The truth pressed against my tongue—the threat, the warning, the power my father still believed he held over me. But I swallowed it down.
“He invited me.”
Jack studied me. “And?”
“And I want you to come with me.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “Are you sure?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I already made that decision the moment my father thought he could dictate my choices again, the moment he assumed I’d show up alone, smaller, easier to corner. I wasn’t going to give him that version of me ever again.
Jack exhaled slowly, his gaze softening. “If that’s what you want, I'll be there.”
Relief loosened something tight in my chest, though the anxiety remained, coiled and waiting. I nodded once, grateful in a way I couldn’t fully articulate.
“Good,” I said quietly.
I turned back to my desk, pretending to organize papers I didn’t actually need to touch, my thoughts already racing ahead to the dinner, to my father’s inevitable reaction when he saw Jack at my side.
Let him be angry, I won't be his pawn anymore.
The Vale mansion rose out of the dusk like a monument to everything I’d survived and everything that still haunted me.
Stone pillars, Iron gates, warm lights glowing behind tall windows that had watched generations of secrets unfold without ever speaking. As the car slowed along the curved driveway, Jack let out a low whistle beside me.
“Well,” he said, lips curving into that familiar, infuriatingly calm smirk, “your family really knows how to dramatize dinner.”
I glanced at him, managed a faint smile. “It’s not as impressive once you know what it costs.”
My actions were daring but I needed to know where Conrad's threat ends...
The car came to a stop as the driver stepped out. And suddenly the dread I’d been holding at bay all evening coiled tight in my stomach, sharp and insistent, like it had been waiting patiently for this exact moment.
Jack reached for my hand before I even realized I needed it.
His fingers threaded through mine—warm, steady, and grounding. That simple gesture steadied my breathing, even as my pulse raced.
“I’m here,” he murmured, just for me.
I nodded once, then squared my shoulders and stepped out of the car.
Inside, the mansion smelled like polished wood and old money which was familiar and suffocating. Every step echoed as if the house itself wanted to announce my return.
Servants greeted us politely, eyes flicking toward Jack with thinly veiled curiosity.
The dining room was exactly as I remembered—long table, pristine settings, chandelier casting soft light that never quite warmed the room.
My father sat at the head of the table, posture rigid, expression carved from stone. Mark sat to his right, composed, unreadable, hands folded neatly as if this were any other evening.
We took our seats.
The silence settled immediately, thick and heavy, pressing down on my chest. Cutlery clinked softly as food was served. No one spoke.
Jack, infuriatingly unbothered, began eating like this was just another meal, like he didn’t feel the tension crackling across the table, like he wasn’t sitting across from a man who had made entire empires kneel.
I was halfway through my first bite when my father finally spoke.
“I specifically told you not to bring 'him' with you,” Conrad said, eyes still fixed on his plate.
Jack didn’t stop eating. He didn’t even look up. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, like he’d expected this exact moment.
Mark remained silent, gaze shifting briefly between us, alert now.
I set my fork down carefully. “Jack is my husband,” I said evenly. “He’s also family.”
That made my father look up.
His gaze met mine—sharp, assessing, disappointed in that way only he could manage. “There is a cost for disobedience,” he said calmly. “And I made that clear.”
My chest tightened, anger flaring hot and fast. “I’m not a child, Father. I’m an adult. And I am very well capable of doing what’s best for me.”
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Is that so?” His eyes gleamed with something darker. “If only you knew what I know.”
My brows knit together despite myself. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Before he could answer, Mark finally spoke.
“I believe Jack Roman is a welcomed guest, Father.”
I turned toward him, surprised.
Conrad’s jaw clenched. “He’ll never be welcomed here,” he growled. “I want him out of my sight this instant.”
“No,” I said immediately, my voice sharp. “Jack stays.”
Jack finally set his cutlery down and stood, smooth and unhurried. “As you wish, sir,” he said, that faint, knowing smile still in place—more amused than offended.
My heart lurched. “Jack—”
But Conrad nodded once, satisfied. Then his gaze flicked back to me, and his voice cut deeper than anything he’d said all night.
“At least he possesses a sense of belonging,” Conrad said coolly, “just like your ex-husband—who you had to kill for just so you could be with him.”
The room stopped breathing.
Jack froze mid-step.
And I froze entirely.
Mark’s face drained of color. “Father—”
“That innocent unborn child didn’t deserve what you did, Elena,” Conrad continued, watching me with clinical precision. “Don’t you agree?”
My world tilted.
My nails dug into my palms beneath the table as my heart slammed against my ribs, loud and painful. The room blurred, tears rushing into my eyes without permission, and without mercy.
“How…” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “How did you know that?”