Chapter 35 JADE
JADE
The walls of my living room have never felt both so confining and so necessary.
I pace the polished hardwood floors, the envelope clutched in my hand like a live grenade.
Getting out of the pool house had been essential.
I couldn't breathe there, couldn't think with their scents lingering on my skin, their voices in my ears, their presence overwhelming my senses.
"I need space," I'd told them, forcing my voice to sound annoyed rather than broken. "I can't stay cooped up in this pool house another minute. The main house has been checked, right? I'm going stir-crazy."
They'd objected, of course. Ethan with his stern practicality, Declan with his quiet concern, Mateo with his attempts to lighten my suddenly dark mood.
But I'd insisted, using the spoiled diva persona like armor.
It was disturbingly easy to slip back into, like muscle memory for a dance I'd performed too many times.
Now, alone in the living room, I spread the contents of the envelope across my white marble coffee table. The heavy cream paper with its official-looking letterhead is only the first page. A ruse, designed to get past Ethan's inspection.
But the documents inside are very real.
A criminal record. Declan's criminal record.
My fingers trace over the mugshot, and my heart constricts. He looks younger, his face unmarred by the scar that now bisects his cheek. His expression is defiant, angry, but his eyes hold the same quiet pain I've glimpsed beneath his stoic exterior.
Two years for assault. The details are sparse, just that he attacked a man.
But I know Declan now. I know the gentle way his massive hands cradle my face.
I know the careful restraint in every movement, like a man constantly afraid of his own strength.
I know how he stands between me and any perceived threat without hesitation.
Whatever happened, whatever drove him to violence, I trust him. It changes nothing about how I feel.
But it's not the record that makes my blood run cold. It's the handwritten note clipped to the front page:
You've been a very bad little doll.
I told you to behave, to be a good little doll. But you couldn't help it, could you? You let them in. You let them touch you.
Send them away by the end of the day, or I tear everything they've built apart.
Starting with Cross Security. How long do you think Ethan's precious reputation will hold once the world finds out he knowingly hired an ex-con?
That his right-hand man went to prison for assault?
That your "bodyguard" is a violent liability?
And when the dust settles, when contracts drop and clients vanish, what will be left of their friendship? Of your little foursome fantasy? You think Mateo will laugh his way through the fallout? You think Declan can survive watching Ethan lose everything just because he tried to save him?
You'll break them. All three of them.
And that will be on you.
So decide quickly, Jade. Them or you.
I'll be watching. Just like before. Always watching my little doll.
The paper crumples in my fist. Rage and fear war inside me. But beneath them both, a cold certainty forms.
I know what I have to do.
I smooth out the note, place it back in the envelope, and tuck it beneath a book on the side table. They can never see it. Never know why I'm about to do what I must.
My hand reaches for my phone. The screen blurs through unshed tears as I type a message to Ethan:
Need to speak with all of you. In the main house. Now.
I set the phone down and walk to the bar, pouring a finger of bourbon. I'll need the burn of it, the liquid courage to get through this. I knock it back in one swift motion, welcoming the fire down my throat.
Then I stand before the wall of windows overlooking the pool, letting the afternoon sun warm my face, and I begin the transformation. I roll my shoulders back. Lift my chin. Let my face settle into the cool, detached mask the world knows as Jade Sinclair, supermodel. Ice Queen.
The door opens behind me. I don't turn. Let them come to me.
"Jade?" Ethan's voice, concerned but controlled. Always controlled. "What's going on?"
I turn slowly, taking in all three of them. Ethan at the front, leader even now. Declan slightly behind, his massive frame tense, alert. Mateo, eyes darting between us, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
"I've come across some... concerning information," I say, my voice cool and professional. I gesture to the documents on the coffee table.
They move closer, exchanging glances.
"What kind of information?" Ethan asks, wariness creeping into his tone.
I walk to the table, pick up Declan's mugshot, and hold it out. "The kind that makes me question the wisdom of our continued association."
Declan goes utterly still. Ethan's eyes widen fractionally, before his expression hardens. Mateo looks genuinely shocked, gaze darting between the photo and Declan's face.
"Where did you get that?" Ethan demands.
"Does it matter?" I counter, archly raising an eyebrow. "What matters is that I'm employing a convicted felon as my bodyguard. A man who spent two years in prison for assault. Hardly the kind of association someone in my position can afford."
Declan steps forward, jaw tight. "I never hid who I was."
"You never revealed it either," I snap, injecting venom into my voice. The look of hurt that flashes across his face nearly breaks me. I dig my nails into my palm, using the pain to stay focused.
