Chapter 8
Benedict
Sunlight sharpens the edges of everything this morning. The mountains look closer, the snow brighter, the air outside my window too clean for the way my head feels.
I’ve been awake for hours. Not working. Not sleeping. Just sitting with the weight of what happened last night.
I told myself not to touch her. That it would only make this mess worse. That she was my son’s intended, and this was temporary.
Then she stood there in silk and lace and fire, looking at me like she wanted to bite and be bitten.
Now I can still taste her.
I rake a hand through my hair and force myself into motion—shirt, slacks, the armor of a day that has nothing to do with what I want.
Downstairs, I tell a member of the staff to set up breakfast for her.
The kind that takes up the whole table: fresh berries, smoked salmon, pastries, eggs from some local farm the chef is proud of. A distraction.
I don’t plan on joining her.
But when I pass the dining room later, Maddie’s there—alone—shoulders hunched, hands folded tight in her lap. The untouched coffee in front of her is already cooling.
Her eyes are rimmed red. She’s staring at the window like if she looks long enough, she’ll see a way out.
I should keep moving. Distance is the smart move. But my shoes slow on the marble, and then I’m at the doorway.
She hears me before she looks up, wiping quickly at her cheek. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” I say, stepping inside.
Maddie gives a brittle little laugh. “Thanks for confirming.”
I take the chair opposite her. “I had this set up for you. Thought you’d eat.”
“I wasn’t hungry. It’s impressive, though. You have good taste.”
Her voice is soft but sharp, like she’s afraid of losing the last threads holding her together. Like she’s putting her armor for the day on. And under that is something worse—resignation.
I know that feeling too well.
“Maddie.” I lean forward, forearms on the table. “You’re not alone here.”
She shakes her head, eyes down on her lap, and picks at a slice of smoked salmon. “Feels like it. My family doesn’t care. Your son doesn’t care. And you—”
She stops herself.
“And me,” I finish. “You think I’m just the man who took advantage of the situation.”
She meets my eyes for the first time this morning. There’s no accusation there now, just a quiet kind of hurt.
I exhale through my nose. “I’m having all your things moved to my home in southern Aspen. It’s on the edge of the North Star Nature Preserve. Stella can visit whenever she wants.”
That startles her. “Why?”
“Because you deserve to live somewhere that doesn’t feel like a prison,” I say. “And because you’re not your father’s property. Or mine. Not really.”
She huffs out a laugh, wet around the edges. “That’s rich, considering—”
“I know,” I cut in. “I know what last night was.”
We both fall silent, the memory of it hanging between us like smoke.
The night before I’d spilled inside her, too stimulated, too focused, by the way her body shook against mine.
Later I’d carried her into the walk-in shower and Maddie promised in a steamy, sleepy haze that she was on birth control.
I should tell her it was a mistake. I should mean it when I do.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You’re more than the Clarke name on a contract. Find worth outside of them. Outside me. Use this time to figure out what you want for yourself.”
Her gaze lingers on mine, something unspoken passing between us. Then she nods.
“I’ll make Derrick pay for walking out on you,” I add, and my voice is steel.
Her mouth tips in the faintest smile. “Good.” Then she asks, quietly: “Can I go get my things myself?”
With her eyes on the table, I can tell she doesn’t think I’ll agree. I’m tempted not to, not because I want control over her, but because I want to get her as far away from Rupert and Gwen as possible. Those two ungrateful idiots.
“Yes. We’ll discuss it later, and make plans.”
Maddie looks up in surprise, but before she can say anything the door opens.
A server reappears, we both reach for plates, and just like that, breakfast begins. I expect her to pick at her food in silence, but she surprises me—between bites of melon and croissant, she asks about the new resort in Switzerland.
“St. Moritz?” she guesses, like she’s been studying the industry.
“Zermatt,” I correct, but I’m impressed. “How’d you—”
“High-altitude market’s been booming,” she says, as if she’s reading from a report. “If you pair it with seasonal exclusivity and a strong events schedule, you’ll draw your repeat luxury crowd and keep rooms full off-peak.”
I stare at her for a beat. “You’ve done your homework.”
She shrugs, but there’s pride in her eyes. “It’s my job. Or… it was.” The pride dims a bit at the reminder of just how little her family had valued her contribution to Crown & Range. Rupert and Gwen were idiots.
It’s also what Derrick could never do—see the big picture. The long game. I’d sent him to an expensive college, and he’d dropped one two semesters in. No drive, no passion, no interest aside from living as intensely as he could.
When the plates are nearly cleared, Maddie pushes her coffee aside. “Ben… last night—”
“Was a mistake,” I finish. “I don’t want you to feel… I don’t want you to think a physical relationship is a part of the contract. You aren’t obligated to… satisfy me.”
My eyes snap up and meet hers on that word: satisfy. The truth is, I can’t remember the last time I was so satisfied.
Her lashes flutter, but she nods. “We can’t do it again.”
I lean back in my chair. “Not until we figure out how and when to end this. Then you can marry Derrick, if that’s still what you want.”
She doesn’t answer. Just looks out the window again, jaw tight.
For the first time this morning, I can’t read her at all.
And that unsettles me more than anything else.