Chapter 30
“You’re late,” Matt huffs as he takes the seat beside his younger brother.
Despite the heavy atmosphere and the emotional weight of his own speech, which had drawn silent tears from several attendees, Max’s expression remains detached. In contrast to the somber faces around him, he looks fresh, well-rested, and entirely uninterested.
Max shrugs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Do I get points for still showing up?”
Matt’s scowl deepens. “Who’s the girl you arrived with?”
There’s a brief pause before Max answers, his tone dismissive. “My date.”
Matt scoffs. “Since when do you have time to date anyone? And why would you bring some random girl you just met here?”
Max doesn’t respond, keeping his gaze fixed forward as another speaker steps up.
“What’s her name?” Matt presses.
“Lila.”
Matt narrows his eyes, then turns back toward the stage. He notes the absence of a last name—confirmation, in his mind, that she isn’t from any notable family. He searches his memory for anyone named Lila but comes up empty.
“Did you even bother visiting him during the viewing?”
“I was busy.”
“And what was I doing—just fucking around?” Matt snaps, clearly offended.
Max’s lips twitch as he suppresses a smirk.
“I was worried I’d get haunted,” Max says, adding an exaggerated shiver. “But if you really want me to see his corpse that badly, I guess I can stop by afterward.” He gives a mock pout. “Will you please, pretty please, hold my hand, though?”
“Can you just act normal for once?” Matt scoffs, visibly exhausted by his brother’s antics.
Still, unease settles over him. Max has never been particularly invested in family matters and often arrives late to non-work events, but this feels different.
Matt can’t shake the suspicion that Max’s tardiness is intentional—another calculated move to undermine him in front of people who matter: longtime investors, influential family friends, powerful politicians.
“Just go stand by him for a minute. After. People noticed you weren’t at the wake. They’ve been connecting dots.”
“What dots?”
“You know, for someone so smart, you play dumb a lot. Try being a human being for five minutes and go stand by him. That’s all I’m asking.”
Soon, the service draws to a close, and the crowd begins to thin. Mason guides Lila toward the front, where Max is waiting.
“I’d like one final moment alone with him,” Lila overhears Max say to the priest as she approaches. The priest nods, murmurs something she can’t quite catch, and steps away. Max extends his hand, and she takes it, a sudden tightness blooming in her chest at the contact.
“Mason, stand guard outside,” Max says, watching the last few people file out. “I need a moment alone. No interruptions.”
She’s still perplexed by his decision to bring her to such a public place.
Isn’t he afraid she might expose the kind of monster he is to everyone?
She could have easily hijacked his brother’s eulogy and shouted the truth to everyone present.
But perhaps he knows that Jake’s safety is leverage enough—that the invisible leash he keeps on her will hold.
Parading her here might be nothing more than a way to flaunt his control and crush her further.
Yet part of her wonders if there’s more to it.
If, beneath his cold exterior, he wants her here for something other than power.
Maybe he needs her—for comfort. Maybe his father’s death is affecting him more than he’s willing to show.
He once admitted how much he fears vulnerability, and in some ways, she understands that fear.
Despite her resentment, a sudden pang of empathy stirs as she looks up at him.
She searches his dark, inscrutable eyes for any hint of emotion, but his stoic mask remains firmly in place.
Even now, at his father’s funeral, he refuses to show weakness.
The thought makes her pity the monster standing before her.
Why is he so different from his brother, who stood on that stage and bared his emotions so openly before hundreds?
Lila has only a handful of fond memories of her mother, each one shadowed by neglect. Still, she remembers with painful clarity the devastation she felt when she learned of her mother’s death.
To her own surprise, she gives his hand a tight squeeze. For a second, he tenses. When he looks down, he finds her offering him a small, gentle smile.
“It’ll be okay,” she murmurs.
In that instant, the realization hits him with startling clarity.
He is in love.
His chest tightens under the weight of it, exhilaration and fear colliding and leaving him momentarily breathless.
Despite all the wrongs he has inflicted upon her, Lila can still show him compassion when no one else would.
“Yeah,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around her. She melts into his chest, as if by instinct.
“I don’t really want to look at…” she starts, then trails off. “You know.”
“You don’t have to look, sweetheart.”
He breaks the embrace and gently guides her toward the casket. She immediately fixes her gaze on the floor, unable to bring herself to look at the lifeless body. It is just more proof that life is fragile and impermanent.
After some time, Max leads her back down from the platform.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” he says suddenly.
He pulls her close and kisses her. The suddenness of the kiss, especially in such a conservative setting, disorients her.
