17. Jensen
— ? —
Jensen
I zip her dress slowly, my fingers trailing up the curve of her spine, lingering on each vertebra.
The red silk hugs every line of her body. Fitted. Elegant. A dress that makes a statement. She chose it deliberately, and I love her for it.
“Kieran is settled?” I ask, pressing my lips to the back of her neck.
“Nadia has him for the whole night. Dinosaur movies and extra dessert.” She shivers under my mouth. “He thinks it’s a sleepover.”
“Good.” I kiss the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. “I don’t want him anywhere near this.”
She turns to face me, and her hands come up to my chest. Her fingers work the buttons of my shirt, even though it’s already buttoned. She just wants to touch me. I understand. I want to touch her too.
“You’re tense,” she says, her palms sliding up to my shoulders, kneading the muscles there.
“I’m about to destroy my mother in front of everyone she’s ever tried to impress. Tense seems appropriate.”
She rises on her toes and kisses the corner of my jaw. Her fingers move to my tie, straightening it, smoothing it, her touch lingering longer than necessary.
“Whatever happens in that room,” she says, “we walk out together.”
She presses her whole body against mine, her arms wrapping around my neck. I can feel her heartbeat through the silk of her dress. I can feel the warmth of her skin. I hold her tight, breathing her in, storing up the scent of her.
“I love you,” she whispers against my throat.
“I love you too.” I pull back and cup her face in my hands. “After tonight, it’s done. All of it. We start fresh.”
I kiss her. And she melts into me, her fingers curling into my jacket, pulling me closer. When we finally break apart, her lipstick is smudged and her eyes are dark with want.
“Later,” she whispers.
“After we burn it all down.”
The car is waiting for us downstairs. Black sedan. Tinted windows. A partition between us and the driver.
I slide in after Kiara and close the door. The partition is already up. The city slides past the windows, lights blurring into streaks of color.
My hands won’t stay still. I keep clenching them, unclenching them, running them through my hair. The speech I prepared is running through my head on a loop. The things I’m going to say. The way my mother’s face will look when she realizes what’s happening.
“Jensen.”
I turn. Kiara is watching me with those dark eyes, her head tilted, her lips slightly parted.
“You’re spiraling,” she says.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re wound so tight you’re going to snap before we even get there.”
“I just need to focus. I need to...”
She moves before I can finish the sentence. She slides off the seat and onto her knees in front of me, her hands going to my belt.
“Kiara. What are you...”
“Shh.” She unbuckles the belt, her fingers quick and sure. “Let me take care of you.”
“We’re in a car.”
“A car with a partition.” She unzips my pants and reaches inside. Her hand wraps around me, and I’m already half hard just from the anticipation. “No one can see. No one can hear.”
She strokes me slowly, her grip firm, her eyes locked on mine. I watch her hand move, watch myself grow harder under her touch, and the tension in my chest starts to loosen.
“That’s it,” she murmurs. “Just focus on me. Focus on this.”
She lowers her head and takes me into her mouth.
The wet heat of her engulfs me, and I groan, my head falling back against the seat. She takes me deeper, her tongue swirling around the head, her hand working the base where her mouth can’t reach.
“Fuck.” The word comes out strangled. “Kiara.”
She hums around me, and the vibration sends sparks shooting up my spine. She bobs her head slowly, taking her time, savoring me. Her free hand slides up my thigh, her nails scratching lightly through the fabric of my pants.
I bury my fingers in her hair, careful not to mess up the style she spent so long perfecting. I don’t push, don’t guide. I just hold on while she works me with her mouth.
She pulls back until just the tip is between her lips, her tongue flicking across the slit, tasting the precum that’s already leaking. Then she sinks back down, taking me deep, her throat opening to accommodate me.
“Jesus Christ.” My hips buck involuntarily. “Baby, your mouth. Your fucking mouth.”
She speeds up, her head moving faster, her hand twisting on each upstroke. The pressure builds at the base of my spine, coiling tighter with every pass of her tongue.
I look down at her. At this woman on her knees for me in the back of a car, her red dress pooling around her, her lips stretched around my cock. She looks up at me, and our eyes meet, and the connection is so intense it almost undoes me right there.
“I’m close,” I warn her. “Kiara, I’m going to...”
She doesn’t pull back. She takes me deeper, her throat working around me, her hand squeezing the base.
I come with a groan, spilling into her mouth, my whole body shuddering. She swallows everything, her tongue lapping at me gently as I come down from the high.
When she finally releases me, she sits back on her heels and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. Her smile is smug. Satisfied.
“Better?” she asks.
I stare at her. This woman. This incredible, infuriating, perfect woman.
“Fuck, baby.” I tuck myself back into my pants, my hands still trembling. “I don’t think I even give a fuck about revenge anymore.”
She laughs, the sound bright and real in the confined space of the car. She climbs back onto the seat beside me and fixes her lipstick in a compact mirror.
