Ernest walked over to his desk, a smug smile playing on his lips. "You know, Jack, we all knew something was going on between you and that seamstress. Everyone could see it. She's the one keeping you from marrying Amelia. And why wouldn't she? You're rich and could make it so she never has to work another day in her life. Naturally, everyone wanted to know more about the woman who's so captivated you."
Jack's anger flared, but he remained silent, waiting for his brother to continue.
Ernest leaned back in his chair, his gaze cold and calculating. "Since she wouldn't tell anyone herself, why not find out the truth on our own? My footman had a hard time uncovering anything about her until he stumbled upon a collection of letters between Mrs. Smith and a Mrs. Adams. I thought both her parents were dead, but it turns out she still has a father. And now, I know where he lives."
Jack's heart pounded in his chest. "Ernest, don't you dare—"
Ernest cut him off, a malicious glint in his eyes. "I think it would be a great idea to reunite father and daughter, don't you?"
Jack's fists clenched, his rage boiling over. He slammed his hand against the desk. "If you even think about contacting Rose's father, you will regret it."
Ernest laughed, a cold, mocking sound. He walked up to Jack, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Should I be scared now, Jackie?"
"You will not contact her father," Jack repeated, his voice low and deadly.
Ernest's smile widened. "I won't—provided you agree to a few simple conditions. First, end your little romance with Rose Smith. Second, fulfill your duties at the office. And third, marry Amelia. It's as simple as that."
Jack felt tears burning in his eyes. He had always known his family would do whatever it took to protect their legacy, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. His own brother was blackmailing him.
"You're disgusting," Jack spat, his voice shaking with emotion.
Ernest shrugged, his expression unrepentant. "Call it what you want, Jack. But this is the way things are. Think about it. You're risking our family's reputation and fortune for a seamstress. Is she really worth it?"
Jack's mind raced, torn between his love for Rose and the pressure from his family. He knew what he had to do to protect Rose, but the thought of leaving her and marrying Amelia was almost unbearable.
"Ernest, please," Jack said, his voice breaking. "Don't do this. There's got to be another way."
Ernest's eyes softened for a moment, but then he shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Jack. This is the only way. You have until the end of the week to make your decision."
Jack felt a heavy weight settle on his chest. He turned and walked out of the office, his mind and heart in turmoil. As he exited the building and made his way back to his car, he knew he had to come up with a plan. He couldn't let Ernest ruin Rose's life, but he also couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
It was late at night, and the house was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Rose sat with Mrs. Dawson in the drawing room, both women growing increasingly anxious. The clock's steady ticking was the only sound, marking each passing second with a quiet, relentless rhythm.
"I don't understand what's keeping him," Rose said, her voice edged with worry. "He should have been back by now."
Mrs. Dawson patted her hand gently. "I'm sure he'll be home soon, dear. He's probably just delayed at the office."
Suddenly, the front door creaked open, and they heard the unmistakable sound of stumbling footsteps. Jack appeared in the doorway, his eyes glassy, and the smell of alcohol clung to him like a foggy cloud. He slurred his words, barely coherent as he made his way through the house.
"Jack!" Rose exclaimed, standing up, her heart sinking at the sight of him.
He staggered towards her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. "Rose... my Rose..." he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.
Rose stood frozen, not knowing what to do. She looked to Mrs. Dawson for guidance, her eyes wide with concern.
"Jack, let her go," Mrs. Dawson demanded, her voice firm. She motioned to the maid standing behind them. "Please, accompany Rose to a spare bedroom."
"But I have to go to work early in the morning," Rose protested, glancing back at Jack, who was clinging to her desperately.
Mrs. Dawson reassured her. "My chauffeur will bring you. Now, go and get some rest."
Reluctantly, Rose allowed herself to be led away, casting one last worried glance at Jack before disappearing up the stairs. Once she was out of sight, Mrs. Dawson turned to her grandson, her expression a mix of disappointment and concern.
"Jack," she began, shaking her head in disbelief. "I understand that the situation is difficult, but there is no excuse for turning to the bottle whenever things get hard."
Jack collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down his face. He looked up at his grandmother, his body wracked with sobs. "I love her," he repeated over and over, his voice breaking with anguish. "I love her. I…love her."
Mrs. Dawson knelt beside him, her stern demeanor softening as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you do, Jack. But this isn't the way to handle it."
"You don't understand gran," He mumbled between his sobs, "You don't understand any of it. There is nothing I can do."
"All you can do for now, Jack, is go to bed."
Rose woke up bright and early the next morning, determined to pull herself together despite the turmoil of the previous night. She managed to wash and dress quickly, her mind still reeling from seeing Jack so drunk and broken.
Down in the dining room, Mrs. Dawson was already seated, her breakfast ritual underway with a grapefruit and a cup of coffee. She looked up as Rose entered, giving her a faded smile. "Did you sleep at all, dear?" she asked, her voice gentle.
Rose shook her head. "Not really, but it's alright." She tried to sound convincing, though the fatigue was evident in her eyes.
The maid offered her a cup of coffee and asked, "Would you like anything to eat, Miss?"
Rose shook her head again. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry."
