Chapter 34
Xander
The glow of purple lights shines on the white marble walls of the ballroom in the office building.
Circular tables dressed in white cloth, with bouquets of cherry blossom sitting in the middle, surround most of the ballroom, leaving a small space for guests to mingle in the middle.
Most of whom are dressed in black, lavish ballgowns and fancy suits.
All but one that sticks out like a sore thumb in her bright red dress, brown hair neatly slicked back into a high bun, currently flitting around the tables, taking attendance of the guests.
She’s supposed to be in her office clothing, but over the years she insisted on wearing a dress.
Jacques and I gave up arguing over it with her.
She’s living out some fantasy that she’s my date, which I’m sure my Angel will be none too pleased about.
A band playing soft violin music sits tucked away in the corner of the room as guests file in from the office entrance, making their way down the grand steps to the main floor. There’s various musical instruments waiting behind the musicians for when the party starts.
I can still feel the tiny paw prints on my chest. I didn’t know having Camila by my side would come with a sidekick in the form of a cat. He hissed at me with his tiny fangs when he returned from his adventures outside before I left Camila in the capable hands of her stylists.
I’m nothing if not absolutely fucking ecstatic to be engaging in money conversations with people who think they’re above everyone else.
The passive-aggressive comments. The fake friendships formed out of alliances.
Numbers. Stocks. Marketing. Lawyers. I’ve heard it all before.
The same conversations over again, every single year we hold the event.
Most of the attendees, like us, have squeaky-clean public records.
Some by influence, some by money laundering.
And that’s exactly what this event is to people.
To make their money look legit—that’s it.
I’m under no illusion that they’re here for anything else other than that, and to outbid each other in a competition of whose pockets are the deepest.
Not that it bothers me. The more money we can raise for charity, the better.
Jac spots me—sipping on my whisky—from the top of the stairs before he excuses himself from the conversation.
He claps the man on the back before taking two steps at a time towards me, dressed in his tailored suit with a blazer to finish it off.
I don’t normally bother with blazers—they’re not comfortable—but I needed backup this time round.
I can’t only trust the guards with their guns tonight.
I’m surprised Jac wears them; the amount of muscle on him would rip the stitching with the slightest movement.
His hair is perfectly slicked back into a small bun at the nape of his neck.
“What are you doing?” he asks, joining me by leaning his elbows on the bannister, overlooking the floor.
“Waiting,” I reply blandly.
“For who?” he replies, befuddled.
I don’t reply.
“Xander.”
I glance over at him quickly before facing the floor again and taking another sip of the burning liquid.
“Are you fucking serious?” he mumbles, moving closer to me so no one hears us. “Do you realise how many people are here? It’s way too risky for her.”
My jaw ticks. “She’s safer here with me than she is on her own. You said it yourself,” I snap back quietly, opening one side of my blazer towards him and showing him the gun. I would shoot this entire building down before I let anything happen to her.
Jac shakes his head. “Please tell me you’re at least taking those fucking meds now.”
“Those tablets are bullshit, and you know it. They never worked.”
“They kept your head screwed on—”
“It was never the tablets. It was the business,” I snap.
“Then what the hell happened? Where have you been this whole time?”
“Camila happened.”
“Fuck, Xander,” he whines. “Last time you were this obsessed with something, you completely shut down after it was taken from you.” His brows arch in concern, lips pursing.
My blood heats, the memory of a cut-up Forest flashing in my mind. “That was years ago. I’m not a kid anymore,” I grit out. “And don’t insinuate that something might happen to her. Not under my protection.”
He may be right, but if I let anything take Camila away from me, it means I failed. I failed at protecting her. I won’t make that mistake again.
Jac’s hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing. “I just don’t want to lose my best friend again.”
I shake my head, taking a rough gulp of the amber liquid.
“Do you love her?”
The spirit lodges in my throat, making me cough it down, almost choking.
When I don’t answer him—my coughing fit continuing—he squeezes my shoulder again. Rougher this time, like a warning. He knows everything. But he would, wouldn’t he? He knows me inside and out. Probably better than I know myself. But he’s not reacting the way I thought he would. He’s trusting me.
