Jacob stood alone, staring at the empty spot where Norah had just been. The scent of lavender and vanilla still lingered faintly in the air, but the sharpness of her words had long replaced the sweetness of her presence. Her exit had been abrupt, professional, and final, just as she'd intended. No room for pleasantries. No lingering looks. Not even the courtesy of waiting for his permission to leave.
She had made herself perfectly clear: she wanted nothing to do with him beyond the professional obligation. And even that, she delivered with the cold precision of someone forced to hold a dagger for a man she once trusted and now despised.
Yet something inside Jacob stirred.
It wasn't lust, it was far beyond that. It wasn't regret either, he had enough of that already drowning him. It was something purer, something unfamiliar. A seed of feeling so genuine, it frightened him. Ten years ago, when he'd held her in his arms, he never felt this... gravitational pull. And now, her very rejection seemed to chain itself to his ribs.
He sank into his leather chair, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the file Norah had left behind. Pages flipped under his trembling fingers.
And there it was.
Neila's past, stained in secrets.
His brows furrowed deeper as he read on. A hidden connection to an infamous underground surgeon. A string of altered identities. Then, he froze. A familiar name: Dr. Sallis Varn. The gynecologist who had delivered the results of the paternity test Jacob once commissioned in secrecy. A test that Neila never knew he had requested.
The results had been negative. He wasn't the father. Weeks later, the man was found dead in his home, declared a suicide. But now Jacob knew. It wasn't coincidence. It wasn't fate. Neila had orchestrated it all.
His gut twisted. She had been married before their union, yet had slithered her way into his life, bent on destroying any remnants of happiness he might have found. And now, with his name smeared and his empire crumbling under government scrutiny, it all made sense. The faked sex tape. The public scandal. The engineered sabotage. The world believed he was a monster. And perhaps he had been, once. But not now. Not since Norah.
If not for Norah, he'd already be devoured by the vultures.
A knock at the door broke through the storm in his chest. Eli entered, hesitant.
"Sir…"
Jacob didn't look up. "Go on."
"Ms. Draven… she dismissed the consultory office inside the building. She said she'd use her own."
Jacob's hands clenched. "Why?"
"She gave no reason. Just stated her office is provided by her company."
"Unacceptable. Call Hugh. Tell him I want her reinstated inside our building. She works for me."
Eli nodded and vanished. An hour later, he returned pale-faced. "She refused. Even Hugh couldn't convince her. She… she's set in her ways, sir."
Jacob closed his eyes, breathing deep. "Dismissed."
With no other thought, he grabbed his coat and stormed out. Within the hour, he was outside Norah's apartment building. Two hours later, the door to her apartment was in splinters as he barged inside, breathing heavily, like a man on the verge of something dangerous.
No one at the entrance.
He moved fast. Through the minimalistic living room, down the narrow corridor, past the still air and unlit corners, and into the room at the end, her study.
Empty.
His heart stuttered.
"Norah?"
No answer.
His shoes echoed faintly across the hardwood floor as he stepped further inside, scanning for any sign of her. The light breeze drew his attention. The balcony door, slightly ajar. Without a thought, he stepped outside.
She wasn't there either.
A cold knot formed in his chest.
Then, movement. A sudden flash of motion from the side—crack.
A violent impact slammed against his cheek, snapping his head sideways and sending him stumbling back with a grunt. He caught himself on the balcony rail, dazed. And before the second hit could land, he seized the wrist of the attacker mid-air, twisting it and pulling them off balance. A body tumbled forward, soft, lean, agile.
He reacted by instinct, spinning her down and pinning her to the ground.
Their faces stopped inches apart.
And it was her.
Norah.
Beneath him, her breath sharp, chest rising fast from the sudden scuffle. Her eyes, wild with fury, stared directly into his. His knee rested dangerously between her thighs. Her wrists, caught in his grasp. The curve of her cheek, barely a breath away from his.
Time folded into itself.
He stared at her lips.
And then he realized, and recoiled.
He stood abruptly, clenching his jaw, one hand still cradling the cheek she'd punched. The ache throbbed. It was going to bruise.
Norah rose in one swift, graceful motion. "You're lucky I didn't shoot you," she said flatly, brushing invisible dust from her dress. "Why are you here?" She raised a brow.
"I thought—" he started, then stopped. "I thought something had happened."
She vanished inside without a word.
Moments later, she returned with a cold compress wrapped in a towel, which she pressed into his palm with a curt motion. "Don't bleed on my balcony."
He stared at her. "You always punch first and ask questions later?"
"Only when it's you."
His lips curled faintly despite himself.
She didn't smile.
"You broke my door."
"You broke my cheek."
She tilted her head. "Not hard enough, it seems."
He took the ice, pressing it to his face as he watched her return to the desk in her study, her back to him, like nothing had happened.
"I should press charges." She began.
"You've disregarded my settings for you, Attorney," he said, his voice gravelly, strained, but controlled.
She didn't even stand. Showing dominance. "I don't work for you. You're my client. I owe you representation, not obedience."
"You're wrong," he stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "You're contracted under my name. You do what I say."
Norah rose, cool and terrifying in her grace. "Your arrogance is appalling. That so-called power you brandish is already on the verge of ruin. And let me remind you, only I can keep it standing."
The tension snapped tight between them.
"You barge into my home like a tyrant, expecting me to follow your whims sheepishly?" she sneered. "Leave."
He didn't move.
"I know you hate this," Jacob said, his voice softening. "I know you hate me. But Norah… you're the only one capable of fixing this. And now that they know we've joined forces, you're in danger. Let me protect you."
She looked at him, unmoved. 'I might as well just get used with this.' She thought.
"I'll return to the office. On my terms," she finally said. "I'll come alone. I will not be seen with you."
He stepped closer, voice low. "You must be seen with me. You must be safe. Only I can shield you."
Her laugh was bitter. "You? Shield me? Your security team was obliterated last week. You were nearly killed."
"I can't let them take you too," he said, meaning every word.
He lingered in the doorway.
She turned to him then, her expression unreadable. "I protect myself."
Her eyes flickered with something, soft and fleeting. Then it was gone.
"Now leave."
He didn't argue. He just stood there, in her apartment, holding a cold towel to his face, surrounded by her scent, her space, her silence.
She would return.
But not for him.
Not yet.