Chapter Five
Rowen
“Unka Row?”
“Yes.” I smirked as I sat on the beach watching Danika dig for seashells.
The salty breeze ruffled my hair as I watched tiny waves lap at Danika’s bare feet, her laughter mingling with the distant calls of seagulls.
We had woken up early before the others, and after having our breakfast, Danika wanted to go outside and walk on the beach.
Thinking nothing of it, I gathered up a pink plastic bucket and shovel for her, just in case she got bored.
Despite the peaceful morning, a heaviness lingered in my chest, knowing how quickly innocent moments could be interrupted by the world’s troubles.
“What war?”
Frowning, I looked at my niece and asked, “Where did you hear that word, sweetie?” A knot formed in my stomach, the innocence of her question clashing with the seriousness of the topic.
Danika shrugged, not looking at me as she continued to dig in the sand, her small fingers sifting through grains with focused intent.
Taking a deep breath, I scooted closer. “Dani, look at me.” When she did, I asked, “It’s okay, sweetie.
You never have to be afraid of telling me anything.
Who said that word?” My heart thudded as I waited, hoping whatever she’d heard hadn’t unsettled her too much.
She whispered, “Momma.”
My heart clenched at her answer, and I wondered what conversations she might have overheard and how much of the adult world had seeped into her understanding.
Taking a deep breath, I looked out over the calm waters of the Atlantic Ocean and sighed. “War is when people fight.” My words felt heavy, as if I were inviting a storm into our tranquil morning.
“Like Momma and Papa?” she asked, looking inquisitively at me, confused.
I realized she was trying to make sense of grown-up disagreements with the only word she knew—war.
The realization made my heart ache for her, wishing I could shield her from the complexities of adult conflict that surrounded her life.
Knowing full well she was talking about Sypher and Dr. Jefferson, I shook my head gently, offering a small, reassuring smile.
“No, sweetheart. When Momma and Papa fight, that means they care very much, and sometimes that caring can be loud. War is much bigger and much meaner—it’s when people hurt each other, and it can be very sad and scary.
” I watched as Danika tried to process this, her brow furrowing in concentration as she poked at the wet sand.
“Momma care lots then, ’cause she cried last night,” she said quietly.
I reached over, brushing a stray curl from Danika’s forehead, wishing I could take away the worries she shouldn’t have to carry.
“Sometimes grown-ups feel sad and it comes out in tears, but that doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.
” My voice was gentle, hoping she would feel safe enough to share whatever else was on her mind, while another part of me wanted to throttle her mother for being so careless with her words while Danika was within earshot.
Danika nodded solemnly, her small hands pausing in the sand as she quietly absorbed my words. After a moment, she looked up, searching my face for reassurance. “Momma okay?” she asked, her voice soft and uncertain, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, offering a gentle squeeze.
“Yes, sweetheart. Grown-ups have hard days too, but we always find ways to get through them together.” The sun peeked through a passing cloud, casting a golden shimmer over the water, and for a brief moment, the world felt safe again when I noticed Dr. Jefferson walking over to us.
I noticed she strode over with purpose, her steps kicking up sand, and I quickly got to my feet. “I was looking for you, baby,” she said, smiling at Danika.
Without taking my eyes off her, I stepped closer and gently took her arm, steering her away from Danika’s curious gaze.
My hands trembled with barely contained anger as I forced myself to keep my voice low.
“You better learn to watch what you say in front of my niece, or you and I are going to have a fucking problem.”
Melissa’s eyes widened, her posture stiffening as she squared her shoulders, ready for a fight. “Excuse me?” she shot back, her glare as sharp as broken glass. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
I leaned in, my jaw tight, matching her glare.
“I’m the fucking uncle who will do anything to make sure she stays innocent.
She heard you crying last night. She heard you say ‘war,’ and I had to explain to a three-year-old what that meant.
” The memory burned in my mind, fueling the fury behind my words.
“Oh God,” Melissa gasped, her eyes darting to Danika, who watched us with quiet intensity.
I kept my tone firm but quiet, not wanting Danika to pick up on the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You are the adult. Everything you do, she will try to emulate. As a child’s therapist, you should know that, Doctor.”
Melissa’s shoulders sagged as guilt flickered across her face. “I thought she was asleep,” she murmured, voice trembling.
“You thought wrong,” I growled, refusing to let the matter slide, every nerve in my body standing on edge.
Subconsciously, I knew Dr. Jefferson loved Danika and would never intentionally do anything to hurt her, but with everything going on in the adult world, I wanted my niece protected.
Seeing the regret in Melissa’s eyes, I sighed.
“She’s smart. She picks up on things even when you think she’s not listening.
She needs to know that her world is safe. ”
Dr. Jefferson glared at me, her voice clipped with irritation. “I know how to keep my daughter safe, Mr. Shay.”
I met her glare with a terse, “Apparently not.”
Ghost approached, his voice tentative as he asked, “What’s going on?”
Dante followed close behind, concern etched on his face.
