13. Laurene
CHAPTER 13
Laurene
AN HOUR BEFORE…
I shouldn’t have told him about Blair.
No. Mistakes meant you weren’t cut out for it. I was. This house taught me survival was not about trust. It was about getting the most out of things. However…
Remembering Reese’s reaction to Blair hurt. If I wanted his trust… if I dared to hope for that, then I had to be someone worthy of it. Was that even really me?
With Gigi in Chicago, the mansion was unsettlingly still. But I wasn’t gonna let fear keep me cooped up. I heard hushed voices from downstairs.
I promised myself I’d be tougher when I returned to Lush. Hardened. The woman I’d become in Paris didn’t bow, didn’t falter. She learned to make it in a sink-or-swim world. And I’d swum. Fiercely.
But here, in this house, it was so much harder to keep my head above water.
Now I felt… ashamed. Lost. I felt like I was looking at the girl I used to be. Dutiful. Refined.
But Lush wasn’t Paris.
Things were tougher here, the stakes higher, and the consequences more brutal. And I wasn’t sure the woman I’d become there could survive this world without fracturing into pieces of the girl I used to be.
I paused, considering interrupting my parents.
You have to talk to them at some point.
I opened the doors and went in.
Mama and Daddy sat at the dining table; Daddy’s expression was sharp, focused.
When Daddy married Mama over thirty years ago, he did something rare. He took her last name. Daddy came from the prominent Callaway family. They made a killing in the export business in Miami. He was the younger son; it was hard to think he’d been wild like Gigi, till he met Mama.
Mama never asked him to take her name. She would’ve married him regardless.
Grandpa Ben made one thing clear: if he wanted to be part of the King family, he had to do more than marry into it. He had to become it.
So, he became a King. But I sometimes think it’s for the worse.
“Where should we place the Chen family?”
“Grace proved herself in that litigation she handled. Saved us millions.” Daddy flipped through a stack of cards. “Don’t want to lose her by sitting her near the Warricks. Andrew drinks.”
“Hmm, right, and if they talk politics all hell will break loose,” she agreed. “We’ll put Andrew with the Johnsons. Robert likes to party, so that should keep things lively. And Lian?—”
“She should sit with Serena,” I said, cutting in.
Their heads turned toward me, Mama’s gaze sharp.
“Grace’s daughter is an amazing investor,” I continued. “Serena can introduce her to the Martinezes. They’ll respect Lian’s credentials, and the Martinezes are already warming to us after Serena’s last project.”
Mama leaned back, her fingers steepled under her chin. “Interesting. ”
“Good evening, sweetheart.” Daddy broke into a warm smile. “Going for a jog?”
“Something like that.” I fixed my hoodie and took a seat. The dining table was covered in organized chaos—photos of guests, seating charts, and Mama’s tidy but aggressive handwriting. “We’re still discussing the guest list? We only have a few weeks till the wedding.”
“Laurene,” Mama said, “if you’re going to contribute to this discussion, make it meaningful. Otherwise, go on about your business.”
I tried to remind myself that she didn’t choose this. It was forced upon her. Taking over the company wasn’t her first choice, but it was necessary. But if that was true, why did it feel like she never fought to hold on to the woman she was before?
“Lulu’s right about Lian, Yvonne.” Dad’s nod felt more like consolation than approval.
“But the woman wears stripes and dots.”
“I didn’t know my wedding was a fashion show,” I muttered, picking up one of the pictures and shifting it toward the edge of the table. “What about the Andersons?”
“The Andersons? Really?” Mama rolled her eyes. “We need firepower against Dante.”
Power. Influence. Money.
I missed her. God, I missed her. It was annoying that all I saw of her now was the one who put me down with a look, who treated me like a pawn in her game. I wanted to ask her if she remembered what it felt like to love without conditions. But I knew the answer already. She didn’t.
My grip tightened as I moved another photo. Mama slapped my hand.
“Really?” I snapped. “Was that necessary?”
She gently put the photos back where they belonged. I felt a surge of anger when a staff member came in with a tray of martinis and biscotti. “You see I’m working here.”
I told myself that underneath all the layers of ice and steel, she’s still there. The mother who used to braid my hair. The mother who used to bring me my favorite chocolates after a long day. The mother who once loved without rules or restrictions.
“I’m the one getting married. I should have a say.”
Mama raised a brow. “I won’t have you sabotaging my wedding.”
“ Your wedding?” I scoffed. “I’m just the broodmare?”
“Don’t start with me, Laurene.”
“Lu, baby, let’s not go there tonight,” Daddy said.
“No. We’re not gonna pretend like usual, Daddy,” I bit out, my voice raw. “It was about Mama. She doesn’t give a damn about me. Never did. And you know it.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You think you’d have the life you do if I didn’t protect it at all costs?”
