14. Alex
“Mr. Kincaid,” Helena greeted, stepping forward and extending her hand.
I took her hand, shaking it firmly, holding her gaze with the same level of control I reserved for meetings that involved millions in dirty money, “Mrs. Van Alen.”
“Please, call me Helena.”
I stared at the luxury around me, the kind of luxury Helena Van Alen would sacrifice her own daughter for. The walls in this room, the dining table, fine china, crystal glasses, everything was made with blood money.
The dead bodies Helena piled on top of one another to get to the top.
The dinner was served, Josephine clung to my arm, not talking much and that was something to be concerned about.
“This is quite the place,” I remarked casually, glancing around, “You must have a lot of history here.”
Helena smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh yes, it’s been in the family for generations. My late husband and I have worked hard for everything we have.”
“I’m sure,” I said, “It’s rare these days to find people who truly understand the weight of legacy.”
Her eyes flickered, “Legacy is everything. But it takes more than just understanding it. It takes knowing how to protect it, not everyone is equipped for that.”
I leaned back in my chair, “True. Not everyone has the stomach for what it takes to hold onto something that valuable. Some people would do anything to keep what’s theirs.”
More time passed, the conversation shifted. Josephine would make a joke in my ear inbetween that would make me smile and it pissed Helena off.
Then Josephine excused herself to use the restroom. The moment she was out of sight, Helena dropped the pretense.
“I’ll keep this brief,” she said, her tone even, almost polite. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing with my daughter… it ends now. Quietly.”
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at her over the rim of my glass, “That so?”
“I don’t care what she’s told you,” Helena continued, folding her hands neatly on the table. “Or what you think you see here. But you’re not part of her world, and you’re not going to become part of mine.”
I let out a quiet breath, more amused than anything, “I think you’re underestimating just how easily I fit into places I’m not invited to. As for your daughter…” I tilted my head slightly, “she doesn’t seem to mind.”
“This isn’t about whether she minds,” she said. “It’s about consequences.”
I said nothing, just watched her.
“You don’t know how this works,” she went on, “The kind of access you’ve had, the rooms you’ve been allowed into… those privileges can disappear overnight. Contracts fall through. Doors close. People stop returning calls.”
I rested my hand against the table, tapping once, “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a courtesy,” she replied smoothly. “I prefer to resolve things before they become… inconvenient.”
A faint smile pulled at the corner of my mouth, “You’re trying to scare me.”
“No,” Helena said, just as calm, “I’m explaining what happens to men who mistake proximity for position.”
I leaned back in my chair, completely at ease, “And you think that applies to me?”
“I know it does,” she said, “Men like you are easy to remove. It just takes the right pressure in the right place.”
I held her gaze, “Then by all means,” I said quietly, “apply it.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“I’m telling you this once,” she said, “Distance yourself from Josephine. Slowly, cleanly, without creating a mess I’ll have to deal with.”
I met her gaze, unbothered, “Or?” I asked.
“Or I will make sure that whatever part of your life you value most becomes… complicated.”
I smiled faintly, almost to myself, “You should be more careful with threats,” I said, “They tend to lose their impact when the other person doesn’t believe them.”
“That’s the difference between us,” she said. “I don’t make threats. I follow through.”
I leaned back again, completely at ease, the corner of my mouth lifting just slightly, “That might work on other people... not on me.”
Something flickered in her expression then, not fear, not quite anger either. Recognition.
Before either of us could say more, Josephine returned, completely, “Everything okay?” she asked, sliding back into her seat.
Helena smiled, that perfect mask slipping back into place, “Of course, darling. Tristan and I were just getting to know each other.”
Josephine’s eyes flicked between us. Her lips parted slightly, and she gave her mother a brief, tight smile, before her hand slid over to mine under the table.
The warmth of her hand felt more like a possession, like she needed the reassurance that I was still there. Helena watched, and I caught the barely-there clench in her jaw, her displeasure cracking her perfect veneer.
“Dessert?” Josephine offered, “I asked the chef to prepare something special.”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious, sweetheart,” Helena said.
