31. Miles
Miles
“You didn’t wake me up,” I grumbled, getting in the shower.
Sunny had her back to me. The steam billowed around us, hot and fragrant, as her head tilted back, the shower cap clinging to her hair.
“It’s Saturday,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me. “I let you sleep because you deserved a break after a long week.”
“I don’t need a break, I need you.” Bringing her body close to mine, I could feel the heat rising between us as she was flush against me, placing a kiss on her shoulder.
“You need to rest,” she said.
She wasn’t wrong—but it wasn’t just sleep that had kept me going. It was her.
We weren’t a bad team.
That thought hit me somewhere deep in my chest as the steam curled around us and the water beat down like warm rain.
But last night, hearing her say she was thinking about stepping away from King Developments, it shocked me. Not because she couldn’t do it. Serena could run that company blindfolded with a broken hand and still outdo us all in Lush. But because she was finally asking herself if she wanted to.
And that…that made me feel closer to her than I ever had before.
“What you said last night…” I pressed a kiss to her damp shoulder, letting my lips linger there. “You meant it?”
“Yeah. I did.”
I nodded slowly, forehead brushing her temple.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I admitted, my voice barely audible above the hum of the water. “I’m gonna go tell my parents today, I’m resigning as CEO.”
For a second, Serena stilled in my arms, and then she turned around to face me.
“You’re…what?” she asked, blinking up at me.
I nodded again, slower this time. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I kept telling myself I had to fix what my father broke. Rebuild the name. But…I don’t want to anymore. I never asked myself if I even liked what I was rebuilding.”
She studied me for a beat, eyes searching, like she was trying to see if I really meant it.
“I thought you loved the business,” she said.
“I do. I’m just leaving Whitmore Ventures. I’m starting my own company.”
Serena let out a quiet breath.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I want to build something else. Something mine. Not his.”
She touched my face, thumb brushing under my jaw. “Then we’re both about to be very disappointing children.”
She leaned up on her toes and kissed me. I accepted her invitation gladly.
The glass of the shower seemed to fogged up quickly as I pressed closer until her back hit wall, steam coiling around us. My hands trailed over her naked body, and I felt enraptured looking at her dark brown skin gleaming like bronze in the light.
I bent slightly, gripping the backs of her thighs and lifting her.
Her legs hooked over the crease of my arms, just above the elbow, and I held her there and I felt her hand slide down between us, gripping my dick.
Slowly she tugged, and I groaned when I felt her rub the head of my dick against her slick folds.
“Fuck.” I slowly pushed into her, but the second I feel the plush, wet heat, I pressed deep within her.
The wet slap of skin echoed in the tight space, mixed with the low thud of her body hitting the glass wall over and over again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It vibrated with every thrust, a soundtrack to how desperately I wanted her.
Her arms looped around my neck, her mouth parted in silent moans.
I felt her nails dig into the back of my head as I drove into her harder, as if I could lose myself in the rhythm of our bodies colliding.
“Yeah… Fuck me just like that, baby,” I rasped, my voice rough against her ear, hands roaming over her slick, trembling body.
She bit at my neck—sinful and greedy—and I nearly lost it.
“Say my name,” I growled.
“Miles,” she gasped.
Her tits pressed hard against my chest, ass grinding tight against my thighs. My hands tangled in her hair, ridding her of her shower cap. I knew she was gonna be pissed, but my fingers clutched like I needed to hold on for dear life as the rough stubble on my jaw rubbed against her face.
I was fucking her fierce and fast, my forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged and heavy.
She clawed at the back of my neck, and her squeaks and screams tore through me, making me lose every damn bit of control.
“That’s it, baby,” I whispered. “Come for me.”
And when she did, she came hard—back arching, her walls squeezing me like she never wanted to let me go. I followed with a guttural groan, pulling out of her, and spilling onto her stomach, holding her through every wave, every twitch, every aftershock.
I held her closer, going over what I was about to do today.
I was afraid of wasting my life trying to rebuild something that no longer fit who I was. I’d been running on ego, guilt, and family legacy for so long, I forgot what it felt like to make a choice just because I wanted to.
I wanted this .
I wanted her .
I wanted peace.
A few hours and a half-assed attempt at looking presentable later, I was stepping through the back door of my parents’ house.
