58. Reid
Chapter fifty-eight
Reid
Killian had poured himself a drink at the bar before swirling it in his glass. He seemed on edge, in his mind, contemplating as he took a sip. I remained seated in the lush armchair in his cigar lounge, nursing my whiskey with slow, deliberate sips.
Things had died down from the commotion earlier. Eugene had left the estate in a fit of rage, leaving his wife and daughter behind. I knew he was angry, knew he wanted answers, reasons, explanations I could give but which would fall on deaf ears. He’d probably return later on, or maybe not at all.
“You seem calm,” Killian said, voice low, almost conversational, “for a man who vanished off the map and walked straight back in like nothing happened.”
I lifted a brow. “After a few decades, you get used to the solitude and power behind closed doors. Didn’t need to be the face of the company or be in the headlines… I’d had enough of those experiences back in my day.”
He gave a short smile. “How long did you know… about her and me?”
“…Long enough.”
He absorbed that response as best he could. “Long enough. Which means you’ve been... aware of us. While you were supposed to be gone.”
“I was gone. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t informed.”
“I’m assuming I had your blessing then…”
“In theory,” I replied, leaning back. “But technically I didn’t exist, so it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”
“You know, when I started digging into my wife’s past, trying to understand who she was before me… I hit walls. There was never any mention of you or Genevieve, Newman records scattered, every financial trail just a complete shitshow. Looked like someone tried to erase the evidence.”
“Someone did.”
“The same person who kept you off the grid?” he asked, eyes pointed, and my jaw clenched. I had to be an idiot to think Killian didn’t suspect something. This was the son of a man who felt threatened by my own existence. I couldn’t expect his son to feel any different knowing nothing of it.
“Who was it?” he asked, demeanor calm enough for the conversation to feel casual but the air charged enough to tell me he already knew.
“Christ, the testosterone in here is suffocating,” came a voice from the door, cutting the tension.
I recognized the arrogant tone of the man instantly.
The door clicked shut behind him as Killian glared over. “Lockwood. I thought we discussed this already. You aren’t welcome in my home.”
“Well Brielle certainly begs to differ.” He entered the room. “She invited me, you see. Though, I did have to apologize that I couldn’t make last night’s festivities. But given it’s Christmas Day, it’d be rude not to at least stop by.”
His smugness radiated off of him in waves. He had the practiced stance of a man in power, of a man who assumed he wielded the most power… except he hadn’t noticed me just yet.
His gaze drifted across the space, then stopped when it reached me. Our gazes stayed fixed for half a second too long. I set my glass down.
“Calvin Lockwood,” I began, my voice calm and collected. Almost polite even.
He froze for a moment. It was tiny, the faintest hitch in his posture, tension pulling through his jaw, but it was there.
He recovered quickly, of course. Men like him always did. Their egos demanded it. But the shift was unmistakable and, unfortunately, I was sure Killian had caught it.
“I don’t believe we’ve met…” Calvin muttered.
I stood, extending a hand to shake his. “Kaufman, Reid Kaufman.”
His hand found mine, his grip tight and firm.
The tension in the room had grown thick, but for reasons no one quite knew. However, from the corner of my eye, Blaine had gone still. Gone was the playful demeanor and idiotic glances he had annoyed Shin with. There were no more theatrics. He was simply quiet… watching our interaction.
He squinted as he tilted his head. It would have been comical had it not been aimed at me.
He pointed between Calvin and me.
“…Something’s off.”
Shin immediately put a hand to Blaine’s shoulder. “Don’t start.”
But Blaine shrugged him off firmly as Killian remained unreadable, watching everything without blinking.
Calvin huffed a laugh, dismissive. “You must forgive Porter.” He shook his head, eyes showing genuine sympathy. “He’s always had schizophrenic tendencies.”
“I do not!” he screamed, standing to his full height as Masahiko ran a hand through his hair, stressed.
“Blaine… what now?” Killian muttered.
Blaine shook his head. “I’m getting a sixth sense about something… It’s like my spider senses are tingling.”
“And you expect any of us to rely on your intuition?” Calvin asked, bemused.
As if a lightbulb went off in that dark abyss that was his head, Blaine’s eyes widened, casting his gaze back and forth as his hands rose to his mouth.
“Oh shit… oh shit—”
“Blaine—” Shin attempted, but Blaine shook his head.
“They know each other.”
The revelation was abrupt.
Calvin let out a small, carefully curated laugh, dismissive and patronizing. But no one seemed to register it. All the attention was on me as I took another sip of whiskey, this time letting the burn linger on my tongue.
“Well…” Calvin drawled lightly. “I suppose the cat is out of the bag.”