27
── ? ──
AURORA
Two days passed. After the night in my home. He practically carried me from my bed to the airport. And just like that we were in the jet and on his penthouse. He fucking didn't let me leave the penthouse bedroom. They did exactly three things. EAT. SLEEP. FUCK.
Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evander's penthouse bedroom, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
I'm sprawled across his chest like I own the space, our legs tangled together in sheets that smell like sex and expensive cologne, and I'm tracing idle patterns across the defined muscles of his torso.
Last night was... devastating. In the best possible way.
My body still aches in places I didn't know could ache, and there are marks on my skin—his teeth, his fingers, his absolute possession—that will be visible for days.
I should probably care about that. Should worry about how I'm going to explain the hickeys on my neck to Iris or the slight limp I'll definitely have later.
But I don't. Because Evander Laurent just gave me the kind of pleasure I'd only read about in fiction, and I'm still floating in the post-coital bliss that comes from being thoroughly, completely claimed.
His hand is moving lazily through my hair, fingers combing through the tangled strands with surprising gentleness for someone who fucked me like he was trying to break me just hours ago.
"What are you thinking?" His voice is rough with sleep, that deep rumble that does things to my insides.
"I'm thinking about what happens now." I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "You just quit Laurent Enterprises. Walked away from your mother. Committed what everyone is going to call corporate suicide."
The corner of his mouth curves into that infuriating, arrogant smirk. "Did I?"
"Evander." I'm not letting him distract me, even when his hand slides from my hair down my spine, fingers tracing my vertebrae with clear intent. "I'm serious. What are you going to do?"
"Right now?" His hand continues lower, cupping my ass with possessive pressure. "I'm going to fuck you again. Slower this time. Make you come on my tongue before I even think about putting my cock inside you."
Heat floods through me immediately—my body apparently has zero self-control when it comes to this man. But I force myself to stay focused, pushing against his chest when he tries to roll us over.
"No. Answer the question first." I'm using my serious voice, the one that worked on difficult customers during my time at the diners. "You can't just drop a bomb like that and expect me not to worry."
He sighs, but there's amusement dancing in those ice-blue eyes. "You really want to talk about corporate strategy right now? When you're naked in my bed and I can still smell myself on your skin?"
"Yes." I'm not backing down. "Because I need to know you didn't just destroy your entire future for—" I gesture between us. "For whatever this is."
"This," he says, his hand coming up to frame my face with unexpected gentleness, "is everything. And no, babe, I didn't destroy my future. I executed a legal guillotine."
The words make my breath catch. "What?"
"My mother thinks she won." He's sitting up now, propping pillows behind his back, and I shift to face him cross-legged on the bed. "She thinks I committed career suicide. That I'll come crawling back in a few weeks, desperate and broken, willing to accept whatever scraps she throws at me."
"And you won't?"
The smile that spreads across his face is dark and brilliant and absolutely terrifying in its confidence. "I won't need to. Because Laurent Global—my mother's empire, her legacy, her entire reason for existing—cannot function without me."
I blink, trying to process. "I don't understand."
"Let me break down the board for you." He's in full CEO mode now, and it's simultaneously the most attractive and most intimidating thing I've ever witnessed. "Laurent Global is privately held, controlled by share distribution among board members. My mother holds exactly 40% of the shares."
"Okay..." I'm following so far.
"I hold 20%. My father set up an irrevocable family trust when the company was founded—it stipulated that as the sole heir, 20% of the shares would automatically transfer to me the day I turned twenty-one. Non-negotiable, irrevocable, and completely out of my mother’s reach."
My brain is starting to catch up. "So you already control a significant portion."
"Correct. But 20% isn't enough to override her 40%. I'd still be outvoted on any major decision." His hand finds my thigh, fingers drawing patterns while he talks. "However, Tristan, Lucius, and Landon each hold 5% through their family trusts. That's 15% total."
"Your best friends?" I remember them—the three men who stood with Evander like soldiers flanking their general.
