Page 128 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
"And that doesn't scare you anymore?" The question contains genuine wonder. Genuine confusion. But beneath the words, I hear the careful calibration of his voice—the slight restraint, the measured breath, the almost imperceptible bracing for rejection. A man accustomed to hiding his darkest parts now offering them for judgment, muscles tense beneath my fingertips as though preparing for a blow.
"It scares me," I admit, honesty for honesty. Truth for truth. "But not in the way you think. Not because I fear you'll hurt me."
"Then how?"
"Because I understand it now."
The confession emerges from somewhere I've kept carefully guarded.
"Because I felt it myself when Latanya took Jaden. Because I know exactly what I would do—what I would become—to protect him. To protect you."
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer against his chest. His heart beats against mine, rhythms synchronized as they always have been. As they always will be.
"We're the same," he whispers against my hair. Not accusation. Recognition.
"Yes." I lift my face, find his mouth with mine. Kiss him with gentle certainty. With absolute truth. "Just reflected through different prisms."
* * *
The soft buzz of Jakob's phone pulls me from near-sleep—a gentle vibration against the nightstand in the otherwise silent room. Instinct has me tensing, listening for the follow-up calls that signal emergency. For the pattern of alerts that means something requires immediate attention. For any sign that our careful peace is about to be disrupted.
Instead, just a single text. Jakob doesn't move to check it, his breathing steady and deep against my hair.
"Aren't you going to look?" I whisper, old habits making me wary of interruptions, of business that can't wait until morning, of priorities that shift without warning.
"No," he murmurs, voice thick with approaching sleep. "Nothing's more important than this."
The simple statement contains multitudes—evidence of choices reordered, of values recalibrated, of a man who once moved markets with midnight phone calls now choosing presence over power. Who understands what truly can't wait and what can.
"We shouldn't wait to get married again," I say, the words emerging without rehearsal. Without planning. Just honest declaration in a moment too intimate for anything but truth. "I don't want to waste another day."
He pulls back slightly, eyes finding mine in the half-light. Something like wonder crosses his face—surprise at my eagerness where he might have expected caution. At my certainty where he prepared for hesitation.
"Let's go to Vegas," he says, the words landing like lightning between us. Not a question. A declaration from a man who moves billions with single decisions. Who executes strategies others would deliberate for months.
I stare at him, searching for signs of humor. Finding none. Just absolute certainty in eyes that have calculated risk across global markets, that have measured threat with mathematical precision, that now look at me with a recklessness I've never seen there before.
"Vegas?" I repeat, the word foreign in my mouth. So unlike the carefully orchestrated society wedding we had the first time—photographers from three publications, four hundred guests, a dress that took six months to design. "You're serious."
"Completely."
His thumb traces my lower lip, eyes never leaving mine.
"No press. No performances. No strategic guest lists or publicity calculations. Just us. Making a choice that belongs only to us."
The suggestion should feel absurd. Impulsive. Beneath the dignity of two people who've built careers on careful analysis and strategic planning. Instead, it feels like freedom—like casting off the final weights that have kept us tethered to shore when we were made for deeper waters.
"Vegas it is," I tell him, decision crystallizing into certainty with each heartbeat. "This weekend. Before either of us has time to turn it into something calculated."
"Just us," he confirms, thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. "Jaden can join us after. For whatever celebration comes next."
"Yes."
The simplicity of it settles into my bones—this choice made without strategic advantage or career calculation or public consideration. Just truth between two people who've finally stopped running from what they've always known.
He pulls me closer, arm tightening around my waist as his breathing deepens toward sleep. His heart beats steady beneath my palm, the rhythm I've tried and failed to forget during four years of deliberate distance.
Outside, the city continues its relentless pulse. Inside, we find peace in honesty too complete for misunderstanding. For misinterpretation. For the half-truths that once fractured what we built together.
