The penthouse is quiet when I return.
And I sincerely believe that this place lacks my father's presence. He is still in the hospital. He is not getting any better, but at least he is under professional supervision, and I can worry a little less.
I miss you, Dad.
My heels click against marble. The silence is broken by the sounds of my shoes and my thoughts. Everything is stable.
I don't stop at my room. Don't pause to remove the armor I've been wearing all night. Just walk straight to Jake's door and push it open without knocking.
He's sprawled across the bed fully clothed—cowboy boots still on, jacket twisted beneath him, hat fallen somewhere on the floor. He looks like someone who simply stopped functioning mid-motion and collapsed where he stood.
The sight cracks something in my chest.
I close the door behind me. Cross to the bed. Lower myself onto the mattress beside him without making a sound.
And I watch.
Study the face I love in the low light filtering through the curtains. The stubble darkening his jaw. The lines around his eyes that deepen when he laughs. The mouth that's kissed me senseless and also said things tonight that cut like glass.
How do I reconcile this man—this sleeping, vulnerable version—with the one who spent the evening surrounded by other women while I fought for our future?
I don't have an answer.
His eyes open. Focus. Find me immediately.
"Adison." My name comes out rough with sleep. His arms reach for me before he's fully conscious, pulling me against his chest with desperate urgency. "You're here."
"I'm here." I let him hold me for one breath. Two. Then I pull back enough to see his face. "We need to talk."
His jaw tightens. "Now?"
"Now." I am serious about discussing everything now so that I can sleep at night.
He releases me slowly. Sits up against the headboard, running a hand through his hair. The motion is so achingly familiar it hurts.
"Those women at the bar." I keep my voice steady. "You let them touch you. Laugh with you. Didn't even look for me across the room."
"Adison—"
"I watched you, Jake." The words come out sharper than I intend. "While I was proving myself to Noel Henderson, earning his respect, fighting for this company—you were cataloging conquests like trophies."
He flinches. Good. He should.
"And what about you?" His voice carries an edge now. Defensive. "Wrapped up in Zachary's arms like he means something. Walking off with Noel Henderson to private corners."
"Zachary was being supportive." I sit up straighter, fury building. "I was nervous. He said something kind. The hug meant nothing."
"Didn't look like nothing." His gaze is the same as when he saw me with someone else in that bar once.
"Because you were too busy flirting to understand the context." I'm on my knees now, facing him fully. "Noel Henderson could change everything for Ward Enterprises. That conversation was professional. Strategic. How dare you compare that to what you were doing?"
"How dare I?" Jake's laugh is bitter. Broken. "You want to know what I was doing? I was surviving."
The word stops me cold.
"Surviving what?"
"Watching." He runs both hands through his hair, the gesture violent with frustration. "Every man in that room looked at you tonight. Assessed you. Wanted you. And I couldn't claim you. Couldn't protect you. Couldn't do anything except stand against the wall like a goddamn decoration."
His voice cracks on the last word.
"So yeah. I drank. I let those women distract me. Because the alternative was breaking faces—starting with that slimy bastard Henderson who got to walk you to a quiet corner while I watched."
The admission lands somewhere complicated in my chest.
"That doesn't excuse it." My voice comes out smaller than I want.
"No." He meets my eyes directly. "It doesn't."
Silence stretches between us. The gala suddenly feels like something that happened to different people. Two strangers wearing our faces, making choices we have to live with.
"My father controlled every aspect of my life." The words emerge from somewhere deep. Somewhere I rarely let anyone see. "Every school. Every dress. Every carefully curated relationship. He managed me like an investment portfolio."
Jake's expression shifts. Listening now. Really listening.
"I spent twenty-one years being supervised. Kept small. Told what to want and who to want it with." I swallow hard. "I won't accept that from you too."
The words hit him. I watch them land, watch him absorb the weight of what I'm asking.
"What do you want?" His voice is quiet. Careful. "Tell me what you actually want."
The answer is simpler than all my complicated explanations.
"I missed you." The admission costs me something. "All night. Every second. Even when I was winning, I wanted you there to see it. And you weren't."
"I'm here now." He reaches for me. Tentative. Asking permission instead of taking. "I'm right here."
I close the distance.
The kiss starts tender. Apology and explanation tangled together in the press of his mouth against mine. His hands find my face, cradling like I'm something precious he almost lost.
Then tenderness shifts into something hungrier.
The gala clothes suddenly feel unbearable. His designer jacket. My armor-plated gown. All the performance and pretense wrapped around us like a lie.
"Jake." I speak against his mouth, my fingers already working his buttons. "I need—"
"Tell me." His breath is ragged. His hands are shaking where they grip my waist. "Say it."
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. Let him see everything I'm feeling. Everything I want.
"Fuck me."