Chapter 14 #2
The bar is less pretentious than the restaurant. We claim a table near the back. Eyes follow the triplets as we move through the space.
Women notice them. Of course they do. Three identical brothers who happen to be tall, rich, and ridiculously good-looking. They turn heads everywhere they go.
I didn't expect how much it would bother me.
Stupid. This is stupid.
A brunette at the bar catches Enzo's eye and smiles. He nods once in acknowledgment but doesn't engage. A redhead "accidentally" bumps into Breck on her way to the bathroom, apologizing with a hand on his chest that lingers too long. Each interaction makes my jaw tighter.
I stand abruptly. "I need to use the restroom."
Ansel rises immediately. "I'll walk you."
"I'm perfectly capable of finding a bathroom alone. I've been doing it for more than two decades. I'm practically an expert at this point."
His expression doesn't change. "I'll walk you."
My humor is completely wasted on him.
The restroom is down a narrow hallway, past the kitchen. I'm washing my hands when Ansel speaks from where he's waiting outside the door.
"You're upset."
I turn off the water. "I'm fine."
That's a lie.
"You're not fine," he says. "Something is wrong."
I dry my hands and step into the hallway. He leans against the wall.
"It's nothing. I'm tired."
Ansel tilts his head. "You're a terrible liar."
Rude. Accurate, but rude.
"And you're insufferable. We should start a club."
His mouth curves slightly. "That's more honest."
I move to walk past him, but he catches my wrist gently. "Talk to me."
The confession spills out before I can stop it. "Do you have any idea what it's like? Watching women throw themselves at the three of you all night? Well, all of the time."
"Jealous?" There's no mockery in his question, only curiosity.
Yes, I'm jealous, and he needs to shut up.
"That's ridiculous. I have no right to be jealous."
"That's not an answer."
I pull my wrist free. "Fine. Yes. It bothers me. Happy? But it shouldn't because I—" I stop, because finishing that sentence means admitting too much.
Ansel steps closer. "Because what?"
"Because I have feelings for you. And Breck. And Enzo." The admission makes my face burn. "Which is completely insane and inappropriate, and I should probably be fired for even thinking it."
Fuck! How much have I had to drink? Did I really admit that out loud?
I'm frozen. Unable to breathe. How is he going to react to that? I will just have to pray to any god that listens that he is too drunk to remember what I said tomorrow. But that is crazy. He isn't drunk, and I can't take that back.
His eyes search mine. "Do you think it's insane that you're attracted to all three of us?"
Before I can speak, a man stumbles around the corner, clearly drunk. He bumps into me hard enough that I slam into the wall.
"Sorry, sorry—" He turns, then stops when he sees me. His apology dies as his gaze travels down my body. "Well, hello there."
I take a step back. "It's fine. Just watch where you're going."
"What's your name, beautiful?" He moves closer, backing me against the wall. His breath reeks of whiskey. "You here alone?"
"She's not." Ansel's hand settles on my lower back, pulling me into his side. "And you need to leave."
The drunk man's eyes narrow. "I was being friendly."
Ansel's other hand comes up to rest on the man's shoulder—not aggressive, but firm. "You're done talking to her. Walk away."
"Or what?" The man's bravado is all alcohol.
Ansel doesn't raise his voice. "You have three seconds before you find out."
The man backs up, hands raised. "Whatever, man. Not worth it."
He stumbles back toward the bar. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Ansel's hand is still on my lower back. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. He's just some drunk idiot." I smooth down my dress. "Can we go back to the table? I need another drink after that."
"In a minute." He studies my face. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Now, back to your original concern." His hand tightens around my waist. "What do you think it's like for us watching men throw themselves at you? Maybe the jealousy goes both ways."
My mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. But a small grunt comes out instead of words.
Eloquent. Very eloquent, Remy.
Why isn't he bothered that I just admitted that I like all of them?
Ansel just smiles and then guides me back toward the main bar when a man in dark clothes passes us in the narrow hallway. He's average height, forgettable features, the kind of person you'd walk past without noticing.
