Jane's POV
Sleep didn't come.
I lay in the dark long after Celine's breathing softened into that steady rhythm that said she'd finally slipped under. The presidential suite was quiet in a way that felt unnatural, like the walls had signed NDAs. I wasn't used to silence. My life for the past year had been sirens, slammed doors, raised voices, threats whispered through phone lines. Silence made room for thoughts, and my thoughts were traitors.
I turned onto my side, eyes open in the dark, staring at nothing. The sheets smelled like vanilla and money. I felt small in the middle of the king-sized bed, like someone had picked me up out of my real life and dropped me into a world I didn't belong to.
My ex-husband planned it.
The echo of those words wouldn't stop replaying. Every time they repeated, a new wave of nausea followed. How many nights had I slept beside that man? How many meals did we share like normal couples? How many times did I convince myself his anger was just stress, his coldness just exhaustion?
I pulled the blanket up to my neck as if fabric could shield me from memories.
Somewhere close, a door shut softly. At first I thought it was another guest, but then I caught the faintest sound of a voice. Deep. Controlled. A voice I recognized.
Allen.
I thought he'd gone to wherever men like him vanished at night, probably to brood over city skylines and expensive whiskey. But he was still here. And he wasn't alone. Talking to someone.
I shouldn't have cared. I shouldn't have moved. But curiosity and survival had become the same thing for me lately.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Celine, and padded barefoot across the cool floor. The sound was coming from the living area. I stopped before the connecting door, heart ticking fast.
I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Not really. But when danger has your name on speed dial, you learn to listen for anything that sounds like footsteps behind you.
Allen's voice carried through the door—muffled, but words dropped clearly enough.
"I don't care about his excuses," he said, voice low. "If he makes one more move, we leak everything. No delays."
My breath stalled.
He was talking about my ex. He had to be.
A pause, then a sharp tone. "No. She stays here. For her safety, and for ours."
Safety for ours. That made my stomach tighten. I wasn't just a victim. I was a liability to him too.
The person on the other end must've said something that annoyed him, because Allen's voice dropped even colder. "You think I'm doing this out of guilt? I'm doing this because someone tried to take us both down. I'm not the one who started the war. But I will finish it."
Us both.
War.
Finish it.
This wasn't just about a scandal anymore. Whatever my ex set up, it tangled into something bigger. Something dangerous.
I leaned closer, barely breathing.
A new name slid into the conversation—quiet, but clear enough to brand itself into my mind.
"Keep eyes on Marcus."
Marcus.
The name meant nothing to me, but the way Allen said it… like speaking it out loud required caution. It wasn't a friend's name. It was a threat wrapped in syllables.
Who was Marcus?
My pulse jumped. I shifted slightly, and the floor betrayed me with the tiniest creak. The talking stopped. Silence sliced through the dark.
I froze.
For a few long seconds, nothing. Then his footsteps—slow, approaching. I backed up just as the living room door opened. Light spilled across the hall, catching me halfway between running back to bed and pretending I was sleepwalking.
Allen stepped out.
He wasn't in a suit for once. Just a black shirt, sleeves pushed up, the kind of effortless look that said he didn't need to try to intimidate anyone. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp even in the dimness.
"You should be resting," he said quietly.
"I couldn't sleep." My voice came out thinner than I wanted.
His jaw tightened. "You heard the call."
It wasn't a question.
I lifted my chin a little. "I wasn't spying. I just… heard voices."
"You shouldn't be wandering around the suite at night," he replied. "There are things you're not ready to know."
"I'm already in the dark," I snapped softly. "How much darker can it get?"
He stepped closer, close enough that I could see faint exhaustion in his eyes, the kind that didn't come from lack of sleep but from too much responsibility. "There are parts of this situation that could put you in more danger if you learn them too soon."
"I'm already in danger," I whispered. "Or did you forget that part?"
For a moment, he didn't speak. His gaze flicked to my left hand, the bare finger where a ring used to be. Something softened in his expression, almost like he regretted being right about my ex.
"I didn't forget," he said. "That's why I'm still here."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "Who is Marcus?"
The question hung between us, loaded.
Allen exhaled through his nose and rubbed his thumb across the bridge of his brow like he was debating how much to share. "Someone who benefits from your ex staying protected. Someone with more to lose than either of us."
That wasn't enough. Not even close. "So this is bigger than a leaked scandal. Bigger than a setup."
"Yes."
"And you think keeping me in a hotel suite solves anything?"
"No," he answered honestly. "But it buys us time."
Us.
I hated that there was an us now. I hated that my life had twisted enough to align with his, even for a second.
Allen's voice dipped lower. "Go back to bed, Jane. The next few days are going to demand more strength than tonight did."
"I don't have any strength left."