The screen door slams open like a gunshot.
Jake and I spring apart so fast my coffee sloshes over the rim of my mug, hot liquid splashing across my fingers. The distance between us becomes a canyon in half a heartbeat—two people pretending they weren't just tangled together like the past months never happened.
Violet stands in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze flickering between us with calculating precision.
"Are we going to eat, or am I supposed to survive on fresh air and scenery?" Her voice drips with the particular disdain of someone who's never been told no.
Behind her, Paige hovers uncertainly, offering an apologetic smile that doesn't quite land.
I set down my coffee, buying time to reassemble my composure. "There's food in the kitchen. Jake mentioned it earlier."
"I saw the kitchen." Violet's lip curls. "Cold cuts and bread. That's not lunch. That's what you feed prisoners."
Jake's jaw tightens. I recognize that particular tension—the one that precedes something sharp.
"There's a town thirty minutes east." Violet waves her hand toward the horizon like she's directing traffic. "Drive us to a real restaurant. Somewhere with actual menus and staff who understand what service means."
"No." Jake doesn't move from his chair. The word lands flat and final.
"Excuse me?" Violet's eyes widen, genuine shock cracking through her entitled performance.
"I said no." He meets her glare without flinching. "This is a working ranch, not a resort. I'm not your chauffeur."
The standoff stretches. Violet's cheeks flush with something between fury and disbelief—the particular rage of someone encountering their first immovable object.
Paige steps forward, hands raised in gentle surrender. "Maybe Tommy could help? He mentioned something about going into town for supplies." She glances at Violet with careful diplomacy. "Or we could call a taxi. Is there a taxi service out here?"
"There's a car service in town." Jake's voice softens slightly for Paige. "Tommy can give you the number."
Violet's mouth opens—another demand loading—but something in Jake's expression stops her. She recognizes the wall she's hit. Sulking, she turns on her heel.
"Fine. Whatever." She storms back inside, Paige trailing apologetically behind her.
The door swings shut. Silence settles over the terrace like dust after a stampede.
Jake exhales slowly. "Does she remind you of anyone?"
The question catches me off guard. "What?"
"Violet." He tilts his head, studying me with those eyes that see too much. "Ring any bells?"
I bristle, defensive heat rising in my chest. "I was never that entitled. Never demanded people drive me around like servants."
"That's not what I meant." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—almost fond, almost sad. "I meant how young she is. Nineteen. Angry at the world. Convinced she knows everything."
The words land somewhere tender.
"You were slightly older when you showed up here with your designer luggage and your attitude." He shifts in his chair, gaze drifting toward the mountains. "Now you're a CEO. A woman. Standing on this porch again like everything's changed and nothing has."
I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to hold the truth of it without breaking.
"I came to escape." The deflection slides out before I can stop it. "The condolences. Everyone circling my father's death like vultures waiting for scraps. I needed air."
Jake nods slowly. He doesn't push. Doesn't probe. Just accepts the half-truth I've offered.
My phone shatters the moment.
Zachary's name glows on the screen, and my stomach tightens with something I don't want to examine.
"I have to take this." I stand, moving toward the railing for distance that doesn't actually exist.
"Adison." Zachary's voice carries warmth that feels too deliberate. Too personal. "You arrived safely?"
"The flight was fine." I keep my tone clipped. Professional. "What do you need?"
"I wanted to check on you." A pause. "Make sure you're settling in alright. The ranch is remote. If you need anything—"
"I need the Henderson documents sent to my email." I cut through his concern like a scalpel. "Can you handle that?"
"Of course." Something deflates in his voice. The warmth dims to professional neutrality. "I'll have everything ready."
"Good. We'll speak later." I end the call before he can add anything else.
When I turn back, Jake's expression has hardened. The softness from moments ago—gone. Replaced by something sharp and assessing.
"Your assistant?" The question sounds casual. It isn't.
"Zachary handles things while I'm away." I return to my chair, refusing to acknowledge what's building in his silence. "He's competent. Reliable."
"Seemed like more than professional concern." Jake's voice carries an edge now. "Checking on your wellbeing. Making sure you're settling in."
"He works for me." I made a note to turn down the volume of the speaker.
"People who work for you don't usually call with that much warmth in their voice." His jaw tightens. "You two seem close."
The jealousy bleeds through every word. Undeniable. Infuriating.
"You have no right." The anger I've been suppressing for weeks finally breaks the surface. "No right to sit there judging my professional relationships. You disappeared, Jake. Many days of nothing. No calls. No messages. Nothing."
"You told me to leave." His voice rises to match mine. "You stood in that apartment and told me you couldn't do anything right when I was around. What was I supposed to do—ignore everything you asked for?"
"I expected you to fight." The confession tears free before I can stop it. "I expected you to prove that what we had mattered more than my fear."
"That's not fair." Jake shakes his head in disagreement.
"None of this is fair."
Silence crashes between us. Heavy. Charged. Full of everything we can't say and everything we've already broken.
Then Jake speaks, and his voice is quiet now. Stripped of anger. Raw with something worse.
"We were engaged, Adison."
The words hit like a physical blow. My breath catches in my throat.
"That wasn't just dating. Wasn't just casual. You wore my grandmother's ring. You said yes." His eyes hold mine, unrelenting. "That meant something. At least—I thought it did."
The ring burns against my chest. Hidden beneath my shirt. A secret I've been carrying next to my skin since boarding the plane.
He stands. Moves closer. Close enough that I can see the pain he's not bothering to hide anymore.
"Are we still engaged?"
The question hangs in the air between us. Simple. Devastating. Demanding an answer I'm not sure I have.