“There’s my favorite ladies,” I said, stepping into Ma’s kitchen, the smell of frying bacon and coffee filling the air.
Mama Teagues and Ma stood at the kitchen island, their voices rising as they argued over the colorful array of fresh produce. They both looked up when I stepped in, and Ma grinned at me, outstretching her arms.
“There’s my baby!”
Mama Teagues snorted. “That’s a grown man.”
“Hush, Rosetta. He’s my baby.”
Ma came around the island, her locs swishing in her ponytail, and I scooped her in a hug. I pressed my head into her shoulder, inhaling her sweet vanilla perfume, a scent that instantly transported me back to my childhood days.
“You spoil him too much,” Mama Teagues sniffed, her wrinkled face a picture of disapproval, before shuffling to the stove.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just came over.” I shrugged, sitting at the bar stool while I looked around. “What’s going on here?”
“Your father won’t eat.” Ma grimaced. “You know the medicine sometimes messes with his system.”
Was it the medicine? Or was he being stubborn?
Ma suffered more than she ever told anyone.
Living in that house with him—managing his moods, his silence, his sudden flashes of temper—it was like walking through a field of landmines.
The medication helped sometimes, but not enough.
There were days he’d sit for hours, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall like he was still doing time.
Other days, he’d lash out over the smallest things—burnt toast, a news segment, a car door slamming too hard outside.
“You want me to talk with him?”
Ma reached over. “No. I can handle him. Now you want something, so tell me.” Ma grabbed my hands and squeezed.
I looked over at Mama Teagues and then back to her, slowly deciding what was the best way to confess what happened.
“I may have made a mistake.”
Ma raised a brow. “What you do?”
I licked my lips, and dropped my head.
“Miles Donovan. You tell me what happened. It’s not going to affect our families, is it?”
Yes. Regret was a helluva bitter pill to swallow, and it felt like I was trying to force my emotion down but I couldn’t.
“It might.”
Ma looked over at Mama Teagues, who was clearly eavesdropping, and she cleared her throat.
“Rosetta? Can you take that to Omar? Make sure he eats and gets his insulin after.”
Mama Teagues looked disappointed at the dismissal, but turned off the stove and plated the food before slowly walking out of the kitchen, hoping she could get another piece of the conversation.
“I’ve been…feeling some things for a while now,” I forced myself to say. “I love you guys. I love the company. I loved Gramps. But some days it’s so fucking hard, Ma.”
She squeezed my hands, her face turning downward.
“Then, when I come around here, Pops just wants us to drop everything and throw it away. Did I just waste six years of my life when I could be doing something else?”
“You volunteered for this, Miles?—”
“Could I really let you take over the company? And take care of Pops at his worst?” My voice cracked. “What kind of son—what kind of man would I have been if I had?”
Her lips pressed together, eyes turning away from me.
“Do you wish we were more like them?” I asked quietly. “The Kings.”
She was still for a long moment.
“No.”
I blinked. “Really? Even with everything that happened? Miss Yvonne was your best friend, Ma, and she just dumped you quicker than trash.”
“Yes, Yvonne was my best friend. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but I can’t get mad at the reaction she had. Especially after dealing with her own father. I wasn’t there for her like I should have been.”
“Don’t make excuses for her.”
“I’m not. I’m just telling the truth.” She looked at me, really looked.
“The Kings hold tight to legacy, but they weaponize it too. That’s one thing Yvonne and I used to argue over.
I may view it differently since I married into the Whitmores, but to me, legacy isn’t just about continuing a name.
It’s about family. The bonds between one another.
Compassion. Empathy. What’s the point of having a legacy if everyone in the family hates it and each other? ”
I stared at her, the weight of it all settling in my chest.
“I’ll admit, we haven’t been on top of our legacy like we should. We might have been in the shadow of the Kings, but I think what we have is better. Resilience. We survived. How many people can say that? Look at the Sterlings—no one has heard from or about them since they left.”
I thought about to the other prominent family here in town. When Blair and Tobias’s secret came out, things were never the same for them.
“You could have left. Started a new life. But you care, Miles. You care even on the days where you feel like you’ve hit a brick wall. The Whitmore legacy isn’t just real estate development. It’s you. It’s the way you stayed. The way you fought. I’m so proud of you for that, baby.”
