27. Rowan
twenty-seven
Rowan
One month later
I t’s been weeks, and she refuses to talk about what happened. She refuses to let me touch her, to hear me out, to understand why I had to do what I did. Being in the hospital for so long was the hardest part, after they took me out of the warehouse. It meant she was in control of when I could see her, of how much I got to talk to her. I don’t blame her at all. She’s hurting… and without her love, so am I.
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” I ask her as she goes through the last of her boxes that I brought over from her apartment. The fact that she still hasn’t fully unpacked drives me mad. She’s not leaving me. I won’t allow it.
“Yes,” she says, without bothering to turn around. Her voice is curt, clipped, as if she doesn’t want to waste another breath on me. Pain tightens my face muscles, but my obsession with this woman has only grown stronger since last month. I didn’t think it could, but look at me now—standing in our bedroom with my hands in my pockets and running out of ideas about how I can bring her back to me. Home .
She finally finds a jewelry box in the chaos and opens it up to retrieve a necklace. Not the one I gifted her two weeks ago, but her own. Another blow—right in the fucking heart.
“Let me help you,” I say when I see her struggling to put it on.
To my surprise, she lets me. My fingers brush the skin on her neck for just a second before she flinches and moves away yet another time. She’s punishing me, and fuck me, she’s doing a phenomenal job.
“I can’t…” I close my eyes, my breath hissing out through my flared nostrils. When I open them again, she’s putting lipstick on, giving me the briefest of glances through the mirror. “I can’t go out there and face the world knowing you can’t even look at me.”
She straightens up, letting the lipstick fall into the small purse she has wrapped around her wrist. And when she turns around, it’s the first time she looks into my eyes.
“You’re going to have to, Rowan.”
My name. She says my name.
“You won the war in the Ridge. And as your wife, I’ll be there to support you. If I can do it, so can you.”
Not another word spills from her lips as she walks past me and I hear her heels walk down the stairs. Her perfume still lingers in her wake, and I just stand there, breathing it in. Pretending that if I reach out my arm, I can grab her, pull her to my chest and press my lips to hers. But when her scent finally disperses, I’m left with only the memory of her.
Dove
We ride to the White House in silence. But I can feel him next to me… restless, frustrated, and annoyed. He wants to tell me things, but I won’t listen—not when I know exactly what he has to say. That he had no choice, that my life was more important than anything, that he couldn’t live without me. And I… I understand, but I can’t accept that. So I keep putting off the talk for as long as it takes to come to terms with everything that happened over the past few weeks.
When we arrive, he gets out first and extends his hand toward me. It’s the first intentional touch we’ve had in weeks, because I haven’t allowed it so far. He probably thinks I’m punishing him, but honestly, I can barely be around him, and that’s mostly why I’ve stayed away. The pain of knowing I could’ve lost him—that I could still lose him at any point because of his impulsive nature and the secrets he keeps—hits me like a goddamn hurricane. And right now, I have no idea how to deal with the fact. Maybe this will show him… show him how wrong he was to do what he did. A small part of me tells me he might. But the rest? It tells me he’ll never change.
I suck in a breath and give him my hand. He squeezes it lightly, pulling me out of the car, and I know we both relish this small moment of connection, losing ourselves a little in the gentle touch. He guides me inside the building, and I put on my smile—for him, and for everyone who comes and greets us. The Secretary of State, the Chief of Staff, and other people working here that I don’t recognize. Then we’re in the State Dining Room, where both Cam and Maddox welcome us.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She leans in, giving me a soft embrace that smells like amber and cashmeran. I pin her down with my stare, expecting to see some horror in her eyes from what she had to do last month, but only a peaceful glance meets me. She seems rested—amused, even.
Good.
The president’s hand extends forward, taking mine. “Welcome. I’m glad you could come,” he says, and I don’t fail to notice the change in his tone at the last words. As if he knows Rowan would’ve declined the invitation if I hadn’t felt like coming tonight.
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” I say, reminding him that my inner turmoil doesn’t cancel out the love and respect I still have for my husband.
My husband . He married me without my knowledge, as I later found out. The wedding would’ve been… just a formality. Just a way to announce it to the world.