“Protect it from what?” I shot back. “From people finding out we’re human? That Grandpa made mistakes? Daddy, are you gonna sit here and let her keep doing this?”
“I wish you would stop bringing up your grandfather?—”
“And I wish you would get help.”
“Your grandfather almost ruined our foundation,” Mama said. “I had to step in and make sure it didn’t all fall apart.”
“You’re crazy!” I said. “Grandpa was eighty-three, Mama. He ran King Enterprises for nearly sixty years. What happened before he died wasn’t him—it was the sickness. He deserved better than being forced into that home that killed him. You didn’t know how to handle your grief, and you went from our mother to our drill sergeant.”
She never grieved him. Not really. She channeled her grief for him into becoming stronger and more demanding. But grief doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it. It festered. It twisted. And I saw it in her—in the sharpness of her voice, in the way she worked herself to the bone, in the way she wouldn’t let herself rest. She thought if she stopped, even for a second, it’d all catch up to her.
“Laurene,” Dad warned me, but I ignored it .
“I’m the one keeping this family afloat!” Mama snapped. “I had to rebuild everything from the ground up while the rest of you were too busy mourning or, in your case, running away.”
“I didn’t run off,” I mumbled, still bitter. “I left because I couldn’t breathe here. Because of you .”
“Do you think I enjoy making these decisions? Forcing you into situations that hurt? It’s called sacrifice, Laurene.”
She thought she was honoring Grandpa. Carrying on his legacy. But legacies shouldn’t cost you your soul. I thought if Grandpa Ben were here, if he could see what she’d become, he’d tell her to stop. To breathe.
Daddy shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t intervene this time. His silence made my anxiety worse.
“I’ll be damned if I let this family fall apart. The world doesn’t care anymore about what we’ve built, about the power we’ve held for so long. And whether you like it or not, this is what the family needs.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “No, you need that.”
“I’ve given my fucking all to this family, and you’re not grateful!”
I loved her. Even after everything, I loved her. And that’s why it hurt so much. Because I didn’t just want her to be powerful. I wanted her to be okay.
“At what point do I stop being an asset and become your daughter? When Erik puts you in a home?”
“Laurene, cut it out,” Dad finally said.
“The way you’ve been since Grandpa passed…”
“What the hell do you even know?” Mama stood, her chair falling. “The nights I spent wiping my own father’s ass, watching him not remember who I was, begging people to keep quiet, praying that our empire wouldn’t crumble before our eyes. Don’t you dare stand there and judge me.”
“You won’t admit it, will you? That maybe—just maybe—you could’ve saved him. That if you’d tried harder, if you’d kept him home instead of locking him away in that cold, sterile facility, he might’ve had more time. But you saw your chance and took it. You signed the papers, handed him over, and never looked back. You threw your own father away, and now this family is your guilt.”
Mama’s angry hand shot up; I braced myself.
“Yvonne!” Daddy’s voice cut through the room like a whip as he grabbed her wrist.
She was frozen stiff, breathing hard, her eyes wild with anger and pain.
“No,” he said firmly, voice quiet. “This is our daughter, and she’s hurting, just like you are.”
The room fell silent. Mama freed her arm, glaring in disbelief and betrayal.
“Her over me?” she fumed, turning back to me. “I won’t let you speak to me like that. Not in this house.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I replied, keeping my voice even, despite feeling like a volcano about to blow. “Let’s sweep this under the rug too.”
“Laurene!” Daddy’s voice boomed.
I walked away, legs wobbling, but I didn’t stop. Outside, the night air hit me like a slap of its own, sharp and bracing against my skin. My chest hurt, my throat was tight, but no tears came.
I ran.
My shoes crunched on gravel. I fumbled for my phone, jammed in my earbuds, and cranked up the music to block her out. I hit the end of the driveway, onto the narrow street, and I went faster.
She didn’t care, and never would.
The trees were all a blur, with their shadows stretching out long and dark. I ran till my lungs burned more than my heart ached, till the music was louder than her words.
She was set in her ways. Why the fuck did I think she would?
She couldn’t. And maybe that was what hurt the most—not just that she wouldn’t, but that I still wanted her to. Even after everything, I still secretly hoped she’d change her mind and see me for who I was.
Tears blurred my vision, and I fucking hated I was breaking, but I let the tears fall for once. They were mine—hot, angry, and painfully real. The years of isolation, the betrayal, the choices made for me that I never wanted. The blackmail. Reese.
The street ended at the park, stretching out ahead, quiet and empty. I quickened my pace, the music in my ears a shield against the silence.
Then came the blow.
