Chapter 5 Almost Something

Elena stared out the window for hours after Jace left. She didn't know what unsettled her more-the message itself, or the fact that he didn't even pretend to deny it. She wasn't naïve. She knew every powerful family had secrets. But whatever Project Halston was, Jace's reaction told her it wasn't just a secret. It was a threat.

By afternoon, the penthouse was too quiet. She couldn't stand the silence. She walked down the hallway and stopped outside the door to Jace's private study. It was locked. Of course it was. She considered calling him, but stopped herself. She knew she wouldn't get answers that way. Instead, she opened the coat closet near the entrance, found a small key box marked "maintenance," and slipped it into her pocket.

An hour later, when the housekeeper arrived, Elena asked to be left alone to "rest." As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she walked back to the study and unlocked it. Slowly, carefully, she stepped inside.

Jace's office smelled like cedarwood and coffee. The walls were lined with dark bookshelves, most of them filled with industry law, international trade books, and files. His desk was clean-too clean. No clutter, no notes, just a laptop and a few folders stacked perfectly.

She didn't touch the laptop. She knew better.

The interview aired that evening.

We sat side by side on the couch in the main lounge, watching ourselves play pretend on national television. The lighting was flattering. My smile looked effortless. Jace's hand rested lightly on my knee. We looked perfect. Poised. In love. No one would've guessed that hours before, we barely knew how to sit beside each other without the weight of tension pressing between us.

When the host asked how we met, I said something sweet. When she asked what drew us to one another, Jace said, "Her honesty. Her fire." I almost laughed. Almost. But when I turned my head to look at him-on-screen and in real life-he was already watching me. There was something unsettling about seeing us this way. We looked... believable.

The interview ended with applause, and the anchor called us "a modern-day fairy tale." The moment the screen went black, the silence in the room settled like dust. I folded my hands in my lap. "Well. That was surreal."

Jace didn't say anything at first. He reached for the remote and turned the TV off, then leaned back, resting his arm across the back of the couch. "You did good."

"I had a script."

"You made it sound real."

I glanced sideways. "So did you."

His jaw flexed a little. "Maybe that's the problem."

There was a pause, not heavy, but uncertain. I stood up to go, but then he asked, "Do you want to know something?"

I turned halfway. "Depends. Is it going to make this marriage any weirder?"

He didn't smile. He was serious. "My father offered me a deal too."

That made me stop. I stepped closer. "What kind of deal?"

"If I married someone he chose, someone 'polished' enough for press and reputation, he'd hand over full control of Lancaster Global by year's end. Board approval, stocks, all of it. But only if I played the part-and stayed married for twelve months."

I stared at him. "So I'm not just your punishment. I'm your ticket to freedom."

He looked up at me. "No. You're both."

I didn't know what hurt more-his honesty or the fact that I understood it.

"Goodnight, Jace."

I walked out before he could say anything else.

I didn't sleep much.

In the morning, I got a call from the hospital. My mother's oncologist wanted to schedule an aggressive new treatment plan. Edward had already approved the payment. I should have felt grateful. Instead, I felt like the walls were closing in again. Another reminder that my life was no longer mine.

Later that afternoon, while walking through the garden, I ran into Marian.

"There's a charity dinner tomorrow evening," she said flatly. "Hosted by your father-in-law. Attendance is mandatory."

"Of course it is."

"He also asked that you wear something red. Something striking."

"Let me guess-so I match the color of my leash?"

For a second, I thought she might laugh. But Marian never broke. She simply nodded and walked away, her heels clicking like clockwork.

That evening, I wandered into the library to find something to take my mind off the dinner. The room was massive two floors of books, old leather armchairs, and high windows that caught the soft orange of the setting sun. I traced my fingers over the spines until I found an old poetry collection.

I sat down and opened to a random page. Sylvia Plath.

"I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out, looking, with its hooks, for something to love."

I didn't know he was standing there until I heard his voice. "I didn't peg you for a Plath girl."

I looked up. Jace stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. He was barefoot, hair slightly damp, like he had just come from a shower. For a moment, we just stared at each other.

"I'm full of surprises," I said.

He walked over, slowly, and sat across from me. Not too close. Just... near.

"Did you mean it?" he asked. "What you said last night. That you're just a pawn."

I set the book down. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

"You're more than that, Elena. You just don't see it yet."

The way he said my name-quiet, steady, like it mattered-did something I wasn't ready for.

"I didn't sign up to fall apart in here," I said.

He looked away. "Neither did I."

There was another silence. It hung between us like fog.

Then he said, "My mother used to read poetry to me. Before she left."

I blinked. "She left?"

He nodded. "Walked out when I was eight. My father paid her off to stay silent. I didn't see her again until I turned eighteen and inherited a piece of her estate."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "She was the only soft thing I had. When she left, everything else turned to stone."

That explained so much. His distance. His sharpness. His refusal to trust anything that didn't come with terms and conditions.

"I didn't know," I whispered.

"You weren't supposed to." He stood, then hesitated. "Come to the balcony."

I followed him without asking why.

Outside, the air was cool and crisp. The ocean stretched endlessly beneath the cliff edge. Jace leaned on the railing, his sleeves rolled up, veins taut in his forearms.

"Do you think it's possible," he said, "to survive this without becoming like them?"

I stood beside him. "I think the fact that you're asking means you haven't yet."

He turned toward me. The wind lifted strands of my hair and blew them across my cheek. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked them behind my ear. His hand lingered for a second too long. I didn't pull away.

"I didn't expect you," he said.

"Neither did I."

We stood there, the silence no longer cold but charged. Close enough to feel the weight of whatever this was. Still too far to define it.

He leaned in slightly. I froze.

But then he pulled back.

"Goodnight, Elena."

And he walked away.

I didn't move for a long time.

Because part of me wished he hadn't stopped.

And the other part was terrified of what would happen if he hadn't.