Except he looks directly at me as he passes. And he presses something into my hand. A folded piece of paper.
I stop walking, staring down at it. Ansel notices immediately.
"What is that?"
My fingers shake as I unfold it. The handwriting is neat and in cursive.
“Enjoying your new life, Remy? The expensive dinners, the billionaire boyfriends, the luxury car? I hope what you did to me was worth it. Because I'm going to take everything from you, just like you took everything from me. And I'm going to enjoy watching you lose it all.”
The paper slips from my fingers.
Ansel catches it before it hits the floor, his eyes scanning the words. His entire body goes rigid.
"Who gave this to you?" His voice is deadly quiet.
I look back, but the man is already gone. "Someone just walked past. He pressed it into my hand and kept walking."
"Description."
"Average height, dark clothes, maybe brown hair? I don't know, his face was completely forgettable."
Ansel's already pulling out his phone. "We're leaving. Now."
"Ansel, we don't have to leave." But the truth is that I am scared. I'm sure the note is from Stanley Trent. How did he find out where I'd be tonight?
"Someone just threatened you. In person. After following you to this bar." He looks me over, as if he's looking for any sign of distress. "We're leaving. End of discussion."
He walks me back toward our table with a hand on my lower back that's both protective and possessive. Breck and Enzo look up as we approach, and whatever they see on Ansel's face makes them both stand immediately.
Ansel hands Breck the note without a word. I watch Breck's face harden as he reads it. He passes it to Enzo, whose face mirrors Breck's.
I try to downplay it. "A guy handed me that."
"Did he touch you?" There's an edge to Enzo's voice that makes me shiver.
"Well, no. Other than pressing the note into my hand." I cross my arms, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the bar. "He just walked past and put it in my hand."
Breck moves closer, his usual charm completely absent. "I'll call Joshua to come and pick us up."
"And you're coming home with us," Ansel tells me.
"That's a little excessive, don't you think?" I protest.
"No." All three of them say it simultaneously, and the unified front is startling.
Breck's voice is gentler but no less resolute. "Remy, someone knows where you are, knows your name, and is threatening you. We're not letting you go back to your apartment alone. That's not happening."
"It's Trent." I'm trying to make this make sense. "Stanley Trent. He's just trying to scare me."
Ansel pockets his phone. "Then he's succeeding, and you're still coming home with us until we figure out how to neutralize the threat."
Enzo looks at his phone. "Car's ready. We're leaving through the back exit."
I look between the three of them, seeing identical expressions of protective determination. There's no point arguing when they're like this.
And honestly? I'm more shaken than I want to admit.
Their penthouse is nothing like I expected.
I’ve seen their office, decorated with simplicity and corporate polish. But this is different. This is warm. Lived-in. Real.
It’s designed with exposed brick walls, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and comfortable furniture that appears used rather than staged.
There are books everywhere—actual physical books, not for show.
A kitchen that’s clearly been cooked in.
Photos on the walls that aren’t professional shots, but candid moments.
I turn slowly, taking it in. “This is beautiful.”
Enzo shrugs out of his jacket. “It’s home. And you’re our first guest.” He pauses. “Well, besides Gran.”
That stops me. “Not even Damon has been here?”
“Never. Not even Damon,” Enzo confirms.
Ansel pulls out his phone and types rapidly. “I’m having clothes and whatever else you need delivered within the hour.”
My eyebrows rise. “How is that possible?”
Ansel keeps typing out messages on his phone. “When you have enough money, anything is possible. What size are you?”
I tell him, feeling surreal about the whole situation. “Do I even want to know how you have a system in place for emergency clothing delivery?”
“Probably not.” Breck’s grin is unrepentant. “Definitely not.
Ansel ignores Breck. “I will have someone go to your apartment tomorrow and collect your things. Make a list of what you need and want.”
This is all happening so fast.
“How long do you plan on keeping me here?” I ask, realizing that it sounds like they are asking me to move in temporarily.
