Chapter 33
Jenna
Grayson holds my hand in the back of the Bentley for the entire ride.
Neither of us speaks, but the silence says plenty. It carries the words in our soft gazes, the affection in every look we exchange at a traffic light—and the questions that hang between us.
Every now and then, his fingers tighten around mine, offering reassurance, comfort… possession.
Each time he does it, I freeze a little inside. I don't know what to say or do with myself. This all feels so surreal.
He just walked out on his family—and basically quit his job—for me.
Why?
The question echoes in my head while common sense frantically tries to supply an answer. None of it fits. Why would he throw away everything he's worked for, everything he's built, just because his mother insulted me?
Because he loves you, a voice whispers.
I tell that voice to shut up, but it doesn't. It keeps repeating, louder each time, until it's all I can hear—an insistent, mocking wail that feels almost physical.
Because he's so in love with you that he's willing to give it all up.
No.
I almost say it aloud but catch myself. That can't be right. It's absurd. Grayson isn't in love with me. Sure, our bond has deepened, and there's affection—but love? That's too far.
We've only known each other a few months. Doesn't it take longer than that to fall in love?
I'm an optimist about most things, but when it comes to relationships, I'm a realist. I don't believe in love at first sight or in instant love stories. Lust, yes. But real love takes time. To love someone truly, you have to know them—really know them—inside and out.
Some might call that jaded, but it's kept me from plenty of heartbreak.
Real life isn't a movie. Sex isn't love. Even romance isn't love. Love is something deeper, something that endures and grows.
Then again… why would he give up his family and his career for sex or romance?
He wouldn't. He's too smart for that. Besides, he's handsome and rich—he could have all the casual sex or romantic flings he wanted.
So what else could this be? Maybe it's some elaborate plan to make his parents accept me.
But if that's the case, he's taking it too far.
His phone has been buzzing since we left, but he hasn't answered. He just set it to vibrate and slid it into his jacket pocket. Then—immediately—he reached for my hand again, like he'd missed it.
Together we sit cocooned in our silence, wrapped in the low, luxurious hum of the Bentley, the city lights flickering past like fragments of emotion I can't quite name.
Finally, we arrive.
Instead of heading into the basement garage, our driver Raul pulls up outside the building. Grayson steps out before Raul can open the door, then comes around to help me. His hand is warm and firm as he helps me to my feet. Together we walk up the steps as the Bentley glides away behind us.
"How's it going, Alvaro?" Grayson greets the doorman.
"Can't complain." Alvaro grins, but there's something in his eyes—a flicker of curiosity, maybe even understanding.
Grayson hands him a few hundred-dollar bills. "If my family comes by, tell them I'm not here. Say you think we went to my place in Upper Saddle River, New Jersey."
"Okay, sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Grayson nods and pats his shoulder before we move on.
The elevator ride to his apartment feels endless. My heart is pounding, my palms are damp, and anticipation prickles under my skin. What's going to happen? What did he mean by I'll show you?
I'm running through every possible meaning when I realize I've squeezed his hand too tightly. He turns, smiling softly, almost tenderly.
"Relax," he murmurs. "No one's going to hurt you."
"I didn't think you would," I say breathlessly.
He swipes his keycard, and the door clicks open.
Once inside, he helps me out of my coat and hangs it neatly on the rack.
Then he turns back to me—slowly—his eyes locking on mine.
Instinct has me stepping back. The air feels charged, and I can't tell whether it's desire or fear that's stronger. The look in his eyes is so naked, so raw, it both thrills and terrifies me.
"Do you really not know how I feel about you?
" he whispers. My back hits the cool wall as he steps closer, his body brushing mine.
One arm braces against the wall beside my head, blocking any escape.
"Do you not see the way I look at you? Do you not realize how often I think about you?
How it feels like I can't breathe when you're not home yet and I'm here, waiting for you? "
"I…" The word catches in my throat.
What is he saying? Why is he telling me this?
I want to believe he's exaggerating, or playing some new part—but there's nothing performative in his eyes. It's all honesty, raw and unfiltered.
And really, why would he lie? There's no audience anymore. No reason to pretend. Not here, not now.
Maybe, I think suddenly, we were never pretending at all.
Because feelings like these don't just appear overnight. They grow quietly, beneath the surface, until one day they're too strong to hide.
But it's all happening too fast. My brain can't catch up. As he lowers his head and trails kisses along my neck, his soft lips awaken every inch of skin they touch. I press a trembling hand to his chest.
"Wait…" I gasp as he nips gently at the side of my throat. "Hold on a minute."
"I love you."
The words hit like a shockwave, tearing down every wall I've built around my heart.
All the logic, all the careful arguments I'd stacked against the possibility crumble instantly. Every time I told myself this couldn't be love, that it was too soon, too irrational—it all means nothing now.
He loves me.
He's saying it with a voice that sounds like a confession and a plea all at once. He's shown it already, standing up to his family, walking away from everything he's known.
And now he's making sure I understand, repeating the words until they sink deep enough to change everything.
"I think I might have loved you from the very beginning," he says softly. "From the first day I saw you. I think that's why I tried so hard not to meet with you. Why I made sure all communication went through the senior staff. Deep down, I knew this moment would come—and it scared me."
