Hope Bites Back
Vera
“Fascinating,” Julian commented, reading the hieroglyphics on a scroll displayed behind the protective glass at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “It’s an ancient Egyptian love spell.”
The museum was hosting a black-tie gala Wednesday night, unveiling new treasures in the Egyptian wing. Naturally, Julian was hooked—an archaeology professor couldn’t resist.
“Come on, Jules. You don’t want to be late,” I insisted, tugging his jacket sleeve.
Normally, my brother showed up fifteen minutes early to everything. But tonight he was spellbound, lost in the artifacts. I tugged his hand, pulling him toward the Temple of Dendur. Its Corinthian columns rose around us, walls carved with papyrus, lotus blooms, and the Nile god Hapy.
“Vee, this place is perfect.” Julian almost never smiled, but tonight he lit up with hope. In his tuxedo, he didn’t even notice the cluster of women eyeing him like dessert.
“Mister Scott has impeccable taste,” I said, smoothing the embroidered lace dress Alistair had given me. Pearls and crystals traced intricate patterns across the fabric, glinting against my olive skin.
Then I saw him. Fifteen feet away, locked in conversation with one of New York’s deputy mayors. My heart jolted. The jet-black tux, polished shoes, curls slicked back in a sharp style—he radiated unapologetic masculinity.
“Jules, he’s here.” I nudged my brother’s elbow. He glanced past me, eager to meet the man who’d flown us here on his private jet and tucked us into a five-star hotel off Fifth Avenue.
Alistair’s emerald eyes caught mine as he wrapped up his conversation, then he sauntered toward us. “So, we meet again, Miss Richland,” he drawled. His gaze flicked briefly over me before shifting to Julian.
“Mister Scott, I’d like you to meet Julian.” I kept my tone impersonal as I stood next to my brother.
“Alistair Scott,” he said, giving Julian a firm handshake.
“Julian Richland,” my brother replied. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet this evening. I wish we could have met under more favorable circumstances.”
“Come with me,” Alistair said, gesturing toward an entrance. “We’ll talk privately.”
A few minutes later, a security officer led us to a secluded hall lined with two private rooms. I couldn’t help noticing how Julian and Alistair matched in height, though my brother’s weight training gave him a bulkier build.
Both carried themselves with the same proud intelligence, but that’s where the similarities ended.
Julian was introverted, precise with his words.
Alistair, on the other hand, was edgy and impulsive.
He let his thoughts fly without a filter.
“Vera, will you please excuse your brother and me?” Alistair asked, opening the door to one of the rooms. I was about to protest when he raised an eyebrow. “I need to talk to him alone.”
“Sure, I’ll wait right here with Sofia,” I said, observing the security officer’s name badge.
“Sofia, perhaps you can give Vera a tour of the Japanese art department,” Alistair suggested.
“Certainly, Mister Scott,” she replied.
“When would you like me to come back, Alistair?” I asked.
“I’ll call you.”
Alistair
“Julian, would you like a drink? Try this whiskey. It’s a single malt from 1978.” Standing behind a self-service bar, I offered a glass of the good stuff to Vera’s brother.
“Thank you,” Julian said. He took the glass, swirled it, and took a sip.
“Tell me, what has my ex-wife been up to these days?” I poured another glass of whiskey and savored its sweet, slightly warming elements.
“Saira is a cunt,” Julian replied.
“I have to agree with you on that,” I said, raising my glass.
After I’d married her, I learned how empty she really was.
Zero empathy. She once hurled a phone at a cleaner because a crystal vase wasn’t centered on the table.
When the woman quit, Saira didn’t blink.
“Some people were born to serve, and others were born to be served. You and I were born to be served, Alistair,” she’d said.
Divorcing her was the best decision I ever made.
That marriage had never been love—just a strategic alliance.
Still, something good came of it. My son. Damian.
I stepped closer to Julian, locking eyes with him. “Tell me everything you know about my ex-wife. I need the truth if I’m going to help you.”
“I don’t think you want the details,” he muttered, grimacing as he knocked back his whiskey. It wasn’t the drink that soured him—it was her.
