Chapter 5 Leverage
Elena was toweling her damp hair when her phone finally buzzed. Brielle.
She let it ring once more before swiping to answer.
“Morning, sunshine,” Brielle said, her voice warm, a little teasing. “Or should I say, future CEO’s wife?”
Elena groaned and flopped onto her bed. “Don’t start.”
“Oh no, babe. I waited all night for a recap. You left me hanging! I had to dig through gossip blogs like a peasant.”
“There’s nothing to say,” Elena muttered. “It was a mess.”
There was a dramatic gasp on the other end. “A mess? Please tell me there was yelling. Or a food fight. Or at least a scandalous eye roll.”
Elena laughed despite herself. “No food fight, but it was awkward. Very awkward. He was… cold. Distant. Rude, even. And then we kind of—argued. In front of our parents.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
Brielle paused. Then, with a lower tone: “Did he say anything about the marriage thing?”
“
Not really. But I don’t think he’s thrilled about it either.”
There was a silence. Then, a softer, unexpected question from Brielle:
“Do you think you could ever… try to make it work? Like, just a little?”
Elena sighed. “I don’t even know him, Brie. And he clearly doesn’t want to know me.”
“Well,” Brielle said, her usual sass returning, “maybe he just needs a little Elena magic. You have charm, babe. Use it.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “I don’t think charm works on men like Jaxon Wentworth.”
“Oh please. Everyone has a weakness.”
“I think his is being emotionally unavailable.”
They both laughed.
Jaxson Wentworth didn’t sleep much.
The city skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, but it did little to distract him from the thoughts racing through his mind. Last night’s dinner wasn’t supposed to rattle him—it was business. A strategic alliance. One he stood to gain from. But somehow, Elena Montclair wasn’t what he expected.
She wasn’t fake. She didn’t try to impress him. And when she snapped at him? That was real.
Jaxson stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored white shirt. The sleeves hugged his toned arms, the faint scent of expensive cologne hanging in the air. His jet-black hair was slicked back, and his jawline bore a shadow of stubble that added to his ever-composed exterior.
He moved to the kitchen, where his personal assistant, Damon, was already waiting with a tablet in hand.
“Good morning, sir,” Liam greeted, barely looking up. “Your 10 a.m. board meeting is still on schedule. Also, your father wants an update about the Montclair engagement... situation.”
Jaxson poured himself black coffee, bitter—just the way he liked it.
“Tell him everything is under control,” he said coolly, though something in his chest tightened at the word engagement.
Damon hesitated. “You don’t look like someone who has things under control.”
Jaxson raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I mean... you didn’t say much after last night. That’s all.” Damon lowered his eyes again.
Jaxson leaned against the kitchen island, sipping the coffee. “She’s... not what I thought. I figured I’d be dealing with another spoiled heiress desperate to please daddy.”
Damon looked up, surprised. “And?”
Jaxson smirked faintly. “She’s got bite.”
He didn't know whether that intrigued him or irritated him. Probably both.
“Do you think she’ll go through with it?” Damon asked.
“I don’t care,” Jaxson replied, walking toward the window again. “She doesn’t have a choice. And neither do I.”
But the truth was, he did care. Maybe not about the marriage... yet. But about the challenge. Elena Montclair wasn’t going to make this easy.
The car ride to the office was unusually quiet. Jaxson sat in the back of the sleek black Mercedes, fingers drumming lightly on the leather seat, his sharp eyes scanning emails that somehow all felt insignificant after last night.
The alliance felt like chains disguised as opportunity. Sure, the merger would solidify the Wentworth and Montclair empires—but at what cost?
His freedom?
When he stepped into the towering Wentworth & Co. building, staff straightened at their desks, offering respectful nods and “Good mornings,” to which he gave clipped, silent acknowledgments. His presence alone was enough to command the floor.
The elevator doors opened on the 32nd floor—his. But just as he began heading toward his private office, he froze.
At the far end of the hallway, standing near the conference room, was a woman in a champagne-colored pencil skirt and soft ivory blouse. Her chestnut hair fell in glossy waves down her back, and she was laughing lightly as she chatted with someone from the marketing department.
Brielle.
He didn’t know her well—had only seen her in pictures once, alongside Elena on one of the Montclair charity campaign spreads. But he recognized her now. Same sharp eyes. Same confident stance.
Their gazes locked for a moment. And she narrowed her eyes.
He turned, as if uninterested, and continued walking. But before he could reach his office door, he heard her heels click behind him.
“Mr. Wentworth,” Brielle said, her voice cool. “Or is it... future Montclair?”
Jaxson stopped. Slowly, he turned to face her. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Neither is she,” Brielle replied without missing a beat. “And just so we’re clear, if you think this alliance means you can control Elena like a business transaction, think again.”
He blinked. This woman had guts.
“I don’t plan to control anyone,” he said smoothly. “I have my own reasons for agreeing to this.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” she said with a sarcastic smile. “But let me give you a warning as someone who’s been in her life longer than a dinner date—she doesn’t break easily. Don’t expect her to play the obedient heiress.”
Jaxson’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained calm. “Good. I don’t like things that come easy.”
That earned him a pause. And a look—one that seemed to be trying to read between his lines.
“Well,” Brielle said finally, “I just came here to drop off a file for the campaign team. But thanks for the entertainment.”
She turned and walked away without waiting for a response, leaving Jackson standing alone in the hallway with the faint echo of her heels fading behind him.
He didn’t know whether to be annoyed... or impressed.
But one thing was clear now—Elena Montclair had loyal people in her corner.
Jaxson walked into the boardroom with his signature confidence, his expression composed like stone. The room silenced as he entered — a polished space with floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city skyline, a long mahogany table gleaming beneath the soft pendant lighting, and a row of executives straightening their backs in his presence.
