Jacob woke to the soft hum of morning rain tapping against the mansion's tall windows. His body ached—a sharp, pulsing reminder of last night's beating. His ribs protested as he tried to shift, but what caught his attention wasn't the pain. It was the faint scent of something familiar.
Lavender and vanilla.
His heavy-lidded eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim light. There, standing by the tall bay windows, her arms crossed, her figure poised in perfect, untouchable grace—was Norah.
She wasn't looking at him.
Dressed in that sleek black suit, her golden hair pulled into a tight bun, she exuded an air of indifference. But Jacob wasn't a fool. He saw the way her fingers lightly tapped against her arm, the barely-there tension in her shoulders.
She was thinking.
And when Norah Draven was thinking, it usually meant trouble for someone.
"You're awake," she said coolly, finally turning.
Jacob smirked despite himself. "And alive. Guess that means you didn't finish me off in my sleep."
Norah's expression didn't change. "I considered it."
She walked toward the bed, standing close but not close enough. Her emerald eyes flicked over him, calculating. Assessing.
"You should be grateful I helped you at all," she said. "But don't get used to it."
Jacob shifted onto his elbow, wincing. "You always had a sharp tongue." His eyes traveled over her face, pausing at her lips. "But I remember when it used to say much sweeter things."
Norah didn't flinch. Didn't react.
"Get up," she said instead. "We're leaving in ten minutes."
Jacob arched a brow. "Leaving? Where exactly?"
"Your lake house. You said no one knows about it."
Jacob studied her, intrigued. "You're really going through with this, aren't you? Playing my savior."
Norah gave him a long, unreadable look. "Don't mistake this for anything other than business, Jacob. You hired me. I'm here to win your case."
With that, she turned and left the room, her heels clicking against the floor.
Jacob let out a low chuckle, despite the pain. 'She still hasn't forgiven me.'
But there was something else.
For all her coldness, he could feel it—the way her breath hitched when she got too close. The way her fingers trembled, just for a second, when she cleaned his wounds last night.
She felt something.
And Jacob Everson wasn't one to ignore unfinished business.
...
While Jacob and Norah prepared to leave the mansion, the world outside was already shifting against him.
Neila sat before a sea of cameras, dressed in a pale blue dress that complemented her teary, ocean-blue eyes. She looked fragile, like a woman who had been through hell at the hands of a cruel man.
"My husband…" she paused, voice breaking, "he's not the man people think he is."
The reporters leaned in, hungry for the drama.
"He hurt me. Emotionally… physically." She touched her stomach, where her supposed baby—Jacob's baby—grew. "I tried to leave, but he threatened me." Her voice trembled. "I was scared for my life."
Gasps filled the room. Flashing lights captured every moment, every tear.
The public loved a scandal.
And in less than an hour, the headlines exploded:
JACOB EVERSON: ABUSER, TYRANT, MONSTER?
PREGNANT WIFE BEGS FOR SAFETY—GOVERNMENT STEPS IN
MULTIMILLIONAIRE UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
Philip Rushman sat in the shadows, watching the news unfold with a smirk.
Everything was going exactly as planned.
...
Jacob gritted his teeth as Norah guided him toward the sleek black SUV she'd arranged. With his assistant Eli Moreson.
His injuries made every movement a struggle, but he refused to let her see his weakness.
The car ride was silent, thick with tension. Norah kept her eyes on the road, her expression unreadable. Jacob, however, wasn't one to sit in silence.
"Why are you really helping me, Norah?" he asked, voice low.
Her hands tightened on the wheel. "I already told you. Business."
Jacob exhaled a quiet laugh. "You could've walked away the moment you saw who I was." He turned his head, watching her. "But you didn't."
Norah kept driving. "You were bleeding out. I had no choice."
"That's not why."
Her jaw clenched. "I don't have time for your games, Jacob."
"Games?" He leaned in slightly, his voice like silk. "You still remember, don't you?"
Norah's fingers twitched.
Jacob smirked. "You think I didn't notice? Last night, when you touched me…" His voice dropped, a wicked edge to it. "Your fingers trembled."
Norah's heart pounded.
Jacob saw the slight hitch in her breath—the way her lips pressed together just a little too hard. He wasn't imagining it.
She still felt him.
"Pull over," she said suddenly.
Jacob blinked. "What?"
"Pull. Over."
Norah's tone was sharp, unyielding. With a sigh, Jacob did as she said, groaning as he adjusted in his seat.
The moment the car stopped, Norah turned to face him, her eyes burning with something unreadable.
"Listen to me, and listen well," she said, voice steady but low. "Whatever you think is happening here—it's not."
Jacob arched a brow. "Oh?"
"I'm not that sixteen-year-old girl you left behind," she continued, her voice cutting through him. "I don't dream about you. I don't miss you. And I sure as hell don't feel anything when I touch you."
Jacob studied her. She looked fierce. Untouchable.
But her fists were clenched.
And her breathing was uneven.
He smirked. "If you say so, counselor."
Norah exhaled sharply, putting the car back in drive.
Jacob leaned back, amusement dancing in his gaze.
The game had just begun.