Her hands rise to grip his shoulders. She feels torn between pushing him away and letting the kiss continue.
Her eyes dart around anxiously, silently hoping no one will stumble upon them, when she feels his hand sliding slowly up her thigh, inching the hem of her skirt higher.
“What are you doing?” she cries sharply, pulling away from the kiss. She gives his chest a quick shove, but the arm wrapped around her waist tightens, pressing her body closer to him.
“Relax. There’s literally no one here but us.” He leans down, whispering into her ear, “I need some pussy.”
She redoubles her struggle against him. “Max, no! Stop it! This is fucked up!”
“I’ll be quick. I’ve always wanted to try doing it in a church,” he says, casually lifting her and setting her down on the nearest pew. He positions her on her back on the hard wooden seat and begins to push up her skirt.
“Get the fuck off me! We’re in public,” she cries, trying to keep her voice low to avoid drawing attention and risking someone discovering them in their compromising position.
“Just let me have this. Just a few pumps,” he insists, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants before pulling out his fully erect member.
She whimpers, closing her eyes and turning her head to the side. “This is so fucked up.”
“Open up. I want in.”
She opens her eyes and turns her gaze back to him, wide with desperation, silently pleading for him to reconsider.
“Open,” he says, his tone carrying more force this time. Slowly, she relaxes her legs just enough to allow him to part them easily.
Pulling her panties to the side, he quickly shoves his throbbing cock inside her tight space, feeling her walls clamp down on the intruding, bulbous head.
The euphoria of being inside her again makes his head spin.
The remainder of the morning’s deposit of his cum provides enough slick for him to penetrate her, and he begins his relentless thrusts.
At that moment, his sole focus is on her—her beautiful eyes, the teardrops trailing down her cheeks, her full lips parted in a sharp intake of breath, and her furrowed brows as she winces when he hits a spot too deep within her.
She clamps a hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as she searches for something to hold onto, finally settling on gripping the back of the pew with her free hand.
The loud mix of sounds—flesh smacking against flesh, his lustful moans, her muffled mewls—fills the air, echoing off the high, ornate ceiling.
Just a few, right?
“Be quick,” she whispers, and he only grunts in response.
Hoping to keep her mind elsewhere, she begins to count the seconds that pass.
But he doesn’t seem any closer to finishing, continuing to thrust into her with abandon. Harder. Faster. Chasing the high of being inside her.
27.
28.
30?
30—
She loses count—not that it had been helping anyway, in hindsight. Her hands move to grip his shoulders tightly, her nails clawing at the custom suit jacket he’s wearing. She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Her head falls back as she gazes up at the ceiling above.
Somehow, despite his relentless thrusting, which would usually bring a tidal wave of pleasure, her body goes numb, and her mind goes blank.
Thankfully, it doesn’t last much longer. He’s finished within moments, spilling deep inside her. He withdraws with a satisfied groan.
Lila slowly sits up, her inner thighs tingling from being stretched apart.
She takes a pack of tissues from her small bag and pulls a few out to clean herself.
Someone from the styling team had thoughtfully placed the pack there earlier, perhaps anticipating that attending a funeral might trigger some waterworks—and they had been right.
She adjusts her underwear, fighting back the tears threatening to fall.
“What is wrong with you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Before he can say anything else, Lila storms out through the door, past Mason, and into the hallway, sprinting toward the restrooms. She is desperate to escape her tormentor, even if only temporarily.
Her heart pounds in her chest as she weaves through the crowd, slipping past clusters of people who barely notice her frantic dash.
She feels herself leaking, a mess that has no doubt already pooled at the crotch of her panties.
She skids to a halt and glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to see Max pursuing her with his usual intensity.
Instead, he emerges through the double doors composed and sharp in his impeccably tailored suit, casually joining a group of prominent businessmen and politicians.
Among them is Governor Paul Richardson, noticeably sober compared to the last time she’d seen him, looking visibly ill at ease as Max engages the group in conversation.
Max’s indifference to her escape leaves her with a jarring mix of emotions, including a fleeting sense of relief. That relief is quickly overshadowed when Mason appears at her side, a stark reminder that she remains under constant surveillance.
Her cheeks flush under Mason’s intense scrutiny as he shows her the way to the restrooms. She wonders if he knows what has happened, trying to read his expression. If he even has an inkling, he does an impeccable job of hiding it.
“I’ll wait for you out here, Ms. Thorne,” Mason says, his tone neutral. “But you should hurry. They’re about to move to the cemetery.”