“I'll go get it myself,” Josephine got up from the table to retrieve the dessert.
Helena waited until the sound of Josephine’s heels faded down the hallway. The second we were alone, she leaned across the table, her face twisted into a snarl that made all that expensive Botox look like plaster.
"I saw the bruises on her wrists, you animal," she hissed, "She thinks she’s hiding them, but I see everything. Do you have any idea what I could do to you? I could destroy your name before the sun comes up. I’ll paint you as a monster, an abuser. You’ll lose your business, your money, your freedom.
You’ll be rotting in a cell while I make sure the world forgets you ever existed. "
I let a slow, mocking grin spread across my face, enjoying the way her breathing got shallow.
"The bruises are private, Helena," I said, "What happens behind my door stays there."
"Nothing is private from me!" she snapped, her hand slamming onto the table, making the fine china rattle. "She is a Van Alen. She is royalty. And you... you’re just some thug putting your hands on her like she’s trash."
I raised an eyebrow. I set my glass down and leaned forward, until she instinctively pulled back on the other side of the table.
"Royalty?" I mocked, "Is that what you call her? Because if you want to talk about how your precious little princess begs to be handled, we’re going to be here all night."
I eased back into my chair, the smile never leaving my face.
"The princess you raised wants to be treated like a grade-A whore the second the lights go out," I said, "She doesn't want flowers, Helena. She wants a fist in her hair and a man who doesn't care if she cries while he’s taking her. She loves being my toy."
Helena’s face went pale, her mouth hanging open in a silent gasp of horror.
"So go ahead," I continued, "Call the cops. Tell the world. But just remember, when they ask her about those bruises, she isn't going to tell them I hurt her. She’s going to tell them she begged for every single one of them. She’ll choose my bed over you every day of the week, and we both know it."
I watched a tear of pure frustration well up in her eye, but I didn't feel a flicker of pity.
"Now," I said, glancing toward the hall as I heard Josephine returning. "Fix your face. Your daughter is coming back, and I’d hate for her to see you looking so... defeated."
Josephine returned, carrying a tray with delicate, artfully arranged plates.
“Look at this!” she said, setting them down, her excitement cutting clean through whatever had been building, “Raspberry coulis, dark chocolate mousse, and a gold-leaf garnish. I told the chef to go all out for you.”
Helena’s expression softened instantly as she turned to her daughter. “It looks beautiful, darling.”
We ate in relative silence after that, the conversation shifting into something lighter, easier but my attention stayed where it had been.
On Helena.
She wasn’t finished.
And neither was I.
I was just getting started.
“Well,” Helena said, as she rose from her seat, “This has been a lovely evening. But I think it’s time we call it a night. I’m sure Tristan has a very busy morning ahead of him.”
I stood up slowly, unhurried, towering over the table, “Of course,” I said as I let the corners of my mouth lift in a way that wasn't a smile, “It’s been… enlightening, Helena,” I added.
Helena’s eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring just the slightest bit.
“Yes,” she said, “It has.”
Josephine stepped into the line of fire, blissfully untouched by the psychological warfare we were waging over her head.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Helena’s cheek, her expression softening with a hint of misplaced hope.
It looked like she was actually on the verge of forgiving her mother.
.. all because of one dinner and a few hollow smiles, “Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was perfect.”
Helena returned the gesture, her arms wrapping around Josephine with an affection that looked disturbingly real. Watching her play the part of the loving mother after everything made my blood simmer. It pissed me off more than it should have.
Josephine came back to my side, and wrapped her arms around mine, leaning her weight against me, "Let's go for a walk..." she whispered, her breath ghosting against my shoulder.
I felt the heat of her fingers even through the heavy fabric of my jacket, a pulsing reminder of exactly what I had taken from the woman standing at the head of the table.
"Lead the way," I said.
I didn't look back at Helena. I didn't have to. I knew she was watching us, her legacy walking out the door on the arm of the man she couldn't break.
We set off down the sidewalk. Josephine didn't just walk next to me, she melted into my side.
Her shoulder brushed mine with every step, her body leaning into me as if she were a compass and I was her true north.
