Chapter 19
Was this your plan all along?
I sit behind my desk, unable to corral my thoughts. Anger courses through my veins, burning hot and unrelenting.
Londyn.
Just the thought of her name is enough to set me ablaze, a searing mix of desire and frustration that leaves me reeling.
I had her back in my arms, her soft curves pressed against me, to see trust in her eyes again. For one night, it was like the past decade never happened—no betrayals, no wounds, no bitter resentments standing between us.
Just us. Just that blazing, all-consuming connection that”s haunted me for years.
And then I had to go and fuck it all up. Again.
I run a hand over my cropped hair, grinding my teeth against the tide of self-loathing threatening to drown me.
How could I have been so reckless? So shortsighted?
The memory of Londyn”s wounded expression when I delivered the check last month haunts me.
Seared into my brain like an iron brand. The shock and hurt etched across those expressive features as the full extent of my actions sank in.
Yes, I fucked up. And I”m not sure I can recover from, no matter how hard I try.
I can still hear the tremor in her voice as she fought for composure. ”Was this your plan all along?”
No. God, no. Hurting her was the absolute last thing I wanted.
But in typical Jermaine Knights fashion, I barreled ahead without a second thought, consumed by the obsessive need to dismantle Westbrook”s empire at any cost.
Even if it meant sacrificing the only real shot at happiness I”ve ever had.
I drop my head into my hands, the ragged breaths sawing in and out of my lungs the only sound in the hushed stillness of my home office.
It”s been a month since that fateful night. A month of radio silence from Londyn, of being shut out and shut down at every turn no matter how I try to reach her.
My gut twists as I picture the resolve in those warm brown eyes, the set of her full lips as she held firm in her refusal to hear me out.
I can”t exactly blame her, though. Not after the bomb I dropped about dismantling Westbrook Industries.
The distribution center is closed indefinitely and all the employees were given temporary leave with pay while we decide our next steps.
Still, the rejection stings in a way I haven”t felt since...
Well, since the last time I pushed Londyn away all those years ago.
Except this time, the fault sits squarely on my shoulders. My actions, my selfishness, my blinding obsession with settling an ancient score.
I was so focused on avenging the past that I completely disregarded the present. And now I”ve lost her all over again.
The thought is a lead weight in my chest. Because the truth is, I don”t just want Londyn in my life. I need her like I need air.
I need her to exist.
She”s become as vital to me as breathing itself. And without her warmth, her light...I”m slowly suffocating beneath the weight of my regrets.
Tell her the truth, my inner voice creeps forward. I shake it off. The last thing I want is pity.
A quick knock at the door jolts me from my spiraling thoughts. I look up to find Jalisa leaning against the frame, dark eyes narrowed in a studious gaze.
”You look like shit, big brother.”
I huff out a mirthless chuckle, swiping a hand over my face. ”That obvious, huh?”
She crosses the room in a few measured strides, taking the seat across from me. ”You”re lucky J”Mario had to head back to the city for a meeting. Otherwise, he”d be in here laying into you about letting your personal drama compromise the plan.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw at the insinuation, but I can”t exactly argue with her assessment. Not when my head has been all over the place lately, unable to fully focus on anything beyond thoughts of Londyn.
”How”re things looking on the acquisition front?” I ask instead, needing the distraction of shop talk to settle my raging thoughts.
Jalisa shrugs one shoulder, the picture of casual nonchalance. ”Westbrook”s squirming, but his pride won”t let him cave just yet. The board”s getting antsy, though—word on the street is they”re already angling to cut him loose and install new leadership more...amenable to our overtures.”
Satisfaction curls in my gut at her report. Everything is proceeding according to plan, each chess piece precisely maneuvered into its designated position.
Winston Westbrook”s reign of unchecked greed and corruption is rapidly drawing to a close, just as it should”ve been a lifetime ago.
So why does the prospect of finally achieving my obsession feel so...hollow? Like a shallow, empty victory devoid of any deeper meaning or fulfillment?
The answer dances at the edges of my awareness, a nagging truth I”ve been stubbornly avoiding.
Because it”s all for nothing without Londyn.
My fingers tighten around the armrests again as a fresh wave of frustration washes over me. I need to make this right, to find a way to explain myself and win back her trust before it”s too late.
If I”ve learned anything from this whole fucked up saga, it”s that vengeance alone can never heal the wounds of the past. Not fully.
I need more. I need the light and laughter and warmth that Londyn represents—the only counterbalance to the relentless darkness that”s consumed me for far too long.
”Jermaine?” Jalisa”s concerned voice slices through my turbulent thoughts. ”You still with me?”
I blink, refocusing on her familiar features. There”s a faint crease between her brows, one that speaks to a bone-deep worry for me that she”ll never fully voice.
We”ve always been close like that—two sides of the same brutally honest coin, able to read each other”s tells and unspoken thoughts with uncanny precision.
So she knows, same as I do, that my fixation on Londyn goes far deeper than some passing fancy or misguided attempt to rekindle an old flame.
This is something more, an all-consuming need. A soul-deep craving for the one good thing in my world that doesn”t involve shady dealings or hostile takeovers.
A soft huff of frustration escapes me as I rake my hands over my face. ”I can”t just sit back and lose her again, Jalisa. Not like this.”
The admission is a hoarse rasp, barely audible over the thunderous pounding of my pulse. But Jalisa hears it all the same, dark eyes glittering with an unreadable emotion.
She regards me steadily for a long moment before speaking. ”So don”t lose her, then.”
I blink, caught off guard by the blunt simplicity of her response. ”Just like that, huh?”
Jalisa arches a brow and props a hand on her hip. ”You”re Jermaine fucking Knights. When has anything ever stopped you from claiming what you want?”
There”s a teasing lilt to her tone, one that sparks an unexpected flicker of amusement deep within me despite the gravity of the situation.
She”s not wrong—I”ve always been ruthlessly single-minded in my pursuits, unwavering in the face of obstacles or setbacks.
Except this time, what I want most in the world doesn”t involve money, power, or professional clout. It”s about something far more precious and equally terrifying.
Love. Connection. A chance at real, lasting happiness and peace.
All those things I”ve denied myself for the better part of a decade while fixating on this twisted quest for vengeance against Winston Westbrook.
Well, no more. It”s time to turn that same furious determination toward winning Londyn back, no matter what it takes.
A fresh surge of resolve settles over me. This is what I was meant for—_loving her_.
So, I”m about to fight for what I want and not take no for an answer.
”You”re right,” I growl, already rising from my chair in one fluid motion. ”I”m not about to lose her over this shit. Not without putting up one hell of a fight first.”
Jalisa watches me prowl around the desk, an approving smirk playing at the corners of her lips. ”That”s my big brother. Now go get your girl, J.”
”I am, but first, we need to handle this situation.”