His assistant, Damon, was already standing at the head of the table. “Everyone’s here, sir.”
“Let’s begin,” Jaxson said, sliding into his seat at the helm.
On the agenda: a major cross-brand collaboration proposal from an international luxury brand seeking partnership with Wentworth & Co. But even as the presentation began — graphs displayed, marketing predictions laid out — Jaxson’s mind was elsewhere.
It was like a shadow behind every slide and spreadsheet.
Elena Montclair.
The Montclairs.
His father’s smug smile over dinner. Elena’s narrowed eyes. Her quiet defiance.
Damon nudged his arm gently. “Sir?” he whispered.
Jaxson blinked and refocused. One of the foreign delegates had just asked a direct question.
“My apologies,” Jaxson said smoothly. “What was that again?”
The delegate repeated it, a question about target demographics. Jaxson answered flawlessly, but even as the discussion moved forward, his fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the tabletop.
Halfway through the meeting, he leaned back and quietly said to Damon, “Have legal send me the full breakdown of the Montclair merger terms—all of them. I want to know everything my father signed.”
Damon gave a slight nod. “Understood.”
The meeting continued with discussions of profit shares, launch dates, influencer marketing— but the air around Jaxson felt stiff. Even his usual ease was missing. His staff noticed it. They wouldn’t dare mention it, but they felt it.
As the final slide was presented, Jaxson stood and adjusted the cufflinks on his tailored suit.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “Have your legal team coordinate with ours. We’ll reconvene in seventy-two hours.”
He turned and walked out before anyone else rose.
---
Back in his office, Jackson loosened his tie and stood at the wide glass wall overlooking the city.
The alliance wasn’t just a deal.
It was a trap.
And he was beginning to suspect—he wasn’t the only one caught in it.
---
By the time Jaxson arrived at the Wentworth family estate that evening, the sky was bruised with dusk. The mansion stood grand and proud, its centuries-old pillars glowing under the ambient lights. Inside, everything reeked of power and generational pride—polished marble floors, golden chandeliers, the faint scent of aged scotch, and old money.
He didn’t bother announcing himself.
He knew where to find his father.
Upstairs, in the mahogany-walled study, Alexander Wentworth sat by the fireplace, a crystal glass in hand, swirling the amber liquid slowly, like a man who had already won.
“You’re early,” Alexander said without looking up.
Jaxson stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. “You went behind my back.”
His father’s lips twitched, but he remained calm. “I made a decision.”
“A decision?” Jaxson’s voice was low and cold. “A binding alliance with the Montclairs? You didn’t think that warranted a conversation?”
Alexander finally turned to him, his aged but sharp eyes meeting Jaxson’s with unwavering steel. “It wasn’t a romantic gesture, Jaxon. It was business. You know what’s at stake.”
“No, you know what you want to protect,” Jaxson shot back. “And you’re using me to do it.”
Alexander set the glass down on the table with a soft clink. “You’re my son. This company—this legacy—will be yours one day. But if the Montclairs pull out of the international investment deal, we lose over a third of our expansion power in Europe. They wanted assurance. Something solid. And nothing is more solid than blood.”
“You used me as leverage.”
“I secured your future.”
Jaxson scoffed, pacing a few steps away, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t even know her.”
“I don’t need to. She’s a Montclair. That’s enough.”
A heavy silence fell between them.
Then, Jaxson turned sharply. “And what if I refuse?”
Alexander leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but dangerous. “You won’t. Because deep down, you understand what this means. You understand the stakes. And if you walk away from this... you don’t just lose her. You lose this family’s respect. And the company.”
Jaxson stared at his father for a long, tense beat.
“Funny how love was never part of the conversation.”
Alexander’s expression didn’t change. “Because love doesn’t build empires, son. Strategy does.”
---
As Jaxson walked out of the study, fists clenched, the firelight casting long shadows behind him, a single thought echoed in his mind:
If this is the game his father wants to play... fine. But Jaxson Wentworth had his own rules too.
And Elena Montclair?
She’d be hearing from him — soon.
---
“Elena,” Brielle said, leaning against the desk in her office, “you don’t have to act like this doesn’t bother you. I know you.”
Elena forced a smile, trying to keep her hands steady as she arranged the scattered fabric samples in front of her. “I’m fine. It’s not like I have a choice, right?”
Brielle crossed her arms. “That doesn’t mean you have to pretend. This isn’t just some little family arrangement—this is your life.”
Elena looked up, her eyes tired but steady. “I know. I just… I’m trying to breathe through it. One step at a time.”
There was a beat of silence before she continued, her voice low but firm.
“I’ve made up my mind,” Elena said. “I want to meet him—Jaxon. I want to set things straight with him.”
Brielle blinked. “Set what straight?”
“That this isn’t a love story,” Elena replied. “That we’ll do what they want. Pretend. Smile. Attend dinners. But after a year? We go our separate ways. By then, both our families would have gotten what they wanted—whatever alliance, merger, deal they’re after. And we can finally be free.”
Brielle’s eyes widened. “Wait… you’re serious?”
Elena nodded. “Dead serious. I won’t play house forever. I can’t. He can do whatever he wants, and so will I.”
Brielle let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… bold. You sure he’ll agree to that?”
“I don’t care,” Elena said, shrugging. “He doesn’t have to like it. He just has to understand it.”
Brielle gave her a long look before smiling. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Elena laughed softly, the first real laugh in days. “You’re safe. For now.”
Outside, the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks through the tall office windows. Between them, an understanding passed—quiet but powerful.
And somewhere in that stillness, Elena knew one thing for sure:
this wasn’t going to end the way anyone expected.
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