Jake’s POV
Something's wrong.
I sit across from Zachary in the living room, and every muscle in my body screams what my mouth hasn't said yet. The clock on the wall ticks like a countdown. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty.
Too long. Far too long.
"They've been in there a while." I keep my voice level, but my hands are already gripping my knees.
Zachary doesn't look up from his tablet. "They have history, Mr. Sullivan. These conversations take time."
"History doesn't require closed doors for half an hour."
"Perhaps you're unfamiliar with how Manhattan handles delicate social matters." His tone is smooth. Dismissive. "I assure you, Miss Ward can manage her former fiancé."
I stand anyway.
"Where are you going?" Now he looks up, something flickering behind his professional mask.
"To check."
"That would be inadvisable. You'll embarrass her—"
I'm already moving.
The hallway stretches forever. My boots are too loud on the marble, each step echoing like a warning shot. The study door is closed. Solid wood. Expensive. The kind of door designed to keep secrets contained.
Then I hear it.
Sounds that aren't conversation. Scuffling. Something hitting the wall.
And Addison's voice—muffled, frightened, wrong in ways that turn my blood to ice.
I don't knock.
The door crashes open under my shoulder, and the scene sears itself into my brain with the permanence of a brand.
Charles has her pinned against the wall. His hands are everywhere they shouldn't be. Her face is contorted—panic and disgust and terror bleeding together in an expression I'll see every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life.
I'm across the room before I make a conscious decision to move.
My hand closes on Charles's collar and I tear him away from her with enough force to send him stumbling. He turns, mouth opening to protest, and my fist connects with his stomach before he can form words.
The first punch doubles him over.
The sound he makes is satisfying in a way that should probably concern me. But I'm not thinking about consequences. I'm thinking about her face. Her terror. The way she was fighting and he wasn't stopping.
The second punch puts him on his knees.
He gasps, hands bracing against the floor, designer suit crumpling in ways that probably cost more than my truck.
"In Texas," I hear myself say, "men like you get shot."
My voice sounds calm. Deadly calm. Like I'm discussing cattle prices instead of contemplating murder.
"Or worse." I crouch down, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Haven't decided which you deserve yet."
"Jake." Addison's hand closes on my arm. Her grip is shaking. "Jake, stop."
I don't want to stop. I want to finish what I started. Want to make sure this pathetic excuse for a man never touches anyone again.
Zachary rushes in behind us—I didn't hear him approach, too focused on the target still cowering on the floor.
"Mr. Sullivan, please." His voice is urgent. Professional. "This isn't helpful."
Together, they pull me back. Addison's hands on my arm, Zachary positioning himself between me and Charles. Creating distance I don't want.
Charles staggers upright. His face is already swelling where my knuckles connected. He straightens his jacket with shaking hands, and something ugly replaces the fear in his expression.
"You'll pay for this, cowboy." His voice comes out ragged. Humiliated. "Assault charges. Lawsuits. I'll destroy you. I'll destroy both of you—"
"Charles." Addison's voice cuts through his threats like a blade.
He stops. Turns toward her.
She's composed now. Transformed. The terrified woman I saw pinned against the wall has vanished, replaced by someone cold and calculating and completely in control.
"You might want to reconsider." Her tone is pleasant. Almost friendly. "There are cameras in this room. Everything you just did is recorded."
Charles goes pale. "That's—you're bluffing—"
"Am I?" She tilts her head slightly, studying him like he's a problem she's already solved. "Leave quietly, and we'll pretend this never happened. Or stay, and I'll make sure everyone sees you attempting to rape your former fiancée in her dying father's study."
Silence. The kind that stretches like wire pulled too tight.
Charles's jaw works. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. I watch him calculate—threats versus evidence, reputation versus revenge.
"Fine." The word comes out through gritted teeth. "I hope Richard recovers. Best wishes to the Ward family."
He leaves. The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds like victory.
Zachary exhales slowly. When he speaks, there's something like admiration in his voice.
"Clever, Miss Ward." He adjusts his cuffs, composure already restored. "Though I should mention—there are no cameras in this room."
Addison meets his eyes. Holds them.
"I know."
Something passes between them. An understanding. A recognition of tactics and manipulation and the language of lies wielded like weapons.
I watch this exchange. Watch how seamlessly she deployed that bluff. How naturally deception rolled off her tongue when she needed it.
Something uncomfortable settles in my chest.
This is the world she comes from. The world she was raised in. A world where truth is negotiable and survival means becoming the sharpest liar in the room.
I've seen her with Tommy. Seen how she laughs at his jokes, teases him about the feed store girl, treats him like the little brother she never had.
This friendship with Zachary doesn't feel like that.
It feels like something else entirely.
Partners, maybe. Soldiers in the same war. Two people who speak a language I don't understand and navigate terrain I can barely recognize.
Addison turns to me, and her expression softens. The calculating edge disappears, replaced by something vulnerable and grateful and exhausted.
"Thank you." Her voice is quiet. Real. "If you hadn't come in—"
"Don't." I pull her against my chest, holding on too tight. "Don't think about what would have happened."
But I'm thinking about it. And I'm thinking about something else too.
The woman in my arms wielded a lie like a weapon without hesitation. Without flinching.
And Zachary recognized the skill immediately.
I tighten my hold on her, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, and I wonder what else I don't know about the world I've followed her into.