“Don’t think for a second I can’t take it,” I shot back. “Whatever Saira and I had is dead. It was never love—just convenience.”
He exhaled, shoulders heavy. “She vowed to ruin Sapphire and her family. She’s funding my university research. If I don’t keep serving her, she’ll pull out, and my colleagues will lose their jobs.”
“Serving?” I arched a brow.
His voice cracked. “I’m her sub. She’s my Domme.”
“Bloody hell.” Heat surged through me. “She’s twisting consent into blackmail, forcing you into this shit.” I slammed my glass down, stripping off my jacket, fury burning hot. How many men and women did she break into her service, disguising slavery as power?
Julian shrugged off his jacket too. “Sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”
An hour later, we were both reaching for another drink.
His story was enough—I’d heard the depths of her rot.
Useful details, yes, but nothing I didn’t already suspect.
Saira was clever, with friends tucked inside the justice system to keep her untouchable.
Still, Julian and I agreed on one thing: she was a criminal and an unfit mother.
I’d call her myself, deliver a cease-and-desist: stop harassing Julian or deal with the consequences. Playing dirty with the she-devil didn’t prick my conscience. Julian would go to her first and drop my name. That alone should scare her straight. Should.
“Julian, would you be willing to make a legal statement? Everything you’ve just told me,” I asked. “I want full custody of my son.”
He folded his arms, shaking his head. “No. I won’t make things worse. And without her funding, my project collapses.”
“Forget Saira. I’ll help you.”
“It’s a lot of money. I don’t—”
“Money is not a concern,” I said, lowering my voice.
“No, it never is for people like you. The one percenters.” Julian gritted his teeth, revealing his distaste for the privileged.
“If you want Saira gone, put your pride aside and let me keep your project alive. I’ll fund you. I’ll rally donations from others, too.”
His brow furrowed. “Why are you doing this for me?” He took a long sip, then scoffed. “I’m just some guy off the street. You don’t know me.”
“I know your story through your sister,” I set down my glass. “Listen, you’ll get your woman. Give her time.”
He blinked. “Come again?”
“I understand. Loving someone who feels out of reach.” A sigh slipped out of my lips.
Julian’s jaw locked. “It’s Vera, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. She’s the one you’ve been sniffing out.”
I didn’t bother lying. “Yes.”
HE shot to his feet, fists curling. “Whatever you feel for her, stop.”
“Excuse me?”
Julian let out a hard laugh. “Vera’s not for sale. You can have models, actresses, anyone you want. But not her. She doesn’t belong in your world. Let her be.”
“Don’t you think she should decide who she wants to be with, Professor Richland?” I rolled my sleeves and crossed my arms.
“She’s already decided. She wants to be left alone.” Julian mirrored me, tugging his sleeves to his elbows. For a split second, I wondered if I pulled out the fighter in him.
“Look, I get it. You’re the closest thing to being her father, but ease up,” I said, knowing how closely he’d guarded her all her life
“I’m the only father figure she’s got. You have no idea how that feels.” He rubbed his forehead, then placed his hands on his hips.
My brows knitted. “You’re right. I don’t. What I do know is that Vera needs her brother safe and sane.”
“I don’t want you touching her,” he said.
Don’t tell him you’ve already touched her. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and paced, trying to keep my cool.
“What game are you playing?” Julian roared, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall. His breath hit my face, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.
“I need her,” I blurted, lifting my arms in surrender. “You’re not the only one fighting for someone. But here’s the truth—we’ve both been burned by our pasts. She told me about her shithead ex, Ace. How you saved her from his abuse. I want to be the man she can love and trust, but she needs time.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Sanity. Slowly, his grip loosened. We stood there, staring at each other. The same dark-mocha eyes Vera carried—steady, honest, and fiery—looked back at me.
“That’s right, Professor. Your sister needs time to ditch her baggage. But it doesn’t change what I feel for her.”
“Sorry to hear.”
“Why? I’m not sorry. I’m glad I met her.”
His voice flattened. “How did you meet?”
“She works for my friend, Brenton McCormick.” That was all I gave him. My hot nights with Vera weren’t something he needed to hear. Not if I wanted to walk away without his fist in my face.