“Do not fuck this up.”
He retreats back downstairs as a lump forms in my throat, and I contemplate all the things that could’ve been different if the tablets did help like they were supposed to.
But they didn't. And I know the way I feel about Camila goes deeper than an obsession. It’s not a feeling I’m experienced with, but I know that I’d do anything to keep her.
I also know I’m not worthy of her. Maybe my methods of keeping her around aren’t conventional, but that was before this new feeling manifested itself.
I want to tell her, but there’s a small nagging thought in the back of my head that if I did, I would lose her forever.
I need to figure out a way to ease her into everything I’ve done, a way to explain to her that it was never my intention to hurt her.
The car. The termination of employment. The cheque.
Camila should’ve been here by now. My stomach twists with the thought that maybe she already knows. Maybe she found out, and she left—
“I heard you boys got yourselves into some shit last night,” a sultry voice floats from behind me. And not one I recognise from previous events.
I spin around, my eyes landing on a tall brunette with deep brown eyes and light olive skin.
Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, with waves falling to the middle of her back.
It swishes behind her as she approaches me with practiced steps, like she commands the space.
Her black, glittery gown flows behind her in a tail, heels clicking on the tiled floor, fading out the sound of the band playing.
Her full, red-painted lips quirk up in a smirk as she scrutinises me.
“And who might you be?” I ask, leaning back against the bannister, balancing the glass on the white wood and shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?” she replies, voice slick with amusement as she mimics my stance right next to me.
“I don’t remember inviting the Queen of England to the event.”
A deep but feminine laugh leaves her lips. I watch as her hand confidently comes up to my styled hair, making me tense, and pulls out a single strand that drapes over my forehead. I scowl at the misplaced hair and swiftly put it back in place.
“You’re definitely prettier in real life than you are in pictures,” she comments, as if she’s contemplating my looks.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask again, my voice taking on a low, threatening tone. “I don’t appreciate intruders in my house.”
She smiles, almond eyes sparkling. “Nova Bianchi. But you can call me Nova.”
“Not familiar,” I deadpan.
Her smile drops, just a fraction. “You really are snakelets in this den of vipers.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I grimace, pulling a hand out of my trouser pocket, readying to tug my gun out. I glance behind me at Jac, who’s already taken note of the situation and has positioned himself to where he can see us.
Nova’s eyes fix onto my hand, and her mouth pulls up again.
She sighs. “Save your bullets. I know how to get you out of this mess. Get your men to take me to your office later tonight; I won’t be far from here. If not, I’ll assume you don’t want my help.”
She doesn’t wait for me to reply, just simply saunters out of the ballroom and main doors, hips swaying.
“What the fuck?” I murmur to myself, completely taken off guard by the interaction. I twist towards Jac, who looks just as confused as I do.
But this strange woman has caught my interest, so I wave one of the guards over and instruct them to arrange for Nova to meet in my office after the donations have been made.
A gentle hand lands on my shoulder. I turn instantly, and the breath is knocked out of me.
Camila.
I’ve seen her a thousand times before—she lives in my head, after all. But every time I do, it’s like I’m laying eyes on her for the first time.
Her blonde hair falls in soft waves down to the middle of her back, the same as it usually does.
Light make-up covers her face, which complements her features, but it’s not overwhelming.
My eyes travel down to the dress. That short emerald dress I had brought for her a few days ago.
It hugs her tight at the waist and fans out over her thighs.
Possessiveness takes over me as I drink her in—looking completely and utterly mine in the outfit I brought her.
I swallow hard. My cock stands to immediate attention from just the sheer sight of her, and I’m kind of wishing I didn’t have to do a speech so I could take her into my office, bend her over my desk, lift up that dress, and fuck her until the entire building hears who she belongs to.
Her eyes ping around the room, teeth nibbling on her nude-painted bottom lip. Her shoulders curl in slightly as she takes in everyone around her.
Grabbing her hand, I pull her into me. One hand on the small of her back, the other reaching up to her chin and lifting it so the only thing she sees is me.