A sharp push to my side sent me crashing to the ground, the air knocked from my lungs. My head struck something hard—a rock, maybe—and a jolt of pain exploded behind my eyes.
The world blurred into dizzying chaos. Erykah Badu’s voice was still playing in my ears, a sharp contrast to the pounding in my skull. Dazed, I groaned, touching my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood, the pain searing behind my eyes as my body fought to catch up with what had just happened.
Before I could even register it, something cold and rough clamped on to my ankle. I gasped. I was yanked hard, sliding across the ground, scraping my skin.
Panic overwhelmed me.
I twisted, clawing at the ground, but the grip tightened. My leg shot out, and my heel whacked something hard. A grunt. The hands on me faltered for half a second—just long enough for me to see them.
Dressed in black, a hoodie pulled low over their head, obscuring their face. The only clear thing was the glint of metal at their wrist, flashing against the dim light.
Another yank, a harder one this time. I gasped, my fingernails digging into the dirt as I was dragged deeper into the bushes.
No. No.
With all my strength, I heaved my knee upward, then drove my foot forward, the impact echoing as my foot connected with something—stomach, ribs—I didn’t care which. A guttural curse ripped from the figure’s lips, their grip loosening ever so slightly.
I acted quickly.
I freed myself with a kick. Adrenaline masked the pain as I pushed myself up.
The figure recovered quickly, lunging for me again—but I was faster this time. I kicked them again, hitting their wrist. The metallic glint vanished as their arm jerked back.
And then, just as quickly as they’d grabbed me, they bolted. Disappearing into the thicket.
But whoever that was?
They had tried to take me.
And they would try again.
My head throbbed; the world spun, but I stood. I fumbled for my phone with blood-slick fingers, my vision doubling as I unlocked the screen.
His name calmed my racing thoughts.
Reese.
I hit the call button. Seconds later when the call connected, I didn’t give him a chance to speak, “Reese. Please. Help.”
I dragged myself back up the path. Every step hurt like crazy. Reese’s voice cut out on me. “Laurene? What’s going on? Where are you?”
“P-Park.”
I just kept moving, one step at a time, until I reached the edge of the park. My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the curb, clutching my head. I don’t know how long I sat there, it felt like forever, and no time at all.
I smelled burning rubber and heard tires screech, then saw a car skidding to a stop. Reese appeared before me instantly.
“Laurene!” He cupped my face, tilting it up, his thumb brushing my cheek. He touched my head and the pressure made me wince.
“What the hell happened? Are you okay? ”
“I’m fine,” I croaked. “Someone pushed me and tried to drag me.”
“Shit, let’s get you to the hospital?—”
“No hospital,” I muttered, shaking my head, though the motion made the world spin all over again.
“You’re bleeding and barely standing,” I felt him push my hair back, and he touched a bump forming. “Don’t argue with me right now.”
“I swear I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me, just pushed me from behind to scare me.”
Before I could protest further, his hands slid under my knees and around my back, lifting me off the ground.
“Reese—”
“Shut up,” he said gruffly.
He carried me as if I weighed nothing, his long, purposeful strides a blur as he headed toward the gleaming chrome of his car. He opened the door and let me down gently.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he muttered, more to himself than me, before slamming the door shut and rounding the car to get behind the wheel.
I rested my head on the cool window; it felt good on my burning skin. I took a breather, the pain was muted, knowing Reese was close by. When the car’s engine finally cut out thirty minutes later, he didn’t waste any time.
He picked me up from the car again; I felt his body heat through my clothes as he sprinted to the door with me. Inside, he carefully settled me on the living room couch.
“Stay with me.”
He went to remove my hoodie, muttering under his breath, and seconds later, his hand went to the hem of his shirt. Before I could process what was happening, he yanked it over his head, revealing the toned muscles of his chest, the light from the dim lamps catching on the tattoos that snaked down his arms.
He dabbed at the blood on my head with his shirt. The shirt was soft and warm, still holding his body heat. His touch was pure concern, no fear or hesitation.
“Shit,” he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the bloodied gash along my temple. His touch felt good. His hand was large, rough around the edges, but the way he handled me felt like he was trying to do everything right.
I should push him away, but I couldn’t. Not when my head was pounding. Not when the only thing keeping me upright was him.
“You should’ve let me take you to the hospital,” he said quietly, voice almost like a growl.
“I’m fine,” I replied, my voice hoarse, though I was far from fine.
“Let’s pray you don’t have a concussion,” he said quietly, then stood watching me for a moment before walking away down the hall and turning on the lights. Seconds later, he was back with a first aid kit.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I whisper, my voice too soft, too vulnerable. I hated myself for it.
“No,” he said, voice thick with something I couldn’t name. “I didn’t.”