He straightens, looking at me with a sad, tender smile.
"Let's be honest. If all I wanted was a fake fiancée to fool my parents, you were a terrible choice.
My parents were always going to make things hard for you.
If I'd been smarter, I'd have chosen someone easier.
Someone they'd have approved of right away, even if I didn't care for her. "
"Someone like Anastasia," I murmur.
His smile deepens. "Yeah. Someone like her. But the second you walked into my office, and then later at the bar…I couldn't stop thinking about you. Couldn't stop imagining us together. So when the chance came—even under the pretense of a fake engagement—I took it. I couldn't let go."
He pauses, brushing his thumb along my jaw.
"That's why I insisted we live together, too.
My heart already knew what my head refused to admit—that I had feelings for you.
That you drove me insane in the best possible way.
Maybe I was afraid, because the last time I loved someone, it ended badly.
But what I feel for you… it's so much more than that ever was. "
He kisses my neck again, and I shiver. My throat tightens with emotion—with the same fear he's just confessed. It's a whirlwind, but deep inside, I know I don't want him to stop.
I don't ever want this to stop.
My fingers slide into his hair as he continues, his words and touch intertwining until I can't tell which affects me more.
"But here we are anyway," he murmurs. "There was no fighting it. I never stood a chance. You're too good, too addictive. Too kind. Too beautiful. Too damn smart and funny. You're… everything. I couldn't help myself."
"Grayson…" I breathe his name as his lips reach my collarbone. "I didn't know."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he says quietly, finally pulling back to meet my eyes. "Talk to me, Jenna. Tell me what you're feeling."
I shake my head. The truth is, I don't even know what I'm feeling. It's all happening so fast, so sudden—yet also… is it really so unexpected? Haven't I known, deep down, that sooner or later we'd reach this point?
Known it? Wanted it? Maybe even hoped for it?
"It's okay," he says softly, smiling. "You can be honest. I'm not expecting you to say you love me.
I know I move a little fast that way, but I'm sure about how I feel, and I want to share it, not hide it.
I was more guarded in my last relationship, and that's probably what ruined it.
I wasn't perfect, but I swear I won't make the same mistakes again.
I'll be careful with you, Jenna. I promise. "
Tears press at the back of my eyes. With his vulnerability, he's stripped me bare too. There's nowhere to hide—no mask, no excuse, no distance left between us.
The truth hits me like sunlight through blinds. I see it clearly now, maybe for the first time.
I love him.
As absurd as it seems, I do. He's my strong, dependable fiancé—the man who gave his loyalty to people who didn't deserve it, who carried his pain without complaint. A man who stands up for truth, who refuses hypocrisy. A man who's willing to love, but never to lie.
I lean in and kiss him. "I love you too."
He grins—wide and unguarded—and takes my lips in his. The kiss is sweet and salty, a mix of tears and passion.
When he finally pulls away, it's only to trail his mouth down my neck, urgent now, lingering over the beat of my heart. He drops to his knees before me.
He looks up, eyes dark and mischievous, a more devilish curve to his smile. My breath catches as he lifts the train of my gown.
Oh God.
My body clenches in anticipation, my pulse racing. His hands are steady as he slides my panties aside and inhales, slow and deliberate.
"God, I want this so badly," he murmurs. "It's all I could think about on the way home. You're lucky I didn't pull over and eat you out right there on the side of the road."
"Grayson—"
The first sweep of his tongue across my clit silences me with a startled gasp.
He does it again, curling his tongue from the other side, and my knees nearly give way. He presses a firm hand to my stomach, holding me steady as he traces slow, maddening patterns on my swollen nub. My soft sounds fill the air, rising and falling with each flick of his tongue.
He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me to him completely.
Then he dives in.
His tongue flicks and circles, teasing and tasting, until I'm trembling. One finger slips inside me, then another, finding rhythm and depth.
"Grayson!" I cry, clutching his hair, the pleasure sharp and all-consuming.
He eats me in earnest now—licking, sucking, nibbling—his mouth and tongue relentless.
The sensations hit like waves, powerful and fast, leaving me gasping for air.
My body arches against him, instinctively chasing every stroke.
My orgasm crashes over me without warning. It tears through me, leaving me writhing, convulsing, my voice breaking as I cling to him.
When I finally come down, I collapse into his arms, panting, dazed.
He smiles down at me, brushing a thumb over my cheek. "See? That didn't hurt, did it?"
I bite my lip at his chuckle—and then I'm on him again, laughing breathlessly as we tumble back into each other.
Much later, when we're tangled together in the dark, everything feels soft and safe. His arm lies heavy and warm across my stomach. His breathing is slow, peaceful.
And that's when it hits me.
The secret.
The thing I've been pushing to the back of my mind ever since that test turned positive.
The pregnancy.
The realization slices through my haze of contentment. The warmth drains out of me in an instant, replaced by a cold, sick dread. My heart, which had been soaring so high, now feels like it's plummeting.
I stare into the dark, the weight of it pressing down until I can barely breathe.
I don't want this to end. Not this happiness, not him. But he has to know.
He deserves to know.
It's no use pretending it can wait. I can't hide it from him, not now—not when everything between us finally feels real. Even if it destroys us. Even if it means losing everything we just found.
I have to tell him.
Now.