“Yes, you do,” she says. “But now you can think clearly while you do it.”
I pull her close and kiss her. She tastes like champagne and me. “I don’t deserve you.”
“No, you don’t.” She snaps the compact closed. “But you’ve got me anyway.”
The car pulls up to the Grand Pennant. Through the tinted windows, I can see the entrance, the red carpet, the photographers waiting.
“Ready?” Kiara asks.
“Ready.”
We step out of the car together.
The ballroom is already crowded. The city’s elite cluster in small groups, their laughter too loud, their jewelry catching the light.
This is the launch party for the Waterfront Development Project. The project that brought me to this city. The same one Kiara has been coordinating. The one my mother has been using to cement her legacy.
I scan the room and find her near the stage. Lauren Hayes stands beside her. Dark hair. Red lips. My mother has been parading her at events for years, trying to replace Kiara with someone more suitable.
I feel Kiara’s hand slip into mine. She squeezes once.
The speeches begin. The CEO takes the stage. Investors are thanked. My mother stands at the edge of the platform, basking.
I catch Kiara’s eye. She nods.
I walk toward the stage. “I’d like to say a few words,” I tell the CEO.
He steps aside. I’m the heir. No one questions the heir. The room quiets. Faces turn toward me. I can feel my mother’s eyes on my back.
“Thank you all for being here. This is a significant moment for Cole Real Estate.” I pause, letting the silence stretch. “But there’s a truth that needs to be told first. A truth my mother has spent years burying.”
The room shifts. Journalists reach for their phones. My mother’s smile wavers.
“Five years ago, I was supposed to marry Kiara Reyes. I didn’t show up. Everyone believed I changed my mind. That was a lie.”
I turn to face my mother.
“I received a threat that day. Photos proving they could reach Kiara whenever they wanted. A message that said if I showed up, she’d die.
” I step down from the stage. “I stayed away for five years. I missed the birth of my son. I missed his first four years. And I did it because I thought I was protecting her.”
The crowd parts as I walk toward my mother. Her face is frozen.
“I found the man you hired, Mother. Ray Doyle. He told me everything.”
Her face goes white.
“Jensen.” Her voice cuts through the room. “This is absurd.”
“Is it?” I stop three feet from her. “Then explain how you had photos of me with Lauren from two years before I met Kiara. Photos you showed her on our wedding day and claimed were recent.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Lauren’s face drains of color.
“You told Kiara I went back to Lauren. You told her she had no name, no family worth marrying into.” I hear the venom in my own voice. “You told her to cry quietly.”
“She was beneath you.” My mother’s mask slips, her voice turning cold. “A nobody. A hotel coordinator with dead parents and a sister who works as a nurse. You were going to throw away everything for someone who couldn’t even afford her own wedding dress.”
Gasps from the crowd.
Kiara appears at my side, her red dress a slash of color against the muted elegance of the room.
“You’re right,” Kiara says. “I couldn’t afford my wedding dress. I borrowed it. I had no name. No money. No connections.”
She steps forward.
“But I had your son’s love. I have his child. And I have a life I built while you were busy manipulating everyone around you.”
“You’re nothing.” My mother’s voice is a hiss. “A gold-digger who got lucky. A whore who trapped my son with a bastard child.”
The word detonates in the room.
I step in front of Kiara, my body blocking her from my mother. “Don’t you ever speak about her or my son that way again.”
“Or what?” My mother laughs. “You’ll disown me? Walk away from everything I’ve given you? You’re nothing without this family, Jensen. Nothing without the Cole name.”
“Then I’ll be nothing.” I take Kiara’s hand. “I’ll be nothing with her. I’ll be nothing with my son. I’ll be nothing with a family that actually loves me.”
“You’re throwing away everything.”
“No.” I squeeze Kiara’s hand. “I’m finally getting everything.”
I turn to the room. Cameras flash. Journalists record. Guests stand frozen.
“My mother’s actions don’t represent Cole Real Estate. They represent only her.” I let my gaze sweep across the crowd. “Now you all know who she really is.”
I turn back to my mother. She’s standing alone now. Lauren has stepped away, her face pale, distancing herself from my mother along with everyone else. The admirers have melted into the crowd. “I hope it was worth it, Mother.”
I take Kiara’s hand and turn toward the exit.
“Jensen.” My mother’s voice follows us, desperate now. “Don’t you dare walk away from me. Don’t you dare choose her.”
I stop. I turn back. “She’s my family. She has always been my family. You were just the obstacle.”
We walk out of the ballroom together. The cameras follow. The chaos erupts behind us as journalists swarm my mother, as her empire crumbles in real time.
In the lobby, the staff watches us pass. The doors open onto the street.
Kiara’s hand is still in mine. I pull her close. “It’s done,” she says against my chest.
I kiss the top of her head. “Let’s go get our son.”
We walk to the car together, leaving the wreckage behind.
I don’t look back.