We walk into the ballroom, my arm entwined with his, and I feel naked, exposed, with so many eyes on us. I keep my chin up and smile as I grip Rowan tighter, both for strength and for show.
“I love you, angel,” he says, tilting his head toward mine. “With all my heart.”
I swallow hard, fighting back tears at the sound of his voice saying the words.
I love you too, you goddamn bastard.
Familiar faces come into view, and a twinkle of relief blossoms in my aching heart. I’ll take any chance to avoid my pain, and the way I’m constantly searching for the server with drinks proves it.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gutenberg,” I say sweetly. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Smile, and laugh, and don’t let them see how brokenhearted you are.
Mrs. Gutenberg analyzes me from head to toe, but I get the feeling it’s not because she wants to take in my attire. She doesn’t seem to be interested in stuff like that.
“Congratulations,” she says, raising her glass of champagne toward us. “For the war.” She looks at Rowan. “And for freeing this country.” She turns to me.
“Quite impressive. The news took everyone by surprise. And what about Aleander? Isn’t he going to take over now that Salister is gone?” Mr. Gutenberg asks.
Rowan answers, “Cole hunted him down. He’s dead. As is the next successor, and the next one after that. The EFW is done for, or at least… in the form we’ve known so far.”
“My brother has decided to go back,” I explain, refraining from showing my true feelings about his decision. Their eyes widen slightly at the sound of it. “The people there trust him, and it’s better than them organizing themselves into a group again with their old ideologies. The EFW can be an asset to the American government under his leadership.”
Mrs. Gutenberg hums. “Fascinating. Really well done. I look forward to seeing it play out. I’m sorry it ruined your wedding, though.” Her tone is soft, regretful. I swallow and nod in response, not knowing what to say. “Would you mind if I borrowed your husband for a dance? I’m dying to hear more about winning the war for the second time.”
Rowan turns his face to me, probably looking for any sign of disapproval in my gestures. But I simply smile as I say, “Of course, though I worry he might out-dance you just to prove he’s fully recovered now.”
She laughs, grabbing my husband’s arm. “Come then, Commander. Tell me more about…”
My attention drifts from her words as my hand slides off of Rowan’s other arm. He smiles my way, and of course I return it before they both disappear into the crowd. I miss him even when he’s in the room with me. I never want to feel that utter desolation again. I never want to find out that he’s gone again.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Senator,” I tell Mr. Gutenberg. “I need a few minutes to freshen up.”
He nods in understanding, and I breathe out, making my way to the nearest server. I pick up a glass of champagne, then retreat away from the crowd. Anxiety roils in my stomach, and I’m not sure why. The classical music should soothe me, but it only reinforces the pressing sadness washing over me. I down my drink in two big gulps, knowing full well it will mess up my head.
Good.
Another server walks by, offering me a fresh drink. I place my empty glass on the tray and pick another one up. This guy gets it. Then, plopping down on a random chair, I watch the party happen like a fly on the wall—the laughter spilling from their throats, the white teeth showing when they talk, the gulping of drinks and chewing on the aperitifs. I don’t realize it when someone plops down next to me.
“Damn, and I thought I was a major introvert,” a voice says from my right. A voice I recognize too well, even if we’ve only talked once in the past. “You’re in my hiding spot.”
“Hello, Odette,” I say, my tone void of emotion. “Didn’t realize someone like you needed one.”
She laughs with that loud, chirpy laugh of hers from last time. “I am glad my mask is deceiving enough. This is how we play the game of politics, Dove. We pretend all the damn time.”
I acknowledge that and uncross my legs, only to cross them back the other way.
“And what are you hiding from tonight?” she muses.
I sneer. “People who pry into my private life.” A low, hateful blow, but… it’s all I can muster right now.
Maddox and Cam take to the dance floor, and everybody makes room for them. The ice in Cam’s eyes has melted—she watches her husband as if he’s everything she’s ever wanted now. No longer with defiance… no longer with the promise of a long, painful death.
“I’m sorry,” Odette says, getting my attention. “For what I said to you that day, about Rowan and I screwing behind your back. I was in love with him, and he didn’t love me back.”
