Chapter 21
Asher
He knew she was here.
My new electric privacy gate at the edge of the property had kept him out and in the dark—for a while. He’d travelled north first, spending weeks watching her parents’ house, getting nowhere. Now he turned up at the gates every few days like something that couldn’t accept a closed door.
It had taken him nearly five weeks to figure it out.
I had his wife.
Well. Not quite yet.
But I was close.
I noticed how her gaze lingered on me now. How I’d trained her to seek me out without her realising she was being trained. How she waited every night for that kiss on her cheek—tilting toward it slightly, the way a flower tilts toward light without understanding why.
The divorce papers were drawn up.
Not implemented.
Not yet.
She was still Mrs Kersey.
She still carried my name.
Sayla Kersey.
I smiled and switched the monitor off.
Let him scream at the gate. Let him rant into the intercom. Let him exhaust himself against something immovable.
I was days away from being inside his wife.
His unprotected wife.
The knock on my door was perfectly timed.
Sayla poked her head in.
“Are you still busy?” she asked, with a pout that she had absolutely no idea was dangerous.
“I’m always free for my Princess,” I said, pushing my chair back as she stepped inside.
Five weeks of carefully constructed strategies. This was my reward.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question herself. Simply crossed the threshold and settled onto my lap as though she’d always belonged there. The only throne she’d ever sit on.
I began to harden beneath the soft weight of her curves. We both ignored it at first—a silent agreement, unspoken and fragile. But then she shifted, adjusting herself without thinking, and coaxed my natural reaction further without understanding what she was doing.
Shy at first.
Then bolder when I didn’t react.
Even now my heart rate climbed at the thought of her getting the all clear from the doctor. Her fertile young body. The thought of erasing the greatest error of my life—our life—with something permanent.
Something that couldn’t be undone.
“Did you have fun baking cupcakes?” I murmured into her hair.
She nodded and placed one hand over my chest.
“Lydia let me make mini Victoria sponge cakes with them.”
She beamed at such a simple achievement. Bright and unguarded and completely unaware of how much that smile cost me.
I stroked her hair, tucking some of the silky strands behind her ear. There was only one small mark left beneath her eye now. Fading. Almost gone.
“You’re such a good girl,” I said—knowing exactly what those words did to her.
A little praise went a long way.
A little distance had brought her closer.
The bedtime routine had evolved without discussion. A cuddle. A kiss on her cheek. I let her hold me for as long as she needed—sometimes Pandora joined us but most nights it was just us, her arms around me and her breathing slowing against my chest.
And last night she’d rubbed her pretty little breasts against me. Deliberately or not, I hadn’t decided. It didn’t matter either way.
“What would you like to do now?”
She placed a finger over her lip, considering.
“I want a bubble bath.”
I nodded. The heat would be beneficial now. The rib had healed enough.
Her brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I might get scared in the bath,” she murmured, tracing a finger slowly around my collar. “Maybe you could come with me.”
My heart rate spiked.
I swallowed—felt my own Adam’s apple betray me.
Once I’d taken a few steadying breaths I was calm enough to reply.
“Have I ever said no to you, Princess?”
She thought about it for a moment. Genuinely considered it.
Then shook her head.
“Your bubble bath will commence at eight pm,” I said, as she rested her head on my shoulder.
One hour before bedtime.
Every detail accounted for.
As always.