Chapter 15 War
Chapter fifteen
War
She moves like she’s been struck.
Eyes wide. Lips parted.
A single beat of silence passes as she realizes what she’s done—
What I let her do.
She kissed me.
Soft. Hopeful. Sweet.
A mistake.
I wait for it.
That telltale shift in her posture. The horror blooming behind her eyes.
The way her mouth parts to scramble for an apology she doesn’t owe me.
There it is.
She starts to speak, I grip her chin.
Firmly, but with care.
Exactly the way women like her want.
Her words die on her tongue.
I pull her toward me.
And I kiss her like I’ve earned it.
Like I’ve waited for it.
Because I have.
My mouth claims hers, hard, deep, hungry.
She gasps and I devour the sound, tasting the moment like a man finally getting what’s his.
Her lips part under mine and I take it all—
The sweetness.
The surrender.
The heat.
One hand stays curled around her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.
The other fists in the fabric at her waist, pulling her tight until I feel every breath, every tremble, every fucking inch of her soft body pressed to mine.
She clutches at my jacket like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
She whimpers into my mouth.
Fuck.
That sound—
It’s mine now.
I don’t just kiss her.
I savor her.
Drink her in.
Memorize the way she tastes, the way she gives, the way she doesn’t pull away.
Not once.
She melts for me.
Exactly how I knew she would.
I could fuck her right here.
Right now.
Against this door, the necklace still on, that lingerie I bought her underneath, waiting.
But I don’t.
Because this isn’t indulgence.
It’s discipline.
Control.
Training.
I pull back.
Her lips are kiss-bitten.
Cheeks flushed.
Eyes dazed.
Perfect.
“Go inside, Olivia,” I say quietly.
She blinks. Swallows. Her breath hitches.
And she listens.
She obeys.
She turns. Walks into the apartment.
The door closes with a soft click.
I wait.
A beat.
Then another.
The lock slides into place.
Good girl.
I turn, the corner of my mouth lifting.
Step one: complete.
***
My weight room is empty, just how I like it.
No distractions.
Just the hiss of my breath through my nose, the rhythm of the rope slapping concrete, and the burn in my arms that keeps me from thinking about her lips.
Not that it works.
Her taste is still on my tongue.
Her face still seared behind my eyelids.
Flushed. Breathless. Embarrassed.
Mine.
The door creaks.
Wesley walks in like he owns my fucking place, flipping on the overheads without asking. Light floods the space, slicing across my bare chest, the sheen of sweat and the scowl already forming.
“I told you before,” I grit, not breaking rhythm, “if you’re not here to work out, leave.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he walks over and slaps something onto the weight bench near me.
A fucking newspaper.
And there she is, Olivia.
Eyes wide, lips parted, glowing like a goddamn debutante.
Caption: Beaumont’s Mystery Girl.
I drop the rope.
“The gala, War? Seriously?” Wes says, tone sharp. “What the hell are you doing?”
“It was a networking event for work. She works for me.”
He scoffs. “You took her to the fucking Trust Gala at the Halston Estate, not a networking lunch. She’s in the goddamn tabloids.”
“So?” I grab a towel, drag it over the back of my neck.
“She’s not built for this world.”
“She’ll learn.”
I’ll make sure of it.
Wesley stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’re not serious about her. Tell me you’re not doing this again.”
I pause. “She’s different.”
“Yeah,” he snaps, “so don’t put her through your stupid step program or whatever the hell you call it. She’s not some project, Warren.”
I smile, slow and sharp. “It’ll work with her.”
“It broke the others”
I shrug. “And yet I’m not in low supply of women They always come back.”
“Until they don’t,” he fires. “Until one doesn’t. And then what? You gonna break, too? You gonna be human for once in your fucking life?”
The gym goes quiet.
My smile fades.
I step toward him.
He backs up.
He always backs up.
Wilder throws fists.
But Wes?
He plays chess. Strategy, analysis, pattern.
He sees me better than anyone.
And I fucking hate that.
“Stay out of it,” I say coldly.
Wesley crosses his arms. “You’re a disappointment.”
I tilt my head. “Heard that one before.”
He flinches. Just slightly.
“Get out,” I say.
He hesitates. One last look, pity or warning, I can’t tell.
Then he leaves, and I’m alone again.
The door slams behind him, echoing like a trigger pull.
The one person who sees me clearly just called me a disappointment. And walked away.
Good. Let him.
I stare down at the newspaper.
Her face.
Her fucking smile.
I crush the paper in one fist until the edges cut into my palm.
If Wesley thinks this ends the way it has before…
He’s wrong.
Olivia is different.
And I’m not letting her go.
***
This building is both my legacy and my curse.
It’s like my soul stayed behind when his left.
The Parker Building stands half complete. Still with exposed wires like grief left too long untouched. I don’t know why I came here tonight. Maybe to think. Maybe to bleed without anyone noticing.
Renovation halted six months ago.
But I need it done. Complete. Clean.
For me.
For Noah.
I stand in the middle of the room, the same place he and I used to sneak away with my brothers when we were kids, pretending we’d rule the world from up here one day.
He was the good one.
Better than me in every way.
Now look at us.
One’s buried.
The other’s too fucked up to move forward.
The air smells like stale paint and cold regrets.
I shut my eyes and she flashes to mind.
Olivia. She found the solution no one else did.
My salvation that may get this place clean. Finally complete.
Wes thinks she’s step one in another goddamn plan.
He thinks I’ll break her like all the others.
He’s wrong.
I walk toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city.
The skyline winks in the distance, sharp and golden. Below it, the world goes on, unaware that I’m up here, trying not to fall apart.
My gaze trails down.
A hammer.
Discarded. Left when production of my rebuilding halted.
I grip it.
Tight. Controlled.
But the glass doesn’t care about control.
It wants the truth.
It wants pain.
I slam it into the window once.
The vibration rocks through me.
I hit it again, Right in the corner.
Harder.
A crack forms. A spiderweb across the pane.
I should stop.
I don’t.
One more blow and it shatters, jagged edges gleaming in the moonlight, a rush of wind pouring in like a scream.
I stare down at the street below.
So far.
So close.
Wes thinks Olivia will break.
Thinks she’s just like the rest.
Delicate. Temporary.
He doesn’t see her.
Not the way I do.
She walked into my life for a reason.
She doesn’t ask why, she just moves.
She works.
She obeys.
She learns.
Fuck, I think I need her.
I press my palm to the jagged edge of the broken frame, blood beading instantly.
I welcome the sting.
It’s real.
She’s real.
Not a step.
Not a pawn.
Not a project.
She may be the only one who can handle me and what it cost to stand by my side.
And I’m not going to let her fall.
I stare out into the night, city lights blinking like distant stars, and make my vow right here in the ruins:
She won’t break.
She’ll fucking rise.
And when she does, she’ll do it as mine.