I turn to look at her for the first time since we started talking. Her dress, a deep emerald that brings out the brightness in her eyes, flows gracefully over her crossed legs. And her expression… she looks as though she’s peeling back a layer of herself she doesn’t show often. I wonder what has got into her—I wonder if perhaps I was too blinded by jealousy that day and misjudged her.
“But he married you,” she says, disarming me once again. “He shows you off everywhere and looks at you as if you’re a treasure of sorts.” She scoffs, but I no longer take it personally. Whatever storms brew behind Odette Chevrier’s cool facade, I now know it isn’t about me. It’s about her. I can only hope she finds peace one day.
She brushes an invisible piece of lint from the skirt of her dress as she says, “Look, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and I don’t need to know. But if I can give you some unsolicited advice… make up with him. Because I see the way you look at him too, and it’s just the same.”
“What makes you think something happened between us?”
She smiles and stands up, her body turning away from me as she says, “It takes one to know one. Only someone good at wearing masks can spot another during their act.”
One hour later, I’ve already danced with Rowan twice and held up my act. Now I’m back in my hiding spot, on the same chair from earlier, downing my fourth glass of champagne.
He keeps coming back—through the goosebumps on my skin, the flush in my cheeks when he touches me gently and guides me through the crowd—he keeps coming back to the front of my mind. And no matter what I do, no matter who I speak to or where I go, he’s always there, haunting me, waiting for me to open the door and let him in like I never pushed him out.
And I’m caving.
The high walls I built around my heart are chipped, scabbed. They were never meant to last, and we both know that.
Rowan’s hand brushes my thigh under the table, trailing up. My breath catches in my throat, a shiver running down my spine like wildfire. His heat is home to my body, and goddammit, I can’t stop from wanting it all over me. I blame it on the champagne, knowing full well it’s a lie.
“I think you’ve had enough,” he murmurs in my ear from behind.
I pull my hand with my drink away from him. “And I think you should mind your own business.”
“Aren’t I?” His cruel smile catches me off guard as he leans to steal my glass.
He’s either doing this to provoke a fight from me… or he’s been paying attention to the amount of alcohol I ingested, and it truly concerns him. I tend to think it’s the former.
The glass is back on the table, and I could reach for it if I wanted to. But the truth is… I’m tired, and I no longer want to pretend I’m all right. The champagne bubbling up inside me conjures up my despair instead of willing it away.
Thanks for nothing .
“I want you to fight me,” he says, placing a tender kiss on my naked collarbone. I shiver, watching a few curious eyes glance our way from the crowd. “I want you to curse me and spit in my face, and do whatever it takes to make you forgive me. And then, when you have exhausted every bit of turmoil from that pure little soul of yours, I want to spread you open on the president’s couch and fuck this attitude out of you until I know it’s all gone. Here. And now.”
I muster up the words between heavy breaths. “Quite commanding for someone who’s in the wrong.”
“Yes. I want things from you, and you’re going to give them to me on a silver platter. Because I own you.”
Fire licks down my veins, spreading more and more through my body as his words fuel it. How dare he? How dare he demand these things of me when… when…
“I have been patient, and I have shown you nothing but tenderness this entire time. But I told you, repeatedly —I am not a patient man. And right now, Dove, you are seriously testing my patience by shutting me off and denying me the only thing in this world that keeps me alive.”
Servers glide through the room like ghosts, and the crystal glasses catch the light from the chandeliers with every hand that picks them up. People shift and talk, and I watch them bewildered, wondering if anyone has heard us. But Rowan doesn’t seem to care about any of that.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs one last time, the timber of his low voice reaching down to my core.
When he takes my hand in his, I let him. He guides me through the crowd, and we leave the party through the doors leading to the Cross Hall.
I don’t look back once.
Rowan
“Sit down.”
“Dove…” I plead with my eyes, because I don’t want to fucking sit right now. I want to touch her, be all over her, and take what’s mine.
“Sit. The hell. Down.”
I shut the doors to the Lincoln Bedroom, making sure no one can hear us. And then… I oblige.
My cock grows harder at this new side of her. I love using her, making her do things the way I want. But fuck, I quite enjoy this other side of her just as much. Every day she surprises me. Every day she brings me to the edge of my sanity, then takes my hand and pulls me over to where we both fall.
