“There’s a kind of silence that doesn’t protect you. It holds you down and calls it safety."

~$~

“Who was that on the phone, Jennie?”

I freeze.

His voice isn’t raised. But it’s sharp—razor sharp, like if I breathe wrong, it’ll split something open in both of us.

“And don’t lie,” Leo adds as he steps fully into the doorway. “I’m tired of your secrets.”

I flinch, not from his voice, but from the weight in it. The judgement. The tiredness. The distance.

How did someone I barely knew… learn how to talk to me like he’s been watching me for years?

I turn too slowly. My phone’s already in his hand. He must’ve walked in while I was distracted—should’ve locked the damn door, Jennie.

“It was no one,” I say as I grip the table behind me for balance. “Just an old friend.”

He stares like I’ve insulted him.

“An old friend,” he repeats. Flat. “You always whisper with old friends?”

“I wasn’t whispering.”

He tilts his head. “You were whispering. You think I’m stupid?”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t need to.”

My breath hitches. My chest tightens.

He doesn’t raise his voice. Not once. But it’s worse this way. Cold is worse than cruel. And Leo’s always been cold—to me, anyway. Ever since I started working under the Cuss name, ever since this nightmare began. All the elevator silences. All the looks he gave me like I was some unwelcome accessory to his brother’s mess.

And now?

Now, he’s close enough that I can smell the lemon and cedar shampoo in his damp hair. He’s in a hoodie, sleeves rolled up, no watch, no phone. Just anger. Quiet, restrained, waiting-for-an-excuse kind of anger.

My hand curls into a fist against the table edge.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I whisper.

He exhales hard. Sharp.

For a second, I think I see a bit of something different in his eyes. Concern maybe. Or just exhaustion.

“You look sick,” he mutters. “Are you eating?”

I blink. Did he just—?

“I’m fine,” I say too quickly.

“No, you’re not. You’re shaking.”

He’s not wrong. But I won’t give him that.

“Leo,” I say, quieter now. “Please don’t start.”

He steps closer. Not threateningly. But not gently either.

“I know that Ava Thompson’s voice,” he says. “I heard it. She’s been calling often.”

My stomach clenches. My breath stutters.

“She’s worried about me,” I say carefully. “That’s all.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just watches.

“You’re planning something,” he murmurs. “I don’t know what. But it’s written all over you. Just be careful, Jennie. You don’t know what Reo is like when he feels cornered.”

I swallow hard.

And then he says the thing that slices through whatever composure I have left.

“I still love Adele.”

The words hit like a slap I never saw coming.

I stare at him.

He doesn’t flinch. Just says it. Like it’s fact. Like it gives him permission to keep hating me.

“This situation,” he continues, voice like sandpaper, “isn't one I chose. You didn't choose it either. But here we are.”

I nod slowly, every cell in my body folding in on itself.

He looks at me again. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just... detached.

“Reo called. There’s a meeting tonight. Adele might be there. Don’t be late.”

Then he leaves.

And I’m left alone in a room that feels colder than it did two minutes ago.

~$~

That evening, the mansion looks like it’s holding its breath.

I walk into the main room, slow, small, quiet. The chandelier glows too brightly. The floor echoes too loud. I feel like a prisoner arriving to trial.

Reo is standing at the window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone to his ear. His voice is clipped. Controlled. His shoulders stiff like marble.

I don’t look at him. I don’t say anything. I just… sit.

But then I hear it.

“I understand, Marcus,” Reo says, low. “She’s not going anywhere.”

My throat dries. Marcus Lane.

He hangs up. Hard.

Then turns.

And walks straight toward me.

Each step is thunder.

“You,” he says. “You think I won’t notice when you’re scheming behind my back?”

“I haven’t done anything,” I whisper.

“Don’t insult me.” His voice is sharp enough to stab. “You think I don’t know about your little chats with Ava?”

My body tightens. I don’t answer.

Leo speaks from across the room. Calm. Always calm.

“Reo, calm down. Yelling won’t fix this."

Reo turns on him so fast I barely process it.

“You don’t get to speak,” he snaps. “You’re part of this mess.” He raises a finger, “And don’t talk to me like you matter. You’re not in charge here. None of this was your idea. This whole sham marriage? It’s mine. I hold the power. Don’t forget that.”

Leo flinches. Just a fraction. But it’s there.

Reo turns back to me and growls. "You think you can ruin everything just because you're emotional?"

I straighten. My hands tremble, but I try to sound strong. "Like I said, I haven’t done anything wrong."

"Don’t lie to me, O’Neal. You think I don’t know you’re planning something?"

Leo clenches his jaw but doesn’t move. I see the restraint in his fists.

Reo steps closer. "You’ve been talking to Ava, haven’t you? You think you can run off and take my child?"

I flinch. The pain of those words hits harder than it should.

"She’s just worried," I whisper.

"Worried? That woman would burn this family to the ground if she could. You’re stupid if you trust her. You’d throw away everything for her poison?"

My chest heaves. The fear twists into anger.

"What do you want me to do, Reo? Pretend this is fine? Pretend I’m happy while you treat me like furniture? I’m not a thing you own."

His eyes go cold. "You are mine. My puppet. My responsibility. And don’t you ever forget that."

Tears spill before I can stop them. Leo steps forward again, slower this time.

"She’s pregnant, Reo. And you’re scaring her."

Reo turns to him. "You think I care how she feels? She knew what this was. She wanted to play games. So let her play. But she better be ready to lose."

The room fills with a tension that chokes. Leo doesn’t speak. He just watches me. I feel the nausea return. I wrap my arms around myself because that’s all I have now.

"If you try anything again, Jennie, there will be consequences. Not just for you. For anyone dumb enough to help you."

“Reo—’

“You’re not leaving. And neither is my child. You try it, and I swear—”

I stand. I don’t know where the courage comes from, but it’s rising fast.

“I’m not a prisoner,” I say again.

His eyes narrow. “You’re whatever I make you.”

Leo steps forward again. “She’s pregnant. Reo, for God’s sake—”

“Shut up!” Reo snaps. “She made her choice the day she crawled into my bed and thought it’d end in roses.”

I want to scream. I want to slap him. But I just stand there, fists clenched, heart pounding.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

Reo moves closer. His voice dips.

“No, you don’t. You love me. You’re just mad that I won’t let you run.”

“I’m not yours,” I say, louder now.

He leans in, so close his breath brushes my face.

“You always will be.”

He walks out.

Like nothing happened.

Like I’m nothing.

The door shuts behind him with a heavy, echoing click.

I don’t move.

Leo doesn’t either.

He’s standing there, hands in fists, jaw tight, eyes lowered.

We don’t say anything.

Because there’s nothing to say.

Only the quiet ache of another night survived.

And the sound of something inside me breaking just a little louder than before.