24. Nathan’s Offer
Nathan's Offer
He found me in the greenhouse.
I'd been sitting there for hours, staring at the orchids, trying to remember the sound of Gabriel's voice. The flowers were still blooming—they didn't care that he was gone. They kept reaching toward the light, indifferent to the grief that was slowly suffocating me.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him. Heavy. Deliberate. The footsteps of someone who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.
"Monika."
I didn't turn around. "Go away, Nathan."
"No."
He walked into the greenhouse, his shoes crunching on the gravel path. I watched him approach in my peripheral vision—the sharp lines of his suit, the way his hair caught the LED light, the predatory grace of his movements. He was beautiful, and I hated him for it.
"I heard about Gabriel," he said. "He left."
"I know."
"You're crying."
I touched my face. My cheeks were wet—I hadn't even noticed. The tears had been falling so long they'd become a part of me.
"I'm fine."
"You're not." He knelt in front of me, his hands resting on my knees. "You're not fine. You're broken. And you're sitting here alone, pretending you're not."
"Nathan..."
"He was the best of us." His voice was soft, almost gentle. "And you broke him."
I flinched. The words hit like a slap, sharp and unforgiving.
"I didn't mean to."
"No one ever does with you." He reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek. The gesture was surprisingly tender, and I felt something crack in my chest. "You don't plan it. You just... happen. And we all fall into you."
"That's not fair."
"Nothing about this is fair." He stood, offering me his hand. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"My room. Not for sex." He paused. "For comfort."
I stared at him. The word felt wrong coming from his lips—too soft, too vulnerable. But there was something in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. Something that looked almost like concern.
"Comfort," I repeated. "You."
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm capable of being a human being."
"Barely."
He laughed—a real laugh, not the sharp, mocking sound I was used to. "Probably true. But I'm the only one who's offering."
I took his hand. His fingers were warm, calloused, and they held mine like I was something precious.
His room was not what I expected.
The walls were dark—charcoal, almost black—and the furniture was sparse. A bed, a dresser, a chair by the window. There were no photographs, no personal effects, no sign that anyone actually lived here. It was the room of someone who didn't want to leave traces.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the bed. I sat. He sat beside me, close but not touching.
"You've never been here before," he said. "That's on purpose. I don't bring people to my room."
"Why am I here?"
"Because you needed somewhere to go. And the rest of the house is full of ghosts."
I looked at him. His face was open in a way I'd never seen—the mask gone, the walls down. He looked almost human.
"Gabriel asked me to leave with him," I said. "To start over. Somewhere else. Away from all of this."
"I know."
"I wanted to go. I really did. But I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm already y'all's." I felt the tears building again, hot and sharp. "Because I don't know how to be only one person's anymore."
He reached out and took my hand. His thumb traced circles on my palm, a gesture so tender it made my breath catch.
"I'm not going to ask you to leave," he said. "I'm not going to ask you to choose. I'm just going to ask you to stay."
"Nathan..."
"Stay. Not for my father. For me." He turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and earnest. "I'll give you everything. The world. Just don't leave."
I stared at him. The words hung in the air between us, heavy and strange.
"You don't love me," I said. "You want me. There's a difference."
"Maybe." He touched my face, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "But I'm the only one who's honest about what he wants. My father pretends he wants to protect you. My brother pretends he wants to save you. I want to have you. Completely. And I'm not ashamed of that."
"That's not love."
"Maybe it is." He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against mine. "Maybe love is just wanting someone so badly you'd burn the world down to keep them."
"Those are the words of a monster."
"Then I'm a monster." He kissed my forehead, soft and lingering. "But I'm your monster."
He held me.
That was the most disturbing part. He held me like I was something precious, his arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on my head. He stroked my hair, murmured soft things, let me cry against his chest.
This was not the Nathan I knew. This was someone else entirely—someone who had been buried deep, covered by layers of anger and ambition and pain.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"This." I gestured at us, at the room, at the impossible tenderness of the moment. "You don't comfort people. You destroy them."
"Maybe I don't want to destroy you."
"Why not?"
He was quiet for a long moment. The room was dark, the only light coming from the window, the moon casting silver shadows across the bed.
"Because you're the first person who ever made me feel like I could be something other than what I am." His voice was barely a whisper. "When I'm with you, I forget about the empire. I forget about my father. I forget about everything. And that scares me more than anything else."
"Nathan..."
"I know I'm broken. I know I'm not good for you. But I can't let you go. I can't."
He pulled me closer, burying his face in my hair. I felt his shoulders shake, and I realized he was crying. Nathan Mire, the eldest son, the heir to an empire built on blood—crying like a child.
I held him.
I didn't know what else to do.
We stayed like that for hours.
The moon moved across the sky. The shadows shifted across the walls. I listened to his breathing slow, felt his body relax against mine. He fell asleep, his arms still wrapped around me, his head still resting on my chest.
I watched him sleep. His face was younger in repose, the lines smoothed away, the sharp edges softened. He looked like the boy he'd been before the empire had claimed him.
I almost believed him.
Almost.
Then I remembered the warehouse. The cages. The women in the corner who looked at me with empty eyes and asked for nothing because they'd already given up asking.
I remembered who he was. Who his father was. What they'd built.
And I felt the warmth of his embrace turn cold.
I slipped out of his arms and stood by the window.
The mansion stretched out below me—the gardens, the greenhouse, the gate that led to the city. Somewhere out there, Gabriel was starting a new life. A life without me. A life that would heal him.
And I was still here, trapped in the web of two men who wanted to consume me.
"Monika."
I turned. Nathan was awake, sitting up in bed, his eyes dark and watchful.
"You're thinking about leaving."
"I was thinking about how you brought me here for comfort. And I almost believed you."
"Monika—"
"Don't." I held up my hand. "Don't pretend to be something you're not. You're not a good man, Nathan. You're not a gentle man. You're the man who runs the empire that puts women in cages."
His face went pale. I saw something flicker in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or shame.
"That was before."
"No." I shook my head. "That was now. That's always now. Those women are still in those cages. They're still being sold. And you're still making money from it."
"Monika—"
"I'm not going to leave. Not yet." I walked toward the door, my hand on the handle. "But don't pretend you're something you're not. And don't pretend you love me. You don't love me. You just want to own me."
I walked out of his room and closed the door behind me.
I didn't look back.