Chapter 4
Bianca Cole
“I was the one who stood on business with him.”
The law was never clean. Not the way I practiced it.
I grew up watching my mother trade food stamps for cash, watching my father hustle dice games in alleyways, and watching the cops drag my older cousin off for a murder he didn’t commit.
I learned early that justice wasn’t about truth; it was about who could twist it the fastest.
That’s why I went to law school. Not to save anybody. To win. To never be the one with my back against the wall.
I met Ares five years ago when I was hired by his team to handle a case that his lawyer at the time couldn’t.
He needed me for one of his artists, some messy contract had gone left.
I remember the way he watched me tear the opposing counsel apart like it was a sport.
He didn’t blink, didn’t smile. He just studied me.
By the end of the week, I was his lawyer. A month later, I was in his bed. And somewhere between NDAs, shell corporations, and cash-stuffed envelopes, I became his woman.
Why did I stay? Because Ares wasn’t afraid of my darkness. He welcomed it. He didn’t ask me to be noble. He asked me to be ruthless. And I loved him for that.
My office smelled like leather and lavender; the tinted glass of my high-rise office made the room dim. Files were spread across the table, lawsuits and threats stacked like bricks.
I leaned back in my chair, legs crossed, silk blouse hugging my frame.
Across from us, the other side’s lawyer was droning on about breach of contract, damages, and injunctions. Trying to box Ares into a corner.
But Ares wasn’t the type to be boxed.
One second, he was leaning back in his chair. Next, he was on his feet, gripping that man by the collar, dragging him halfway across the desk.
“Watch your fucking mouth when you say my name,” Ares growled, low and dark, murder droning under every word.
The man’s face went red, gasping, papers scattering across the table.
I didn’t move. This was Ares. This was the side of him that only I got to see in these rooms.
“Baby,” I said softly, smooth as velvet. “Let him breathe.”
His eyes flicked to mine. After a long beat, he released the man, shoving him back into his chair like trash.
I leaned forward, smiling sweetly, my voice a blade.
“Now let’s be adults. Your fake politician client is a fraud.
I’ve got emails that’ll bury him, a mistress eager to talk, and a trail of bribes that makes him look like a bad joke.
You want this lawsuit to go away? Easy. You walk out of here, and you forget we ever met.
Otherwise…” I paused, let the silence thicken.
“I’ll make sure your name is dirt in every courtroom from here to D.C. ”
The man paled. His lips moved, but no words came out.
“I’ll talk to my client,” he finally mumbled.
“No, you will tell them what I said. There’s no more talking about this.” I glared at him.
He stood up and walked out, looking defeated.
The office door slammed shut behind him, leaving just me and Ares in the silence he carried everywhere.
“Tu es tordue comme l’enfer.” You’re crooked as fuck.
I smiled, uncrossing and recrossing my legs. I was one of the other girls who understood French. I knew Spanish, French, and some Chinese. Real lawyers become bilingual. “Crooked wins. Straight lines get erased.”
Ares’ eyes stayed on me, sharp and proud, like I’d just reminded him why he kept me. Why I’d never be replaced.
And the truth was, I lived for it.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low.
“You know why I love you, B?”
I tilted my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “Enlighten me.”
“’Cause you don’t just cover my shit… You make me feel good about it. You make it feel like winning.”
I leaned closer, making sure he could smell the five-thousand-dollar perfume he brought me from France.
“That’s because it is winning. Every nigga you’ve buried, every contract I’ve shredded…
It’s all part of your plan. Crooked doesn’t mean weak, darling.
It means we bend the rules until they break. ”
His dimples showed then. He reached into his jacket and slid a thick envelope across the table.
I picked it up, weighing it in my hand. Heavy. Clean. No need to count.
“Five hundred thousand,” he said simply. “For handling that shit like only you could.”
I tucked it into my bag without blinking. “Appreciate you.”
He stood, came around the table, and tilted my chin up with two fingers. His eyes searched mine, dark and unreadable.
“You ever think about leaving me, B?” he asked softly, like it wasn’t a question but a warning.
I held his gaze, steady as stone. “No. Because I know what you are. And I know what I am to you.”
His thumb brushed my chin. The touch was intimate, but the weight behind it was heavier than sex. He bent down, his lips grazing my ear.
“Good,” he whispered. “Don’t ever forget that.”
Then he kissed my temple, soft but final, before walking out like a storm breaking in silence.
I just sat back in my chair, straightened my skirt, and smiled. Because in a world full of enemies, I was the one woman he paid like a partner and touched like a secret.
And that was more dangerous than love.