Without taking my eyes off Dr. Jefferson, I muttered under my breath, “Your woman has a big mouth.” My words slipped out, heavy with frustration, aimed more at the situation than at Melissa herself.
Ghost reacted instantly, narrowing his eyes at me. His voice was edged, rough with warning. “Watch it, asshole,” he shot back, making it clear he was ready to defend his woman if this escalated further.
Sensing the tension, Dante quickly stepped between us, turning his attention to Ghost. “Danika’s watching,” he reminded us, his tone urgent. His intervention was enough to remind everyone what was truly at stake.
“Exactly my point,” I snarled, shooting one last glare at Dr. Jefferson before turning on my heel and storming off. The frustration and protectiveness I felt for Danika surged with every step, but I knew I couldn’t let my anger get the better of me—not with her there, watching everything.
It was late when I stood on the balcony of a suite at the Villas of Hatteras Landing, watching the sunset over the ocean.
The last light of day painted the sky in warm hues, casting gentle reflections across the waves.
Leaning forward, I rested my hands on the cool metal railing, feeling the peaceful solitude of the moment as a soft breeze curled around me, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and muffled laughter from the shore.
The world felt quiet and distant, leaving only the rhythmic sound of the surf and my own steady breathing to fill the silence as I tried hard to get that infuriating woman out of my head.
I couldn’t understand what it was about her that set me on edge, but her presence irritated me beyond reason.
She was stubborn to a fault, never willing to back down, and her rudeness made even the simplest exchanges feel like battles of will.
Opinionated and brash, she was without a doubt the biggest pain in the ass I had ever met.
That was no small claim, considering my frequent run-ins with Sinclair, someone known for being difficult in their own right. Yet she somehow surpassed every challenge I’d faced before.
The way she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated or swayed, made my patience wear thin and my authority feel threatened.
Arms wrapped around me as the sweet scent of honeysuckle and lilac filled my senses. “You know, when you called and asked me to get on the next flight, I thought it was for a specific reason. Had I known you needed to talk, I would have dressed more appropriately.”
Turning around, I leaned against the railing, and with a playful glimmer in her eyes, she ran her hand slowly down my chest, her touch leaving an electrifying sensation throughout my entire body.
My initial formal meeting with Professor Bianca Deneau took place at a university luncheon hosted for NYU’s benefactors.
Attendance was mandatory for both of us, and neither felt particularly enthusiastic about mingling with donors or participating in fundraising for our respective departments.
As the head chair of the English Department, Bianca faced significant challenges securing financial support—her struggle only surpassed by my own, as I led the History Department.
Unlike me, who could rely on Sinclair to provide whatever funds my department required, Bianca did not have such a luxury.
From the moment I first saw Bianca, something in her demeanor struck a chord within me.
Beneath her defiant gaze and sharp tongue, I recognized a longing—an unspoken need to surrender control, if only to someone who could truly handle the chaos she thrived on.
It wasn’t just her reputation at the Playground that caught my attention; it was the way she tested boundaries, searching for someone who wouldn’t break or bend.
I’d watched her with other Doms, each one struggling to rein in her rebellious streak, always falling short.
That realization sparked a twisted sense of satisfaction in me, but also a challenge I couldn’t ignore.
When we crossed paths at the university luncheon, my intent wasn’t simply to assert dominance—it was to expose something deeper in both of us: what drove her to crave discipline, and why I felt compelled to give it.
That encounter marked the beginning of a complicated dance—Bianca fell into the role of my unofficial pet, a dynamic woven from both our desires and uncertainties.
She asked often for a formal contract, searching for something stable, tangible, a promise to anchor her volatility.
My refusal wasn’t just about avoiding commitment; it stemmed from a fear of losing myself in the responsibility, of letting someone in far enough to see the cracks in my own armor.
Even though I knew it was reckless, I still reached for my phone and called her after I left the beach that morning.
Deep down, I understood exactly how she’d respond, and without hesitation or question, she hopped on the next flight from New York, just as I expected.
My certainty in her reaction didn’t make my decision any less impulsive, but the urge was too strong to ignore.
I needed release, and I knew Bianca would be willing.
As I watched her slowly remove her robe, my breath caught. What she wore beneath it made my pulse race even faster, and I felt completely transfixed by the sight before me.
She was stunning. Perfection wrapped in black leather straps that crisscrossed across her stomach and down her legs. A leather demi-bra with chains contained her breasts, but it was the small delicate chain from the center of her demi-bra that attached to her clit that had me grinning.
Grabbing her roughly by the back of her neck, I yanked her close, feeling her shock and anticipation caress my face. My voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. “You’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you, pet?” I waited, savoring the charged silence before her response.
She tentatively met my gaze, lips parted, her own desire evident in her expression.
“Oh yes, sir, I have,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a blend of trepidation and vulnerability. “I think I need to be punished.”
I growled softly, tightening my hand on her throat.
For an instant, I held her there, reminding her who was in charge before swiftly turning her toward the nearest wall.
My voice was firm as I slowly licked up the side of her face before whispering in her ear, “You forget, pet. You are not in charge.”