Page 58 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
I smile, eyes stinging, but full. “Promise?”
He leans in, brushing his lips over my forehead. “We’ve earned it.”
I nod, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “Just you and me,” I whisper.
His arm wraps around my waist as we walk out, the weight of the past still heavy, but no longer ours to carry alone.
30
JACK
Iread the news like it’s someone else’s life. My face on the screen, Ivy’s name in bold, headlines like hammers. But it doesn’t feel real. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Rosenthal’s office is peaceful, the muted rumble of traffic drifting up from the streets below. Ivy and I are seated across from her, side by side. There’s no entourage now, no handlers, no strategists. Just the three of us, the final sweep before the dust settles.
“The charges will hold,” Rosenthal says. “The DOJ’s involved. Your brother is facing enough heat to keep him in custody, especially with the press coverage.”
I nod, barely hearing her. My mind is already moving.
We didn’t survive this to go back to what we were.
“I want to restructure the Wilson Foundation,” I say.
Rosenthal lifts a brow. “You want to kill it.”
“No,” I answer. “I want to clean it. Burn out the rot. Make it something that deserves to last.”
She studies me. “You know what you’re inviting. Endless scrutiny. Political enemies. Press vultures with unfinishedthreads. And your father won’t be silent. He still holds sway in more places than you know.”
“Then let them all come,” I say evenly. “My father’s empire thrived on secrecy and silence. This one won’t.”
I feel Ivy shift slightly beside me, not pulling away, just watching. Always reading the room.
“I need your help,” I tell Rosenthal. “And hers.”
I glance at Ivy.
“Not as a courtesy,” I add. “As strategy. Ivy understands identity. She knows how people read intention. And if we want this Foundation to survive, it has to feel different. Not just look it.”
Ivy exhales slowly. “You want a rebrand.”
“No,” I say. “I want a rebirth.”
She looks at me then, eyes steady, unreadable. But her fingers brush mine under the table.
Rosenthal leans back. “Well then. Let’s make the bastard’s legacy something worth inheriting.”
Outside, the city doesn’t know what we’re building. But we do. We rise together. And for the first time, it feels like something beginning, not ending.
***
Later that evening, we gather in my penthouse again, just Ivy, Sienna, Rosenthal, and me this time. The windows are open, and the cold air cuts through the warmth of the fire in the hearth. There are half-empty wine glasses on the table, folders open and marked up with notes. A whiteboard leans against the far wall, filled with timelines, phases, and bold red arrows.
“I want the Foundation’s first move to be about transparency,” I say, pacing near the windows. “We release everything. Every grant, every allocation, every board member’s voting history. We tell the truth before someone else does.”
“Full transparency is risky,” Rosenthal warns. “It could open up new liabilities.”
“Then we face them,” Ivy says quietly. Her voice is stronger now. “No more shadows. If we want to make it mean something, we start clean.”
