Chapter 9
9
Cecely
Claudius watches me like I’m some kind of puzzle he’s trying to solve. His sharp, calculating gaze never strays far from me. I can practically feel him dissecting every breath I take.
Meanwhile, I’m just sitting here, sinking into the plush leather of his obscenely fancy jet, trying my absolute best not to barf all over the place. The turbulence isn’t even that bad, but my stomach doesn’t care. It twists and churns, flipping in ways that have nothing to do with the altitude and everything to do with the fact that my world is completely upside down.
And call me silly, but I don’t think now is the right time to casually drop the fact that I’m pregnant. With his brother’s baby. The brother he thinks is dead. Yeah. Pretty sure that little revelation won’t go over well.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe through my nose, willing the nausea away. There are bigger problems at hand, like the fact that I have no idea where he’s taking me, or what happens when we land.
Claudius doesn’t break his stare. Doesn’t even blink.
I get the distinct feeling that whatever game I just got pulled into, I’m already losing.
Needing to talk—to say something, anything—so I don’t humiliate myself by vomiting all over Claudius’ ridiculously expensive jet, I force out the first question that comes to mind.
“Does my mother know my father knows about me?”
My voice comes out steadier than I feel, but that doesn’t mean much. My stomach still twists, a war raging between nausea and nerves.
Claudius doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps watching me, unreadable as ever. His silence stretches, pressing down on me, making the cabin feel even smaller.
Great. Fantastic. Just what I need… more reasons to feel trapped.
I swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the way my insides are rebelling. I brace myself for whatever answer is coming, already knowing it won’t be good.
Because nothing about this situation is.
“She does,” Claudius says, his voice void of emotion, like this is just another business transaction.
I hum, though there’s no actual amusement behind it. “Funny. She always told me she had no idea who my father was.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she lied to me.”
Still, the admission stings, scraping against old wounds I didn’t even realize I still had. Wait. That’s a lie. There are a ton of old wounds where my mother is concerned. Things therapy hasn’t even helped with.
I don’t want to ask the next question. I already know I won’t like the answer. But the words slip out anyway, quiet but firm.
“How long has he known about me?”
Claudius doesn’t hesitate. “Since you were born.”
His words land heavy, pressing into my chest, making it harder to breathe.
Since I was born.
My father knew. He always knew.
And he never reached out. Never tried. Not once. For twenty-four years, I’ve been something he’s chosen to ignore…
I blink, staring at the leather seat across from me, trying to process the weight of that realization. I knew I wasn’t wanted, not really. But hearing the confirmation? Knowing that he’s had the chance to find me—to know me—this entire time and simply chose not to?
Wow.
That hurts. A lot.
I press my lips together, forcing down the lump rising in my throat. I won’t give Claudius the satisfaction of seeing just how much that answer gutted me.
Instead, I nod once, as if that single movement will somehow push the pain aside.
“Right.” My voice is distant, like I’m hearing myself from underwater. “Of course he did.”
“Anything else you’d like to know?”
Claudius watches me closely, his tone neutral, but I can feel the weight behind the question. He’s testing me, waiting to see if I’ll push further. I won’t, though. If I do, I’ll keep peeling back the layers of a truth I’m not sure I want to face.
Needing to change the subject, I tilt my head slightly and ask, “Who’s older? You or Gabriel?”
For the first time since this conversation started, something flickers in his gaze. He wasn’t expecting me to shift from my own fractured family to his.
Good. I’ll remember that.
“Gabriel was older by ten minutes,” he finally says, his voice clipped.
I hum, nodding slowly as I take that in. Then, with deliberate ease, I smirk.
“Ah. You’re the baby,” I say, dragging out the words just enough to let them sink in. “That makes so much sense with your…” I wave a hand vaguely in his direction. “…theatrics and all.”
His jaw tics.
Bingo.
For a split second, I swear I see something sharp flash behind his carefully controlled expression. Annoyance? Amusement? It’s hard to tell. But it’s there.
I settle back into my seat, a small sense of victory settling in my chest.
Claudius may be impossible to read, but now I know something about him. Something I can use.
And if Gabriel is alive, if Claudius is wrong about his twin being dead… Well, things just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
I must drift off at some point because the next thing I know, the rich scent of food is pulling me out of sleep. My stomach growls loudly in response, a sharp reminder that I haven’t eaten in… hell, I don’t even know how long.
I blink awake, disoriented for a second, before my gaze lands on Claudius sitting across the aisle. He’s casually cutting into his expensive-looking meal. It’s steak with a side of perfectly plated vegetables. The kind of meal that doesn’t belong on a plane but somehow looks right in front of him.
I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Rude,” I mutter, my voice still thick with fatigue. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Claudius doesn’t even glance up as he spears a bite of food with his fork.