She sipped her coffee, her thoughts lingering on Jack and his drunken state. Through everything, he had remained so calm, only to come home dead drunk. She assumed he was still in bed, sleeping off the effects of the alcohol.
After breakfast, the chauffeur arrived to take Rose to work. As she stepped out of the car in front of the shop, Julie was there, ready to open up. Julie's eyes widened in surprise when she saw Rose emerge from the luxury car, and she laughed in disbelief. But her expression quickly turned serious as she noticed the distress on her friend's face.
"Rose, what happened?" Julie asked, ushering her inside the shop. Luckily, they were alone for the moment.
Rose took a deep breath and explained everything that had happened over the weekend—the break-in, her fears about her father, and Jack's distress. "I'm truly afraid my father might be hunting us," she said, her voice trembling.
Julie took her hand, her eyes filled with concern. "Do you want to stay with Tommy and me for a while? We have a spare room."
Rose shook her head. "No, I can stay with Jack. He's very discreet and is trying his hardest to help me."
"Won't people be suspicious?" Julie asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rose gave a small, tired smile. "Jack is very careful. He's doing everything he can to protect me."
Julie studied her friend, noting the love and trust in Rose's eyes when she spoke about Jack. Though Julie wasn't the biggest fan of Jack, she couldn't deny the depth of Rose's feelings. "That man has really stolen your heart, hasn't he?" she said softly.
Rose wanted to say a big, resounding yes, but just then, the other girls started to come in. She settled for a small nod, her heart heavy with the weight of the unspoken emotions.
The day passed slowly. Rose threw herself into her work, trying to keep her mind off the chaos in her life. But thoughts of Jack and the uncertainty of their future were never far away.
After work, Rose headed back to Jack's apartment, her mind still preoccupied with the events of the past few days. When she arrived, the apartment was eerily quiet. Jack was not there.
Feeling a surge of worry, she grabbed the telephone and called Mrs. Dawson's house. "Is Jack there?" she asked, her voice tense.
"No, Miss Rose. He hasn't been here," the maid replied, her tone concerned.
Hours passed by, and there was still no sign of Jack. Rose paced the apartment, her anxiety growing with each passing minute. Finally, exhausted, she crawled into Jack's big, comfortable bed, trying to get some sleep. The bed felt empty without him beside her, and her thoughts were a whirlwind of worry and frustration.
Around five in the morning, she was jolted awake by the sound of Jack stumbling into the bedroom, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. He was drunk again.
Rose sat up, her heart sinking. She watched as he clumsily made his way to the bed, barely able to keep his balance. Anger flared within her, and she couldn't hold back any longer. She got out of bed and started getting ready for work, her movements quick and sharp.
"Jack," she said, not caring if he was asleep or not, "if this is what you're planning to do every night from now on, I will be staying somewhere else." Her voice was firm, the hurt and frustration clear in her tone.
Jack mumbled something incoherent, barely lifting his head.
"I mean it, Jack," she continued, her anger giving her strength. "I can't handle this. Not now."
Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her things and left the apartment, her heart heavy with disappointment.
Days passed, and Rose heard nothing from Jack. Each day felt like an eternity, filled with worry and uncertainty. The police finally gave her the green light to re-enter her apartment, but their investigation had led nowhere. No clues, no leads, nothing stolen—there was nothing more they could do.
Rose stood in her apartment, surveying the mess. Her belongings were scattered everywhere, a stark reminder of the violation of her space. Frustration and despair bubbled up inside her. She wanted to scream, cry, and throw everything out the window. Just as she was on the verge of breaking down, she heard the sound of a door opening.
"Rose, is that you?" Mrs. Adams' familiar voice called out through the hallway.
Rose's heart leapt, and she rushed to the door. Mrs. Adams was there, her face filled with concern. Without a word, Rose fell into her warm, comforting arms.
"Oh, my poor darling," Mrs. Adams murmured, holding her tightly. "Mr. Jones told me what happened."
The floodgates opened, and Rose started to cry, her sobs shaking her small frame. Mrs. Adams held her, rubbing her back soothingly. "Shh, it's going to be alright, Rose. I'm here now."
After a few moments, Rose pulled back, wiping her tears. "I don't know what to do, Mrs. Adams. Everything's such a mess."
"We'll clean it up together," Mrs. Adams said firmly. "Let's start small, one thing at a time."
With Mrs. Adams' help, Rose began to tackle the chaos in her apartment. They worked side by side, picking up broken pieces, sorting through the mess, and slowly restoring some semblance of order. As they worked, Mrs. Adams talked softly, offering words of comfort and support.
"You're strong, Rose. You've been through so much, but you always find a way to carry on," she said, giving Rose a reassuring smile.
Rose nodded, her resolve hardening. "I just wish I knew what to do about Jack. I haven't heard from him in days."
Mrs. Adams paused, considering her words carefully. "Does.. does he know?"
"No." Rose breathed with her eyes still teary as she shook her head, "I was going to tell him, but then all this happened. I am just scared that maybe he's noticed something and he doesn't know what to do with himself because he hates it."
