4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Ethan
I watch Anthony stride through the gate, his eyes searching the party arena. His shoulders are tense, and his stride is intentional, which means something is wrong.
I’m immediately on alert, pushing my chair back and rising without a word to the others around the table. Anthony spots me when I’m halfway to him, and he beckons me to a less populated corner.
“What is it?” I ask.
His voice drops. “Solomon,” he says.
My brows furrow in disbelief. “Solomon?”
Anthony nods. “Yeah. I had no idea he was in the country, and I promise you I didn’t send him an invite. I wouldn’t, not after what he did .”
“How did he get in?” I ask as a muscle in my jaw twitches. My right hand closes into a loose fist as Anthony tells me how Solomon lied to one of the security guards and when someone else recognized him, he threatened to make a scene.
“With a gun,” he adds. “Should I call the doctor?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ll get rid of him. Take my place. Whatever you have to do, don’t raise any suspicions.”
While Solomon’s presence isn’t an emergency enough to shut down the party, it’ll definitely stir up some rumors about his reasons for showing up. I’m also aware that some of the people invited have secret pledges to Solomon, and I don’t want an incident that can be managed to become something else.
I’ll deal with it.
Shoving my hands into my pocket, I make my way to the house through the kitchen door. The guests are in the other gated garden, so there’s nobody present except the house employees.
I find Solomon in the living room, and when he sees me, his mouth curls into a smirk.
“Ethan Cross!” He says loudly, not bothering to stand up. “What a wonderful surprise. I was told it was Anthony’s party, so I thought I’d show up since my invitation was lost in the mail.”
I don’t bother with pleasantries.
My face hardens into a scowl, my voice cold and sharp. “You’re not welcome here, Solomon. Leave quietly, or I’ll be forced to throw you out. And trust me, that’ll be the extent of my kindness—especially since you dared to bring a gun into my house.”
He snorts, leaning back in his chair as if he owns the place. His cocky grin is infuriating, a deliberate challenge.
“Leave? I thought we were friends,” he chuckles mockingly. “I mean, your dad and mine were thick as thieves. I even helped you a few times—got you out of trouble with the law when things got dicey. That makes us brothers, doesn’t it? ”
His words drip with insincerity, but they stir something unwelcome—old memories, shards of a past I thought I’d buried.
There was a time when I would’ve considered him like that. We grew up side by side, although his father groomed him to step into his shoes earlier than mine did to him. But when we came into position, it was the perfect partnership.
Until he betrayed me.
He cost me everything. Hundreds of millions lost, alliances shattered, and, worst of all, an attempt on my life that I barely walked away from.
I clench my fists at the memory, the sting of betrayal still fresh despite the years.
“Brothers?” I bite out, my voice low and dangerous. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, Solomon. Brothers don’t stab each other in the back. And they sure as hell don’t set each other up for an execution.”
His grin falters for a fraction of a second before it’s back, forced and smug. “Oh, come on. That was years ago. Ancient history. You survived, didn’t you? Look at you now—bigger and better. If anything, you should thank me for the push.”
It takes every ounce of restraint not to lunge across the room. Instead, I step forward, looming over him, my gaze cold and unrelenting. “You’ve got one minute to leave my house, Solomon. If you’re still here after that, you won’t be walking out on your own.”
The room goes still, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. Solomon’s cocky grin slips just slightly, a flicker of unease flashing in his eyes.
Good.
Then it hardens again, showing true malice. “Oh?” he drawls, standing up .
A hand goes to his hip, and I know he has his gun there. “I’m sure you want your party to continue uninterrupted. Do you know what’ll happen if my men storm this place?”
He takes a step forward as his lip curls into a sneer. “They’ll say your power has weakened, Ethan Cross. You were lax enough to let the wrong people into your house.”
Knowing Solomon, it’s not an empty threat. But I’ve never been one to cower, no matter how much punch is behind the threats.
“Get out,” I repeat without a change to my voice inflection. “Now.”
“I warned you,” Solomon hisses. He reaches into his pants, but I’m quicker—a swift hit to his wrist. His hand falls out, and so does the gun.
I kick it far when he bends to pick it up, and my other hand cracks his cheek, sending him to the floor. The sole of my feet meets his chest, over and over, as I keep him from trying to get up.
There’s no malice to the hits I deliver other than the slight from the sheer insult of his presence.
Picking him up by his shirt, I push him towards the wall. He lunges for me with a blow, and it bounces off the corner of my face, nicking my chin. My eyes turn to slits and anger pouts through me as I pin him with my hand around his neck.
“Remember what I said I’d do to you if you ever showed up in front of me again?” I ask, squeezing harder. Solomon’s face is turning a pale shade, and he tries to fight my hands off in an effort to breathe. “Remember?!” I yell.
I exhale sharply, forcing my tone down. I lean in, staring into his eyes. Into the fear that shines through. “I told you I was going to kill you. And if I see you anywhere around me or my cousin or my men, I will make good on my promise.”
I let him go .
He crumbles to the ground, coughing and wheezing.
Fuck.
He’s a pathetic sight.
Two of my men burst into the room, their footsteps heavy against the polished floor. Anthony must’ve sent them, thinking I needed backup. Their eyes land on Solomon, sprawled on the ground, but neither looks surprised—it’s almost as if they’d expected this.
“Get him out,” I say, my tone sharp. “I don’t want anyone identifying him. If you need to cover his face, do it.”
