Chapter 20
Ares
“Generational Ego”
Ilanded in France, drunk and irritated.
Not sloppy drunk. Just the kind that sharpens your tongue.
I walked into the estate alone. If I were going to challenge Marcel, I would do it as a man, not as his grandson.
His nurse was adjusting his oxygen when I stepped into the room. Marcel looked smaller in his bed than I remembered. But his eyes were still sharp.
Still calculating.
“What’s up, old man?” I asked, dryly.
He smirked when he saw me.
“Finalmente,” he said. “You finally came to see the man passing you an empire.”
He gestured for the nurse to leave.
The door shut.
I stepped closer to the bed.
“Yeah, you’re passing it down,” I said calmly. “If I marry a fucking crackhead.”
His face changed instantly.
“Excuse me?”
“I know who I’m marrying,” I said. “And she’s a drug addict. Deranged. Living in an alley while y’all calling her an heiress.”
He frowned.
“You want peace with the Laveaus so bad you’d hand me a broken bride? You told me that having multiple girlfriends made the family look weak. But marrying an addict makes sense?”
I stepped closer to his bed.
“You don’t want to look like a racist old man who won’t pass the throne to his Black grandson, so you think marrying me off to a mess fixes your image?”
His eyes flashed.
“Watch how you speak to me.”
“Watch how you move with my life.”
We stared at each other.
Generational ego meeting generational ego.
“You think because I’m sick you can come in here yelling?” he asked quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I exhaled slowly.
Calmed down on purpose.
“The Laveaus,” I said. “Their son is my right hand. His sister is the heiress. She’s on drugs. Did you know?”
“No,” he said firmly. “And if she is tainted, the deal is off.”
I paced once in front of his bed.
Then I stopped.
“No,” I said.
His brow lifted.
“We’re not calling it off.”
He studied me.
“You just came in here screaming.”
“You said you didn’t know,” I replied. “That makes them liars. That makes them weak.”
I leaned in slightly.
“But I’ll play their game.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I’ll marry her,” I said calmly. “Tell them I’m ready.”
“You surprise me,” he said.
“I know,” I replied. I wasn’t backing out.
If she’s broken, it means someone has broken her.
And that meant somebody owed.
“I’ll be speaking to them about their heiress personally,” he assured me.
I walked out of the room without replying.
Laurent was halfway down the hall, leaning against the wall like he was in front of a corner store.
He always thought he was bigger than the program.
I smiled mischievously.
“Damn,” I said. “You ain’t got your own crib? You always shacking up here? Grown men don’t live with they grandpa.”
He smirked back.
“And grown men don’t let their grandfather dictate who they can stick their dick in. Especially not a crackhead.”
I laughed. I knew he had been listening. He was a gossip boy.
“Bianca still snorting coke off yours?”
His smile didn’t fade.
“Actually,” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “She is.”
He stepped closer.
“It’s crazy watching you go from a poly playboy to a guardian husband. This family really fell off.” He leaned in. “And you’re the face of it.”
For a second, something dark flickered in my chest.
“Si tu étais vraiment un homme, tu ne vivrais pas dans l'ombre d'un homme mourant.” If you were really a man, you wouldn’t live in the shadow of someone dying.
He frowned.
I leaned closer. “Souviens-toi de ca. Je n'hérite pas du pouvoir. Je le prends.” Remember this. I don’t inherit power. I take it.
He stared at me for a second longer, then laughed under his breath and lit his cigar.
“Enjoy your bullshit,” he said, walking off.
I stood there longer than I wanted to admit.
Laurent didn’t scare me.
But he was dangerous.
And I knew that.
I walked outside and got into the car.
“Take me to Le Vice,” I told the driver as I texted my cousin Nico. It was his club. Nico was the only solid cousin I had on the Delacroix side, and I needed to tell him everything.
The Delacroix estate faded behind tinted windows.
If I had to carry this empire, I needed to remind myself who I was outside of old French bloodlines.
The driver pulled up to the private entrance of the club.
Underground.
Mixed crowd.
Invitation only.
Tuxedo only.
Inside, it was velvet, gold, dark liquor, and women moving like art in the low light. Men in tailored suits shook hands over quiet deals.