“How could you?” She crosses her arms over her chest and brings a trembling hand to cover her mouth. Tears and rage spill out of her as if the walls she built around her heart have finally collapsed after weeks of keeping everything in. I’m here to gather every fucking drop. “How could you leave me? How could you even think to do something like that?”
I take in a long breath, choosing my words carefully. “Angel, you know I didn’t have a—”
“ Don’t speak to me right now,” she snaps. My mouth pulls up in the corner, but I make an effort to refrain from smiling.
There you are. Fight me. Fight me and take what you need from me.
“You lied to me. Lied to your friends. You were so goddamn lucky I found out about your idiotic plan.”
I was.
“You know what hurts the most, Rowan?” She shakes her head, a disappointed smile on her pretty face. It breaks my fucking heart, but I’m aware it only shows me how much she cares. “That you didn’t trust me. You didn’t think of me highly enough to discuss that plan. Because if you had, I would’ve told you it’s the worst and most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard in my life. No, don’t touch me!”
I’m back on my feet, closing the space between us until our lips are inches apart. I can practically feel her anger rolling off of her. Despite every muscle in my body begging me to do so, I keep my hands to myself and refrain from touching her. Consent is always given, and right now, I don’t have a single fucking ounce of it to my name. She breathes against my chest, and I tilt my head down to catch her teary gaze.
“You are all I think about,” I say, my voice shaking with a violent burst of my obsession for her. “You walked under my skin one day and made a home there. I am possessed by you in ways I can’t begin to describe. I gave my life to save yours, yes, because there is nothing for me to come back to if you die. I am a selfish, wrathful man—but I am yours, and you are mine, and nothing else matters to me but that. You want an apology?” I shake my head. “Yes, okay, I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with a better plan. But if I had to, I’d do it again because it kept you breathing. It kept you alive.”
“I didn’t want that! Who are you to decide my life weighs more than yours?” She presses against my chest, getting away, and rounding the small table behind her. Torment flickers beneath my skin—I urge it to quiet down. She buries her face in her hands before looking up at me again. Wrapping her arms around herself, she asks, “How am I supposed to be with you from now on, to live in constant fear that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone? That you won’t do something like that again? The thought hurts so much, Rowan…” She aches, visibly aches under my eyes as she refrains from crying. “It hurts so much that I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what… to do…”
“Dove…”
A sharp scoff exits her flared nostrils as she looks anywhere but into my eyes. “You didn’t do this for me. You did it for yourself. I hope you can at least understand that.”
My brows furrow at her words. I’ve never heard something more obscene.
“H-How could you think that? You’re… you’re wrong—”
“ No . You did it for yourself, Rowan. Because your father treated you the way he did, told you that you were never good enough to walk this earth, and made you believe it. I understand your obsession. Oh God, I really fucking do. But what you did… turning yourself over… you did that because you never feel like you do enough. Like you are enough. You gave in to your father, and look what it’s done to us.”
The blow is sharp, and it hits me out of fucking nowhere. She might as well have slapped me across my face. I take a second to reel in the right words, but only the wrong ones come out.
“My obsession with you,” I mutter. “You don’t understand it, Dove. That’s why I did—”
“Oh!” she laughs, turning with her hands on her hips. “I don’t understand it? Right. Because how dare I feel the same way about you—about a man who truly has no value and doesn’t deserve anything from what he has—right?” Her voice lowers, and she makes a step toward me, every move charged with pure rage and a madness I recognize too well because I bask in it myself.
“I’m obsessed with you too, you goddamn bastard. It’s… it’s… like an intoxication holding onto your flesh, scurrying down your veins alongside your blood, entering every cell that keeps you alive and eating you up from the inside out. You can’t get it out of your system, nor do you want to. It consumes you, chews you up, and spits you out, then does it again. And again. And again. And it’s the scariest, most beautiful feeling I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. How’s that? Did I pass the fucking test?”
I keep silent, taking her blows, knowing I deserve each one. It kills me to see her so wounded by what I did, but I can’t shake the fact that she’s still alive because of it. Things could’ve turned out differently if I hadn’t done it. I could’ve lost her.
And she could’ve lost you.