They nod silently and bend down, each taking hold of Solomon by the arms. His head lolls forward, the cocky smirk long gone from his face, replaced by unconscious defeat.
I watch them effortlessly lift him, his shoes dragging slightly against the floor as they move toward the exit.
“Make sure he’s dropped far enough that he can’t find his way back,” I add, my voice cutting through the tense air.
They pause at the door, nodding once in acknowledgment before disappearing. The heavy silence that follows feels deafening, and I stand there, frozen for a moment, before dragging a hand through my hair.
The gesture is automatic as I exhale roughly, trying to release the tension that’s coiled in my chest.
There’s blood on my left knuckles, not enough to draw attention, but I must’ve punched him at some point. My shirt is also ruined from when his fingers kept digging through, trying to loosen my hold around his neck.
“I need to get changed,” I mutter under my breath, stating the obvious aloud .
I shove my right hand into my pocket, dragging my feet towards the stairs. My thoughts are on getting changed and joining the party, and it occupies my mind well enough that I don’t see her.
I smell her.
Lavender and pressed roses.
It doesn’t drift past my nostrils the way you would for something insignificant. Instead, it hits me hard enough that I glance in her direction without thinking.
Our eyes meet, and I pause, but then her eyes widen a fraction as though caught between shock and confusion. I frown, wondering what must’ve caused her to react like that, when I realize what she’s looking at—my shirt.
My knuckles. I had the wrong hand tucked into my pocket.
Shit .
She must think I got into a fight. Or worse—that I’m some gangster who automatically hates everyone I cross paths with. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
Our first meeting wasn’t exactly a shining example of charm and grace. I can’t imagine it came across as anything other than stilted and borderline hostile.
I wait for her to pose the question, to satisfy her curiosity like everyone else tries to. But she shrugs, purses her lips, then continues her walk in the other direction.
What?
I blink twice, unsure of what just happened. No, I know what just happened.
She saw me, a well-known recluse billionaire with a torn shirt and bloodied knuckles, and decided it was none of her business .
In the history of people poking their noses into my business and looking for sensational headlines by digging into my past, I’ve never had someone turn away from an opportunity.
How?
Why?
The thought ravages through my mind as I head towards my room, and it stays until I head out to rejoin the party. I try to find answers—with everything ranging from the fact that she could’ve been spying when Solomon was around and had already taken pictures.
But nothing makes sense.
“Tell me I’m not going to have to fight them off, Natalie?” Anthony’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I shake my head, grounding myself in the present.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
He points in a direction, and I follow his finger to where some of my men surround Natalie. Something about her feels odd, and I frown, but I figure it out almost immediately.
She’s wearing different clothes. When we met inside the house, she had on a simple dress and an apron, but she’s now wearing a cherry red blouse that hangs off one shoulder and blue jeans.
Her hair is down her shoulders, and I watch as she shakes her head, laughing at something she said.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Anthony says casually. “Unfortunately for them, she’s not the kind of woman you should taint with our lifestyle.”
She is beautiful.
However, it’s more than that. It’s something I can’t quite explain—a yearning that seems to grow every time I see her. When I turned around and found her standing in my room yesterday, every rational thought in my head vanished .
Natalie Monroe.
She was wearing a loose-fitting dress with a thin belt about the waist. The material, light enough to caress the outline of her body, did things to my mind.
My hands… on her body.
I thought about what her skin would feel like—warm and soft underneath the dress. The sound of her laughter… was it the same pitch as her moan? The gasp she let out just before I turned—what would it take for me to hear them again, with my fingers between her legs, running up her thighs, and my lips pressed to her throat?
The thought of pinning her against the wall made me so hard that it was a surprise she didn’t see it through my pants. I wanted her so much that it made my throat dry from longing.
And now, the thoughts are back again.
To run my fingers through her hair and kiss her collarbone. I’d lift the blouse high enough that the cool air on her skin would be nothing compared to the warmth from my tongue.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I adjust on my seat, reaching down my pants to make more room. She’s been in my head, carved a permanent spot ever since the day we met.
I don’t think I’ll ever smell lavender and roses the same way. I’ll always think of Natalie, her unrestrained laughter, and her soft gasp.
“What?” Anthony asks. “You want me to go over there and break it up? Come on,” he laughs, completely oblivious, “they’re just having fun.”
For once, I’m glad my cousin only has half a brain.
“It’s nothing,” I reply, but my voice sounds strained. Anthony turns to me, his eyes suspicious and searching. “Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes. I am. ”
“Huh.” Anthony purses his lips, his gaze shifting away like he’s toying with an idea. “Fine. You know, I thought you fancied her a little. Natalie, I mean.”
“Why on earth would you think that?” I ask, keeping my tone even though my pulse feels like it’s betraying me.
The only time I’ve ever let my guard down was when I caught myself watching her through my window. Unless Anthony has somehow developed mind-reading abilities, he’s just teasing me.
He shrugs casually like it’s no big deal. “I don’t know. It was a passing thought. Nothing to it.”
Anthony braces his hands on the table, standing up with a stretch. “Anyway, I’ve got something to take care of. I’ll be back.”
I watch him wander off and let out a long, shaky exhale. Anthony’s comment might’ve been flippant, but his earlier statement stays with me.
Natalie is not the type of woman to taint our lifestyle. Harboring feelings for her is a distraction and one that I can’t afford at this time.
She’ll be gone soon, I remind myself. After tonight, I won’t have to worry about Natalie anymore.
For now, I’ll indulge.
As much as I can.