27 #2
"Initially, yes." He shifts closer, his hand sliding up my thigh with clear intent.
"But I'm also offering them something she never would—partnership instead of domination.
The Hawthornes and Knights don't want to control Laurent Global.
They just want to make sure it's run by someone who understands that empires built on fear and cruelty eventually collapse. "
"And you're that person?"
"I'm learning to be." His other hand comes up to cup my face. "With the right influence."
The implication makes my heart stutter. "Don't put that on me."
"Why not? You already changed everything." He's leaning in now, his breath warm against my lips. "You made me want something beyond the empire. Made me realize that winning isn't about crushing everyone beneath you—it's about building something worth protecting."
"Evander—"
"When you add it all up," he continues, ignoring my protest, "I control 55%. My 20%, plus the best friend's 15%, plus the Hawthornes' and Knights' 20%. She has 45%. Laurent Global cannot function without me, and my mother knows it."
The math clicks into place with devastating clarity. "You boxed her out."
"I built a trap." His smile is sharp, predatory. "And I waited for her to step in it. That little performance yesterday—walking out, making it look like corporate suicide—was the trigger. She thinks I'm desperate. Thinks I'll come back begging."
"But you won't."
"I won't need to. Because in about—" he glances at the clock on the nightstand, "—three hours, she's going to receive formal notice that 55% of Laurent Global's shareholders are calling an emergency vote of no confidence in current leadership."[5]
My eyes go wide. "You're removing her as CEO."
"I'm removing her as everything." The satisfaction in his voice is palpable. "CEO, chairwoman, board member. Every position of power she holds in the company my father built. By the end of the week, Vivienne Laurent will be a shareholder with no actual authority."
"And you'll take over."
"Not just me. Tristan will be COO. Lucius will handle international operations. Landon will run R&D. We're restructuring the entire company to operate on collaboration instead of dictatorship."
It's brilliant. Absolutely, terrifyingly brilliant.
“But they all have their own companies to run,” I say, the reality of what he’s asking slowing my thoughts. “How can they manage both?”
“They’ll delegate,” he answers, a rare softness spreading through his features. “They’re my brothers. When I told them what I was doing, there wasn’t even a question. They’re splitting their time and standing by me.”
"She'll fight this," I point out. "She won't just accept being ousted from her own company."
"She'll try." He doesn't sound concerned. "But the votes are already locked in. The Hawthornes confirmed this morning—Adrian sent a very polite email explaining that they'd be delighted to support 'new leadership with actual vision.'"
"And the Knights?"
"Damon called me at 6 a.m. to say, and I quote, 'About fucking time someone put that ice queen in her place.'" Evander's grin is fierce. "They're both attending the emergency board meeting virtually to cast their votes in person."
I'm processing all of this—the strategy, the execution, the absolute certainty that he's already won—when another thought occurs to me.
"The Hawthornes," I say slowly. "You mentioned they're married. That Ares was obsessed with his wife. That his sons fell just as hard."
"Yes." He's watching me with those ice-blue eyes that see too much.
"Is that why you told me about them? Because you see similarities?"
His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer until our foreheads touch.
"I told you about them because I wanted you to understand that the most powerful men I know—men who could buy countries, who command empires, who are feared and respected across continents—all chose love over power when it came down to it. "
"Evander—"
"And I wanted you to know that I'm choosing the same thing." His voice drops to something rough, vulnerable. "I'm choosing you, Aurora. Over the empire, over my mother's approval, over everything I was raised to believe mattered."
The declaration makes my throat tight. "You barely know me."
"I know enough." His thumb brushes across my lower lip.
"I know you're brilliant and stubborn and absolutely devastating when you smile.
I know you challenged me in ways no one else ever has.
I know that five minutes into meeting you, I wanted to keep you.
And now that I've had you—now that I've felt you fall apart in my arms and heard you scream my name—I know I'm never letting you go. "
"That's insane."
"That's Hawthorne logic." But he's smiling. "Ask Meriyumm if you want the full dramatic details. She's the high school daughter of one of my business partners, and she's completely obsessed with real-life billionaire romances. Has an entire research file on the Hawthorne family history."
"You want me to get relationship advice from a teenager?"
"I want you to understand that what we have—this intensity, this immediate certainty—isn't crazy. It's just how some people love." His hand tightens on my neck. "Fast. Absolute. Irrevocable."
I should argue. Should point out that this is moving too fast, that we need to slow down, that building a relationship on mind-blowing sex and corporate warfare isn't sustainable.
Instead, I hear myself say, "So what happens now?"
"Now?" The predatory smile returns. "Now the business briefing is over."
He's rolling us before I can respond, pinning me effortlessly to the mattress with his weight. His hands frame my face, his body settling between my thighs with the kind of practiced ease that suggests he plans to spend a lot of time in this position.
"The new Architect of Laurent Global," he murmurs against my jaw, teeth scraping sensitive skin, "requires your undivided attention."
"Is that an order?" But I'm already arching into his touch, my body apparently having zero interest in playing hard to get.
"It's a requirement." His mouth moves to my neck, sucking a mark that will definitely be visible. "I just orchestrated a corporate coup. I think I deserve a reward."
"Cocky."
"Confident." He's kissing down my body now—my collarbone, between my breasts, my stomach. "There's a difference."
"Evander—" His name breaks on a gasp as his tongue circles my navel.
"I told you earlier," he says, his breath hot against my hip bone, "I'm going to make you come on my tongue before I even think about fucking you again."
"We don't have time—" The protest dies as his mouth finds the inside of my thigh, teeth grazing soft skin.
"We have all day." He spreads my legs wider, settling between them with clear intent. "The board meeting isn't until this afternoon. Which gives me—" he glances at the clock again, "—approximately four hours to remind you exactly who you belong to."
"I don't belong to—" The sentence ends in a moan as his tongue slides through my folds, circling my clit with devastating precision.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his expression dark with possession and promise. "Yes, you do. You became mine the moment you challenged me . You just didn't know it yet."
Then his mouth is on me again, and all thoughts of arguing evaporate.
Because Evander Laurent—soon to be Architect of Laurent Global, architect of corporate coups, the man who just mathematically boxed his mother out of her own empire—is currently between my thighs with his tongue doing absolutely obscene things that make me forget my own name.
And as I arch into his touch, as pleasure builds and crests and builds again, as he proves with methodical precision that he meant every word about making me come before he fucks me again—I realize something terrifying.
He didn't just trap his mother.
He trapped me too.
Because I'm already in too deep. Already falling for the brilliant, damaged, impossibly intense man who treats corporate warfare like chess and sex like worship.
Already his, whether I'm ready to admit it or not.
And judging by the satisfied smile I feel against my skin as I shatter on his tongue for the second time—he knows it too.
He knew it all along.
The bastard.