This was my other world.
The one Marcel didn’t build.
When I walked in, conversations dipped for half a second.
Not because I was Marcel’s heir.
But because I was Ares Jackson.
Feared.
Respected.
I adjusted my cufflinks and stepped deeper into the room.
If they thought I was about to be embarrassed by a broken bride, they were mistaken.
I didn’t run from problems.
I absorbed them.
And I always came out owning the outcome.
Nico finally showed up at his own club. I was two drinks in when he slid into my private section, which he kept for me. A bottle appeared before he blinked. A girl with legs up to her shoulders moved slowly in front of us, her smile lazy and practiced.
I threw money out of habit, but my mind wasn’t here.
I kept seeing Yuna sitting in that alley.
“What’s going on? I was with the kids.”
“My bad, man. I just got a lot going on.”
“You look like you’re thinking too much,” Nico said over the music, sipping his drink.
“I’m thinking the family lied to me,” I replied.
He nodded slowly. “That part comes with the territory. But what happened?”
I looked at him. “I’m sure you heard I have to marry. Marcel wants me to be with a girl who’s hooked on meth. You understand how crazy that sounds?”
He leaned back, calm as ever.
“Sounds about right. What are you gonna do about it? You know Marcel is riding on you to connect with the Laveaus.”
“I’m going to marry her. She’s my right-hand man’s sister on top of it all. I can’t leave them hanging.”
“You know,” he said, “when I was arranged with my wife… she was an alcoholic and did coke.”
I turned my head toward him.
He shrugged like it was nothing.
“She was pregnant too. Hid it from her family. Hid it from me. I found out after the wedding when I fucked her for the first time.”
I blinked. “You serious?”
He nodded. “These heiress women don’t come packaged like Disney princesses. They come flawed. Broken sometimes. The parents of these women are predators. They hide the ugly parts so the deal goes through.”
I stared at him.
He continued, voice steady.
“I cleaned her up. Helped her get it right. Had our own kids. And now? She’s my wife for real, and we run shit on our side of the Delacroix’s. It can be life-changing.”
I leaned back, letting that sit.
“So what you saying?”
He lifted his glass.
“You’re doing right. Once she comes to her senses, she’ll thank you. Move her here. Get her help. Pop out with your build-a-wife in a year. Take down her fuckin’ family while you’re at it.”
I laughed under my breath.
“You make it sound easy.”
“It ain’t easy,” he said. “But it’s simple when you have money like us. You’re not marrying perfection. You’re marrying an empire you will be responsible for and change.”
That hit different.
Because that’s exactly what it felt like.
Responsibility.
Not romance.
Not passion.
Duty.
I watched the dancer move in front of me
Yuna didn’t even know her life was about to change.
Didn’t even know I was part of it yet.
The dancer leaned down near my ear.
“You want the room, chéri?”
I hesitated for a second.
Then nodded.
“Yeah. Fuck it.”
Nico grinned. “See, nothing really changes.”
“Shut up,” I muttered as I stood.
She led me down a hallway to a private room. Soft couches. Mirror on the ceiling. Music humming low.
I sank into the seat, loosened my tie, and let the alcohol settle.
She climbed into my lap, moving slowly, doing what she was paid to do. My hands rested on her hips, but my head wasn’t there.
The dancer slid down between my knees, waiting for approval.
I nodded once.
She slid a condom on me and went to work. I leaned back, eyes closed.
It felt good. Of course it did.
But even with her trying to pull me into the moment, my mind kept drifting.
To the reality that somebody expected me to build a life with a woman who didn’t even trust men.
By the time I finished, I sat there breathing slowly, staring at the mirrored ceiling.
If I was doing this, I was doing it right.
I wasn’t bringing chaos into a situation that was already broken.
I laughed quietly to myself. Feeling like I was lying to myself.
I had to be:
A Roi.
A husband.
A savior, apparently.
I didn’t know who that version of me was yet.
But I knew two things.
One, I wasn’t going to be able to move like this much longer.
Two, for some reason I couldn’t explain, I already felt responsible for a girl who probably hated everything about me.
I adjusted my clothes and walked back into the dark, already planning what the next move was.