"This isn't you," Ethan says quietly, dangerously. "This isn't the woman from last night. What's really going on, Jade?"
I force a cold laugh. "Last night was a mistake. A moment of weakness that needs to be forgotten." Each word is a knife I twist in my own heart. "But this," I tap the mugshot, "this is a liability I can't ignore."
"Jade, come on," Mateo interjects, his usual playfulness gone. "Whatever happened, you know Declan. You know he's not..."
"I know he's a criminal," I interrupt, the words tasting like ash. "And I know your security services have repeatedly failed to keep me safe. The camera? The breach in the perimeter? For what I'm paying, it's utterly unacceptable."
Ethan's expression darkens. "So that's it? You're firing us because of Declan's past and because someone's gotten past our security?"
"Someone who might not have gotten past proper professionals," I add, twisting the knife deeper. "I've already made arrangements. A new security team starts tomorrow."
Declan's massive hands clench at his sides. "I'll step down," he says quietly. "Ethan and Mateo can..."
"No." My voice cracks slightly, and I clear my throat.
"No. This is about more than just you. It's about the repeated security failures.
It's about my reputation. It's about..." I search for more reasons, more walls to erect between us, ".
..professional boundaries that should never have been crossed. "
Ethan steps closer, towering over me, his blue eyes glacial. "Bullshit. Yesterday you were fine with crossing boundaries, these past weeks..."
"Have been a mistake," I repeat, cutting him off. "One I've rectified by hiring professionals who understand that business is business."
"We are professionals," Ethan growls.
"Really?" I gesture around the room. "Is this professional? Sleeping with your client? Bringing your criminal friend into my home? Failing time and again to keep me safe?"
The words land like physical blows. Ethan's jaw tightens, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Declan's face has gone completely blank, a fortress shutting down. But it's Mateo's expression, open hurt, confusion, betrayal, that nearly breaks my resolve.
"I don't believe you," Mateo says, his voice uncharacteristically flat. "Something's happened."
I turn away, unable to bear the rawness in his golden eyes. "What's happened is I've come to my senses. I allowed myself to be charmed, manipulated even, into thinking you three were something special. But the facts speak for themselves."
"Jade," Ethan's voice has turned dangerous, a coiled spring of anger. "Look at me."
I steel myself and turn, meeting his gaze with all the ice I can muster.
"We might not have disclosed everything about our past. But we never lied to you. The ones who were misled are us. You're exactly what they say you are," he says quietly. "Cold. Calculating. Using people and discarding them when they're no longer entertaining."
The words slice deeper than he knows. Because it's the lie I've built my life around, the cage I've constructed to protect myself. And now I'm crawling back into it, locking the door behind me.
"It is what it is," I say with a dismissive shrug.
The front door opens without warning and Gloria appears. I've texted her previously to come to the house.
I move past the men, putting my back to them and facing Gloria, brushing against Declan's arm. The brief contact sends electricity through me, a final reminder of what I'm giving up.
The air tightens as her eyes scan the scene. The tension radiating off the three men, the papers still spread across the coffee table, and me, standing tall, face expressionless, spine like ice.
Her gaze lands on me. She knows something's wrong. Of course she does.
"Gloria," I say, loud enough for them all to hear. "Perfect timing. Would you please see these gentlemen out? They're no longer under contract, and we've concluded our business."
Her brows lift, just slightly. She doesn't speak. Not right away.
We lock eyes across the room, and I give her the smallest shake of my head. Don't ask. Please, not now. It's all there in the look I send her, equal parts desperation and plea.
She holds my gaze for a long beat. Then, gracefully, she turns to the men and squares her shoulders.
"Understood," she says, her voice perfectly composed.
I turn back to the three men, summoning the last of my strength.
"Your final payment will be processed today.
The pool house should be vacated by tomorrow morning.
Any further communication should go through Gloria.
" I pause, twisting the knife one final time.
"And remember, you all signed NDAs. What happened here stays here. "
Without waiting for a response, I walk out of the living room, my legs somehow still supporting me. I don't look back. I can't. If I see their faces again, Ethan's fury, Declan's resignation, Mateo's hurt, I'll crumble.
I make it to my bedroom, closing the door with a soft click that sounds like finality. Only then do I allow myself to slide to the floor, back against the door, as silent sobs wrack my body.
I've done it. I've pushed away the only people who've ever seen the real me. I've burned the bridges to protect them from the fire.
I'll deal with whatever comes next on my own terms. I've survived before. I'll survive again.
But as I press my fist against my mouth to stifle the sounds of my breaking heart, I know one thing with absolute certainty: I will never be the same.