“Until the threat is gone,” Enzo states matter-of-factly.
“And after that,” Breck chimes in, “stay as long as you’d like.”
I’m not quite sure what he’s implying, but I don’t ask.
Breck leads me down a hallway. “The guest room is this way, and you have an ensuite bathroom. There should be towels and basics already, but the other stuff will arrive soon.”
The guest room is gorgeous. It’s decorated in soft grays and whites, with a bed that appears cloud-like. French doors open onto a small balcony overlooking the city.
I turn to face them. All three of them stand in the doorway. “Thank you.”
Ansel’s gaze holds mine for a beat too long. “Get some rest. We’ll be up for a while if you need anything. And as soon as the new clothes and toiletries are delivered, I will bring them to you.”
After they leave, I sink onto the bed and try to process the evening. The jealousy that shouldn’t exist. The protectiveness that made me feel safe and claimed all at once. How they brought me into their private space, like it meant everything.
And the note. The threat that’s still sitting in Ansel’s pocket.
I’m going to take everything from you, just like you took everything from me.
Someone followed me tonight. He knew where I was. And he waited for the right moment to deliver their message.
Goosebumps spread across my body.
I should be terrified. Instead, I feel oddly safe here, surrounded by three men who looked ready to tear the city apart to protect me.
I’m still sitting there after what seems like forever when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Ansel enters, carrying two shopping bags. “Your clothes and toiletries arrived.”
He sets it on the chair but doesn’t leave. Instead, he moves to the window, hands in his pockets. “I should apologize.”
“For what?”
“For not anticipating that someone might approach you. For putting you at risk.”
I stand, moving closer. “You didn’t put me at risk. And you couldn’t have known someone was watching me.” I pause. “Though I’m starting to think you have a hero complex that needs addressing.”
He turns to face me. “Still. I don’t like seeing you threatened.”
“I’m not threatened now. However, I might be if you keep standing there looking like you’re about to either lecture me or kiss me. Pick one.”
My admission lingers between us. I see the moment he decides to close the distance between us.
His hands cup my face, and then he kisses me.
Not gentle. Not tentative. Ansel kisses like he does everything else, with absolute certainty and devastating passion.
His mouth claims mine, and I’m lost in it, in him.
His other hand slides into my hair and angles my head exactly where he wants it.
I make a sound I’ll be embarrassed about later, and he swallows it, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing hard.
And then my confession tumbles out. “I need you to know that Breck and I already— We already had sex, and this is so messed up.”
His response is calm. “I know about you and Breck. He told me. Told both of us.”
My stomach drops. “He told you?”
Ansel’s thumb traces my lower lip. “We don’t keep secrets from each other. We’ve shared women before. And now, we all have feelings for you.”
Relief should wash over me. Instead, ice settles in my stomach.
I step back, out of his arms. “This is normal for you. You’re used to sharing women?”
His brow furrows. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m just another conquest.” The realization makes me feel small, disposable. “Nothing special. Just the current occupant of a well-worn revolving door.”
“Remy, that’s not true!”
I back up further. “I think I need to go to bed.”
He doesn’t move closer, but his gaze holds mine. “You’re not just another conquest. Not to us.”
How do I respond? I can’t explain that hearing I’m one of many makes every insecurity I’ve ever had come roaring back.
Ansel observes me. “A lot has happened tonight, and now is not the right time to talk about this.” He takes a step closer, but holds himself back from picking up where we left off.
“But we will talk about it. And Remy?” He waits until I meet his eyes.
“Stop convincing yourself you don’t matter to us. ”
He moves toward the door, then stops with his hand on the handle.
His voice drops lower. “For the record? I do want you. And when I fuck you for the first time, it’s going to be when you truly want it.
When you’re not holding back. When you trust that this—whatever this is between the four of us—is real. ”
He leaves before I can respond.
I sink onto the bed, my lips still tingling from his kiss, my heart racing from his declaration.
They all want me. I want all of them. And I have absolutely no idea what to do about any of it.