It was like she couldn't handle even an inch of space between us anymore.
She needed to feel the heat of my arm against hers just to know I was still there.
After half a block, she tilted her head back, her eyes searching mine, "Is everything okay?" she asked, "You’ve been... quieter than usual."
"Everything’s fine," I said.
I didn't say more, but I shifted my weight, shortening my steps so she didn't have to strain to keep up in those high, spindly heels.
I didn't have to tell her I was looking out for her, I just did it.
A sharp gust of wind swept down the street, whipping her hair across her face. I watched her slender fingers tuck a strand behind her ear, her skin looking pale and soft against the night.
"What did you think of dinner?" she asked.
"Your mother didn't disappoint," I replied, "She’s exactly who I thought she’d be."
Josephine let out a small, hollow laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "I’m sorry if she was a lot. She can be... intense. She’s used to getting her way."
I stopped walking and looked down at her, "You don't have to apologize for her, Josephine. She doesn't have enough power to move me."
I guided her around the corner, leading her into a darker, more secluded block where the streetlights were dimmer and the shadows were long. We were away from the doormen and the prying eyes of her world now.
"You know she doesn't approve of us," she whispered. She sounded like she was confessing a sin, like saying it out loud made the danger more real.
I stopped dead in my tracks, turning her so she was forced to face me. The golden glow of a nearby lamp caught the moisture in her eyes, making her look small, but I knew the fire she was hiding.
"Good," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl. "I don't need her permission to take what I want. And you don't need it to belong to me."
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. I reached up, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw, feeling the slight tremble in her skin. She leaned into my palm, her eyes fluttering shut for a second, soaking in the touch like she was starving for it.
"I just want you," she breathed, "Only you."
"And you have me," I said.
She nodded, a small, relieved smile tugging at her mouth as she gripped my arm tighter, her nails digging into my jacket. We walked the last few blocks in silence until we reached the front of her building where my car was parked.
I didn't let her go to the door. I grabbed her waist and hauled her into me, pinning her back against the cold metal of my car. She didn't fight it instead she climbed me. Her arms wound around my neck, pulling my head down.
I crashed my mouth against hers and thrust my tongue deep into her mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness of the dessert. I pressed my body into hers, crushing her against the car door.
We finally broke apart, both of us gasping for air, our foreheads resting against each other. She didn't let go of my neck, she pulled me closer, her lips brushing mine as she spoke.
"Come upstairs," she whispered, "Don't leave me alone tonight. Stay. Please."
"No," I rasped, gripped her chin, forcing her to look into my eyes so she could see I wasn't asking, "We’re going to my place."
Her eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing her face, but it was quickly chased away by a flush of heat. She just nodded.
"Okay," she whispered. "Yes."
I reached back, yanked the car door open, and practically tossed her into the passenger seat. I didn't wait for her to get settled, I leaned over her, clicking her seatbelt into place. My face was inches from hers, and for a heartbeat, I just watched the way her pupils dilated.
I slammed the door shut and rounded the hood, sliding into the driver’s seat. I shifted into gear and tore away from the curb, leaving the bright lights of her neighborhood behind.
I drove fast, weaving through the late-night traffic until the skyscrapers began to thin out and the city lights faded into the rearview mirror.
I watched her from the corner of my eye.
She was staring out the window, her hands tucked between her knees.
She looked like she was holding her breath, waiting for the world to start again.
We hit the long, winding road that led away from the civilized world. The trees became thick, as we climbed higher into the hills. There were no streetlights here, no prying eyes, just the glowing beams of my headlights cutting through the dark.
Finally, the iron gates of my estate appeared. They opened slowly. I drove up the driveway until the mansion came into view.
I killed the engine, got out and walked around to her side, opening the door before she could even reach for the handle. I reached in, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out.
"Welcome to your new home, Josephine," I muttered as I pushed the front door open.
She let out a small, airy laugh, thinking I was joking.
I wasn't... not about this.
She wasn't a guest, and this wasn't a visit.
She had just walked into the cage I had spent years building, and I had no intention of ever letting her find the key.