He came back, dabbed my forehead with a wet cloth to clean the blood, but I liked his shirt better. He was busy cleaning and adding the antibiotic. I closed my eyes, just for a second. Big mistake. Because suddenly, I was twenty-one again, tangled in his sheets, whispering his name into the dark.
No. Stop it. That girl was dead. I buried her the night I left him.
But my body betrayed me—leaning into his warmth, into his hands, into the only place I’ve ever felt safe. Even when I shouldn’t.
“Reese,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”
He just stared at me, like he was trying to memorize my face. He put his thumb under my chin and tilted my face up. Then he reached for a Band-Aid .
“Why are you apologizing? You know when I find who did this,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, full of a promise I didn’t doubt, “I’m gonna fuck them up. No questions asked.”
I let out a shaky but genuine laugh. Hearing old Reese—the one who never gave up—was strangely comforting. My unwavering protector, even if it meant destroying the world.
A momentary shift occurred. My number-crunching, inheritance-securing mind paused. Only then did I see how I’d been clinging to that one goal. But right here, between us, I couldn’t ignore the question that crept in.
What did I really want?
I spent years convincing myself that love was a distraction, that Reese was a mistake, that my ambition was enough.
But the truth is—it’s cold at the top. And I am so, so alone.
I got that old craving again—the way he moved, so reckless, so bold. I saw a changed Reese.
My hand grazed his chest. He got stiff.
“Reese.”
I could feel the searing heat of his touch, a burning brand against my skin, and I couldn’t pull away, lost in the raw, aching need that pulsed through me like a wildfire.
He wasn’t pulling away. He inched closer, his presence overwhelming.
Every part of me was screaming for him. No time to think, no time to hesitate. I just wanted to feel him, that’s all. I was desperate to connect, to break down my walls, and find something real and unconditional.
I leaned in and kissed him.
The kiss was slow and unsure, like I was asking permission. And I did, letting the warmth of his touch melt the coldness inside me.
For the first time in ages, the anger, pain, and confusion were gone, replaced by something soft and fragile. I didn’t care about the blood, bruises, or the past hanging over us. So, it was all about that quiet connection, that tender moment—something I’d avoided for so long.
He pulled me closer, his hands on my back. Our hearts beat as one.
Reese pulled back, blinking slowly. I was lost for words. I was still all tingly from the kiss, but the headache was killer.
“You need to rest,” he said quietly.
Every brush of his hand against my skin felt electric, and he quickly finished patching me up.
“You’re not sleeping on that couch,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
He hauled me up, his hands keeping me steady as I wobbled. My legs were like noodles, but he wouldn’t let go.
We walked down a dim hallway, my nerves bubbling up as I followed him into his room. It was a simple space, but it was clearly his, down to the leather chairs, the piles of records, and his scent of leather and wood.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a shirt for me. “You can wear this.”
I took the shirt, and he left.
I quickly threw on the shirt and hopped into bed. His scent was faint on the sheets, and the mattress felt so comfy. I was almost asleep when I heard a soft knock.
Reese stepped in before I could say anything, carrying an ice pack, a bottle of water, and a couple of aspirin.
“Here,” he said, putting everything on the nightstand next to me. “You need to take these. Help with the swelling.”
I sat up, grabbed the aspirin and water, and showed him I took it.
“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning in.
I just nodded. I was too tired to fight, but I still really wanted him to stay.
“Reese…stay,” I breathed, the words lingering between us.
He looked at me, his expression unreadable, hesitation flickering across his face. But he said nothing. He got in bed next to me and pulled the covers over both of us.
The warmth of his body radiated against mine as I nestled my head on his shoulder, the soft hairs on his chest tickling my cheek. His heart beat beneath my ear, a slow, powerful rhythm.
“This wasn’t random,” I murmured.
Reese exhaled sharply. “I know.”
The blackmailer had gotten violent. Fast.
I hated the way fear curled inside me, the way my chest tightened at the memory of the attack. I had always been untouchable—too rich, too powerful, too carefully guarded. Until now.
“I don’t know what they want,” I admitted. “I thought it was just money, but this—this was personal.”
Reese’s grip tightened, his thumb pressing into my side like he was holding himself back. “There was a car in front of my office…with an official seal.”
That made me look up. “Seal? Like?—”
“Yeah…”
Hmm… An official seal could belong to the yacht club? The resort? The mayor’s office.
“If they were willing to hurt me, they won’t stop here.”
“You’re right.” Reese’s voice was tight, but there was something in it—a promise. “If they’re willing to cross that line, they’re not backing off. And neither are we. Now sleep. I’m here.”
I closed my eyes, leaning into him again, my head resting on his chest. My breath slowed. My chest eased. That awful loneliness alleviated for a bit.
For the first time in ages, I slept.