“You looked peaceful,” he says, far too casually. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”
I narrow my eyes. Bullshit.
“More like you didn’t want to share,” I shoot back.
The corner of his mouth twitches into almost a smirk, but he hides it behind another bite of food.
“There’s plenty left.” He nods toward the seat beside me, where a second tray sits untouched.
I eye him suspiciously before glancing at the plate. Sure enough, there’s a full meal waiting for me, still warm and untouched.
Okay. Maybe I did jump to conclusions. But I don’t like that I was knocked out enough to not even realize food was being brought in. I shouldn’t let my guard down around him.
Still, I grab the fork and dig in without another word. The second I take my first bite, my stomach practically sings.
Claudius says nothing, just watches as I eat. Like he’s studying me again. Like he’s waiting for something. I ignore him. For now. Let him watch.
When my stomach is full, I lean back into the plush leather seat, sighing in satisfaction.
“That was really good,” I admit. “Thanks.”
Claudius doesn’t react immediately. He just watches me, as if weighing whether or not to say what’s on his mind. Then he does.
“I guess it’s a lie, then?”
I arch a brow, meeting his gaze. “What is?”
“The myth that strippers make good money.” He gestures toward my empty plate, the slightest tilt of his head giving away that he’s been paying more attention than I thought. “You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in a long time.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Have you seen my body? I eat, thank you very much.”
His expression remains unreadable, but I don’t give him time to dissect me further.
“As for the money I made stripping,” I continue, my tone turning smug, “I was good at my job, babe. Real good.” I lean in slightly, tilting my head as if letting him in on a secret. “But I wasn’t doing it for me.”
“No?”
“Nope.” I sit back again, voice steady and unbothered. “I was doing it for Harvey.”
Something flickers in his expression before he smooths it over. The thing about men like Claudius? They’re always trying to figure out what makes people tick. Well, good luck to him. I’ve spent my whole life making sure no one ever really sees me.
“Does your mother know you’re a stripper?”
“Does your mother know you kidnap women from their homes?”
Claudius barely reacts. Big surprise. It’s like trying to get a read on a damn statue.
“My mother is dead, and I didn’t kidnap you. You came willingly, if you recall.”
I tilt my head, considering.
“Touché.” I give him that one. But I’m not done. “No, my mother doesn’t know I strip. My mother also doesn’t know that I’m in college. Nor does she know anything about me that’s happened since I left her house when I was sixteen. Nothing of substance, at least.”
I say it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter. But the way Claudius watches me? Yeah, he’s not buying it. He’s picking apart every word, looking for weak spots.
Too bad for him that I’ve had years to build my armor.
Still, I don’t miss the way his fingers tap once against the armrest, like he’s filing this new piece of information away.
Bored with the topic of my mother, and with the way Claudius keeps dissecting me with his eyes, I let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Are we almost there?”
His eyebrows lift slightly, like he’s amused by my impatience. “No.”
“Ugh.” I shift in my seat, rocking my hips from side to side, stretching my arms over my head. “Is there somewhere I can spread out?” My body aches, stiff from too much sitting, and I roll my shoulders dramatically. “My back is killing me.”
His gaze flicks to me, slow and deliberate, taking in the movement. Assessing. Calculating.
“There’s a bedroom in the back,” he says finally.
I perk up. “A bedroom? With actual space?”
His lips twitch, almost like he’s biting back a smirk. “Yes, Cecely. A bedroom. With actual space. There’s even a bed.”
“Good.” I push up from my seat, already making my way toward the back. “Wake me when we land.”
I don’t wait for a response.
Let him watch. Let him analyze.
At least I’ll be comfortable while he does it.
As I walk down the narrow aisle of the jet, a memory creeps up on me, uninvited.
The woods.
Gabriel.
The way he chased me. The way my pulse thundered in my ears, my breath ragged as I ran, knowing he was right behind me…hunting me.
My steps falter for half a second, my heart giving a sharp thump. Will Claudius follow? Will he give chase the way his brother did? I don’t dare look back. Instead, I keep walking, forcing my spine straight, keeping my pace measured, even as my pulse flutters with something I refuse to name.
But nothing happens.
No heavy footsteps. No dark presence closing in behind me.
Just the soft hum of the jet, the steady vibration beneath my feet as I reach the door at the back of the cabin. I slip inside and lock it behind me, exhaling.
Only then do I let myself react with a soft whimper escaping my lips as I take in the bed. Big. Plush. Luxurious in a way that mocks my exhaustion. I cross the room in three strides and throw myself onto the mattress, sinking into the softness with a sigh that borders on bliss.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I let my body relax.
At least for now.
Because sleep is coming for me fast.
And in sleep?
There’s nowhere left to run.