"More like brothers." His expression softens fractionally. "We grew up together. Survived the Laurent family politics together. They're the only people in this fucking world I trust completely."
"And they'll sign their shares over to you?"
"In a heartbeat." No hesitation. "Which puts me at 35%. Still not enough."
I do the math quickly. "You're 5% short of controlling the company."
"Exactly." The predatory smile returns. "Which is where it gets interesting. 5% of the shares are still held by my father, but he’s an unreliable wildcard. He hates my mother, but he wouldn’t override her vote.
He lets her run the show just to keep the peace.
But that leaves the remaining 20%, which is split between two families: the Hawthornes and the Knights. 10% each."
The names mean nothing to me, but Evander says them with the kind of weight that suggests they should.
"Who are they?"
"The Hawthorne family is a massive empire based in Europe now. They used to be sovereigns in New York under Ares Hawthorne—old money, old power, the kind of influence that makes politicians nervous and other billionaires jealous."
I'm fascinated despite myself. "Why did they leave?"
His laugh is genuine, almost affectionate.
"Because Hawthorne men are absolute simps for their wives.
Ares married this woman—Celeste—and she wanted to live in Europe.
So he packed up the entire empire and moved it.
Just like that. Billions of dollars in assets relocated because his wife preferred Paris to New York. "
"You're joking."
"I wish I was." But he's grinning now. "If they were still here, Laurent would only be the second biggest empire in America. That's how powerful they are. But Ares chose his wife over his throne, and honestly? I respect the hell out of that."
The admission makes something warm bloom in my chest. "Who runs it now?"
"His sons. Adrian and Rhys Hawthorne." Evander's expression shifts to something almost admiring.
"Both of them are adopted—one rescued from trafficking rings, the other stays a mystery when they were kids.
Ares and Celeste built a whole foundation dedicated to saving children, and their sons carry on that legacy while also running multiple billion-dollar corporations. "
"And they are married?" I'm putting together the pieces from his earlier comment. And something in me says they are married.
"Twenty-two and twenty-one respectively. Both of them fell hard and fast, just like their father." His thumb brushes across my thigh. "There's apparently something in the Hawthorne non blood DNA that makes them completely irrational when they find the right person."
"What about the Knights?"
"Damon Knight." The name comes out with a mix of respect and wariness.
"He runs what's basically a syndicate masked as a legitimate business empire.
His family has been entangled with the Hawthornes for generations—Damon and Rhys are best friends, grew up together, the kind of bond that transcends business. "
I'm starting to see where this is going. "So these two families hold the remaining 20% of Laurent Global."
"Correct."
"And you need them to vote with you to override your mother."
"Also correct." He's watching me now, clearly enjoying watching me work through the puzzle.
"But why would they? They don't know you. They have no reason to support you over an established CEO with decades of experience."
The smile that spreads across his face is absolutely devastating. "That's where you're wrong, babe. They have every reason to support me."
"Why?"
"Because the Hawthornes and the Knights absolutely loathe my mother.
" He says it with such casual certainty that I almost laugh.
"Vivienne Laurent represents everything they despise—corporate ruthlessness without purpose, empire-building for vanity instead of legacy, treating people as disposable assets instead of human beings. "
"That seems like a personal grudge."
"It is. My mother tried to acquire Hawthorne Fashion Luxuries five years ago through hostile takeover.
She failed spectacularly, and Ares Hawthorne made sure she understood exactly why she failed.
" His eyes gleam with dark amusement. "Apparently he told her that people who view others as commodities don't deserve to run empires.
Then he systematically dismantled every move she made until she had no choice but to retreat. "
"Jesus."
"And Damon Knight? His syndicate operates on loyalty and chosen family. My mother's approach to business—burning bridges, destroying competitors without mercy, treating employees like interchangeable parts—is antithetical to everything he believes in."
I'm starting to understand. "So they'll vote with you not because they support you specifically, but because they want to see her lose."