“I understand your obsession, Rowan,” she says. “But you can’t ever do something like that again. You die, I die. It’s as simple as that. And if nothing else, perhaps this… this should prove to you that whatever bullshit your father stuffed your head with isn’t true. I know who you are, what an incredible man you are. The whole fucking world knows it now. I can only hope that one day, you’ll see it too.”
My eyes close after a long inhale, my fists clenching at my sides as I try to reel in my control. There’s that feeling again—the hurt, the need for her to soothe me in the ways only she can.
“Come here,” I command her.
But she does anything but. She takes a few steps back, shaking her head.
“Dove. Angel … please. Please come into my arms.”
“No.”
I thought I knew what pain was when I convinced myself I couldn’t have her, when I was just a ghost in her life, following her, watching over her, and never being able to make her mine. But the way my chest tightens now… this pain… the one of her rejection… It hurts a thousand times more, and I admit. I don’t know what to do with it. How to handle it.
“You’ll only make it worse,” she mumbles, searching my eyes. “It will get worse.” Her chest heaves, and I furrow my brows, not understanding what she means.
“What will?” I ask.
“How much I want you.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck this!
I pick up the table between us and smash it into the wall. I rush toward her, breaking any restraint, any promise I might have made to myself about not touching her. Then her skin is against mine, and her body pressed against me, her self-control just as gone.
I breathe in her sugared strawberries scent and stoop to pull up her long, beautiful gown. She wears white lace underneath—lace that I’m about to rip off with my teeth.
She fists the sides of her gown, helping me by keeping it up. I rake my teeth over her panties and they tear. She gasps, and I can feel her pussy against my lips. I open it up with my tongue, licking it roughly a few times, wanting to touch as many parts of her as I can in as little time as possible. She breathes hard and moans my name as she stands there with my tongue up her cunt. I dip my finger into her ass, stretching her a little, knowing how wet it gets her. Then I’m back on my feet, pushing her against the wall.
“Put it in. Just put it in. Please,” she breathes, tears falling down her cheeks.
Molten need flows together with her words. I rush to unbuckle my belt, her hands meeting mine as she tries to do the same. It’s a tangled mess around my waist until I finally break the damn thing free, unbutton my pants, and take my throbbing cock out.
“Hook your leg around me,” I whisper through shallow breaths, helping her do it.
I push her up onto the wall and she holds onto me, her slender hands around my neck and her hair a mess against the white paint of the room. Her leg is around my waist, and her pussy stretched open—just for me.
I find her cunt with my cock and slam myself inside her. It feels like coming home after a long, exhausting trip. Like hooking myself up to a lifeline after being dead for weeks. I thrust in and out, her walls squeezing my cock and smearing it in the creamy layer of her arousal. We’re both panting, cursing, and devouring each other like starving wolves tearing into a fresh kill as we fuck. Raw and desperate, as if it’s the very first time.
My mouth finds hers, and she moans as she tastes herself on my tongue. I only break our kiss to rake my teeth against her skin, to taste her everywhere I can.
“I hate you,” she says, panting. Her words send waves of pleasure through the length of my cock.
I smile against her tear-streaked cheek. “Then give me more. If this is you hating me, angel…”
She writhes against me, fisting my hair, wanting me closer even though there are no inches left between us.
“Give.”
Thrust.
“Me.”
Thrust.
“More.”
She comes with a sharp cry. I pick her up, throw her on the meticulously arranged bed next to us, then pull my suit jacket off as I stare her down. My eyes selfishly skirt all over her, at the gown she pulled up for me so I could see her juicy pussy and her toned thighs as they press together before opening for me fully. My sweet little angel knows I love to watch. She’s always been the woman of my dreams, and now I finally get to have her till the day I die.
I tower above her, pulling the top part of her dress down until her breasts sway out of the material. Her rosy, taut nipples taunt me, and I stoop to take one into my mouth. I bite, and kiss, and lick, and work my cock back inside her warmth at the same time. She arches her back, and I can feel her hands between us, pulling her pussy lips open so she can accommodate me again.
I’m about to make a fucking mess of her with my cum, and I dare anyone to come knocking at the door of this room when they hear her calling my name between her loud moans.