Mrs. Adams took hold of Rose's hand. "If that were the case, he would be the most selfish and arrogant person walking this very earth. But I am certain that is not the case."
They continued cleaning, and bit by bit, the apartment began to resemble its former state. The physical act of tidying up helped calm Rose's mind, even if only a little. Mrs. Adams stayed with her until late in the evening, and by the time she left, the apartment looked almost normal again.
"Thank you," Rose said, hugging Mrs. Adams tightly at the door. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You don't have to thank me, darling," Mrs. Adams replied, her eyes soft with affection. "Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. And don't lose hope. Things will get better."
Mrs. Adams had left to her own apartment, and the quietness of the night settled in. Rose lay in bed, trying to calm her racing thoughts. But something nagged at her, a place she hadn't checked yet—the box where she kept the letters between her mother and Mrs. Adams.
Suddenly feeling a surge of urgency, Rose got out of bed and went to the small cabinet where she kept the box. With trembling hands, she opened it, and to her biggest shock, the letters were all gone. Her heart started to race, and she felt a wave of resentment towards herself for not checking sooner. Her biggest fear had become a reality: her father was looking for them.
Rose dropped the empty box onto the ground and rushed towards the sink, where she started throwing up, overwhelmed by the dread and fear. After a few moments, she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. The horror of her situation was almost too much to bear.
Eventually, she managed to pull herself together, her mind set on one thing—finding Jack. She sneaked out the door, the horrifying thought of her father appearing from behind at any moment making her quicken her pace. She walked down the street towards the nearest telephone booth, her eyes darting around in fear.
Once she reached the booth, she used some of her leftover money to call Jack's apartment. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. Desperation clawed at her as she slammed the receiver back onto its cradle. She was alone and scared, with no one to turn to.
Feeling hopeless, Rose leaned against the booth, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She couldn't go back to her apartment, and she had no idea where Jack was. The streets around her felt menacing, shadows stretching out like grasping hands.
Just then, a distant voice calling her name brought her back to the present. She looked up and saw Mrs. Adams rushing towards her, concern etched on her face.
"Rose! What are you doing out here?" Mrs. Adams asked, pulling her into a tight embrace, "I heard so much noise coming from your place, I thought something was happening again."
Rose's voice trembled as she explained what she had discovered. "The letters... they're gone. He has them. My father is looking for us."
Mrs. Adams' expression turned grave. "We need to get you somewhere safe. Come on, let's get you back to my apartment."
Rose nodded, grateful for Mrs. Adams' support. As they walked back together, Rose couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every sound like a warning. She clung to Mrs. Adams, her heart pounding with fear.
Once they reached Mrs. Adams' apartment, she made sure all the doors and windows were securely locked. "We'll figure this out, Rose," she said, her voice reassuring. "I promised your mother to look after you and that is what I will do. Whatever it takes."
In the mean time, on the other side of the city, Jack sat at the bar, downing another scotch, the amber liquid burning a trail of regret and sorrow down his throat. The dim lights of the bar did little to lift his spirits, casting long shadows that mirrored his inner turmoil. He barely registered the presence of others around him until Ernest walked up from behind him and sat down.
A week had passed, and the deadline for his brother's blackmail loomed over him like a dark cloud. Ernest's presence only intensified the dread Jack felt.
"You will not contact her father," Jack slurred, his words thick with both alcohol and anger.
Ernest chuckled, a cold, calculating sound. "So, you've made your decision then."
Jack remained quiet, the weight of his choice pressing down on him. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, but Rose's face kept appearing in his mind—the thought of her father arriving at her door, bringing with him a tide of terror and pain, was unbearable. After everything Rose had told him about the man and the horrors they had endured, he knew he couldn't allow it to happen.
She would hate him for sure, but that was a price he was willing to pay to protect her. With a heavy heart, he turned towards Ernest and nodded. "I'll do it."
Ernest laughed, the sound grating on Jack's already frayed nerves. He gave Jack a condescending pat on the back. "Good boy."
"But you won't mention anything to society until I've told Rose myself," Jack added, his voice steady despite the alcohol. "At least you owe me that."
Ernest nodded, a rare flicker of agreement in his eyes. He looked at the bartender. "Put his drinks on my bill," he said before standing up. "Enjoy the rest of your night, brother."
With that, Ernest left, leaving Jack in a state of pure agony. He stared at the glass in his hand, the liquid inside suddenly seeming bitter and unappealing. The room around him felt as if it were closing in, the weight of his decision suffocating.
Jack knew what he had to do, but the thought of facing Rose, of seeing the hurt and betrayal in her eyes, was almost more than he could bear. He downed the last of his scotch and signaled for another, trying to drown out the pain that gnawed at his heart.
As the bartender poured him another drink, Jack wondered how he would ever find the words to tell Rose. He had chosen to protect her in the only way he knew how, but the cost was steep. He took another sip, the alcohol doing little to numb the ache.
In that moment, Jack felt more alone than he ever had. The bar was full of people, laughter and conversations buzzing around him, but he was lost in his own world of despair. He knew he had made the right choice, but it didn't make the pain any less real.
He sat there, staring into the depths of his glass, waiting for the courage to face the consequences of his decision.