“I… After we’re done with renovations on this property, I want to step down as CEO for a while. Will you take over?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I think it’s time,” I said. “You’ve been doing most of the heavy lifting anyway. I want you to take over. For real this time. Full title, full control.”
“Okay. What’s your plan?”
“I want to start something new. Build something from the ground up—with my name on it. It’ll still be a part of the family’s portfolio, but it’s mine.”
There was a pause. Then she smiled, soft and proud and a little sad.
“Then that’s what you’re gonna do.”
I looked down at our joined hands.
“Your father’s in the living room.”
I knew what she was saying. Bite the bullet. Do it. Finally.
Squeezing her hand, I turned to head into the living room.
“Hey, old man, how’s it going?”
“Mama Teagues got me watching this garbage,” he grumbled, his eyes glued to the screen as he nodded along to the plaintiff’s testimony.
“Do you have a second to spare?”
He nodded, the silence of the room amplifying the sound of his neck cracking slightly as he turned to look at me.
“Did he apologize for what he did to your face?” Pops said.
“I’m not here to talk about Erik,” I said. “It’s about Serena.”
“Don’t tell me she set you up.”
I shook my head. “I love her.”
Pops blinked at that.
“I’ve loved her for a while. Years now. I just didn’t tell you and Ma.”
Pops turned fully in his seat to give me his undivided attention.
“For the last six years, you’ve sat around this house sulking. Not doing anything. Leaving it all for me to fix. Your name’s still on the company’s deeds, but it’s me out there trying to clean up your mess. Trying to rebuild something people laugh at now.”
Pops frowned at me.
“I’m tired, man,” I told him. “I don’t want to keep doing this. I’m tired of trying to fix something I didn’t break and then dealing with the bullshit that follows. I want to just be with Serena. I just wanna do something that’s me.”
“I didn’t ask you to do anything.”
“You also didn’t stop me. You haven’t for six years. You’ve been sulking. You’ve been a victim.”
He flinched at the words.
“No one made you do what you did, Pops, but it’s Ma and me who been dealing with shit. What have you done? You haven’t protected us. Nor have you stood up for us, and I don’t know why you even did it in the first place.”
I blinked, feeling a surge of emotion hit me.
“I always thought you would tell me why. We had everything we could have possibly wanted. Why do the drugs? Why hide it? Why bring down everything without so much as a goddamn sorry?”
Pops looked back at the screen. The judge on TV was frowning, and I saw Pops’s hand curl around the remote control.
“I didn’t think you’d understand.”
“Understand what , exactly?” I asked.
He pressed mute on the television.
“I was drowning,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even realize it until I was halfway to the bottom.
After your grandpa died… I never really worked before, Miles.
He handled all that. And then suddenly I had to deal with watching him die, taking care of you all.
You know what people called me when I first took over?
Lazy. Stupid. Irresponsible. I wanted to prove them all wrong. ”
He had never told me any of this. I’d never heard about this at all.
“I tried. So damn hard.” He blinked rapidly. “I needed to stay awake. That’s…that’s how it started. I wanted to be awake and alert. First it was pills. Then powder. Then pretending it was all under control and that I could stop at any time.”
He flinched. It was small, but I saw it.
“It spun outta control too quickly. How could I tell you and your mother that their father became an addict? So I needed to solve it on my own. I really thought I could.”
I exhaled hard, throat tight.
“I did something, Pops,” I told him, and this time I looked away. “Back when things got bad. Right after the scandal, right after everyone pulled out. We needed capital. No one would touch us. I was desperate.”
He stayed quiet.
“I took money from someone I shouldn’t have. A man named Victor Raines. On paper, it was a private loan. Off the record, it was…dirtier. He’s got ties. You know the kind and he’s back in all kinds of shit. Bad shit that can ruin all of us.”
Pops’s jaw flexed.
“But I’m handling it,” I added quickly.
Pops leaned forward slowly, elbows on his knees.
“I’m leaving the company.”
He looked up at me, brows furrowed. “Miles?—”
“My mind is made up. Ma knows what to do.”
Standing, I patted Pops on the shoulder before I headed out of their place. I was halfway down the steps when I got a call from an unknown number.
“Miles Whitmore?”
“Who’s asking?”
“This is Burke Hale. I’m a private investigator. I think you might be an associate of Victor Raines?”
I stopped walking.
“You might be able to help me.”