32. CHAPTER 29
Orion
A month later, the borders of our arrangement had blurred beyond recognition. What started as a tactical alliance was turning into a territory I hadn't scouted, a place governed more by her touch than my own rules.
We hadn’t magically turned into some fairytale couple, but the ground between us felt… less like a battlefield and more like occupied territory we were both certainly learning to share.
We had breakfast together more often; I found more reasons to be home for lunch instead of eating in the city with board members and business partners. I never skipped dinner.
Some nights we ended up on opposite ends of the sofa in the private living room, both pretending we were far more invested in whatever was on the screen than the fact that our knees kept brushing or our fingertips were so close to a collision that would have set the room on fire.
Other nights she disappeared into her studio and I into my office, only to cross paths in the hallway and trade a look that said I want you even if neither of us spoke, or acted on it… yet
She visited my father more. I pretended it was a footnote in my day, but the truth was I checked the surveillance timestamps more than I should have: her walking into his wing with a book, or a bowl, or just her soft, determined expression.
The staff liked her. My mother tolerated her. I found myself… steadying around her.
The sex—what we’d done of it—had been strictly contained. I hadn’t pushed beyond what she’d offered, which was nothing really. Another four weeks of her keeping a clear distance, but every day, the craving to know how she’d feel wrapped fully around me deepened into a quiet, insistent ache.
I still had no intention of forcing it. I wanted her surrender, but only if it was a gift, not a concession.
Through all that time work didn’t slow. If anything, it intensified.
The doctors revised my father’s prognosis.
The board wanted answers about succession and governance.
There were whispers in the markets that the old man wouldn’t see out the year.
My days blurred into meetings, negotiations, and polite threats.
Competitors and business rivals rearing their heads to test the waters, to see if the Kade heir can hold his own.
But through it all, Léonie remained a fixed point.
Which was why, when my calendar spat out the small red reminder of her cycle window, I cleared an evening… again. Just because I’d promised to wait didn't mean I wouldn't provide the opportunity.
I sent the message myself, instead of asking an assistant to arrange something appropriate as I might have done if it was anyone else.
Me: Be ready at eight. Wear red, and have your hair in a ponytail.
A moment later, three dots.
My Léa: Since when do you issue dress codes?
Me: Since always. I’m just making them obvious now.
Another minute…
My Léa: I’ll consider it.
I spent the rest of the afternoon pretending I wasn’t refreshing that thread between discussions about ventilator settings and board sensitivity memos.
There was something wrong with a man who could negotiate a multi-million euro facility agreement with a straight face and still find his pulse jumping at the thought of his wife in red.
Yes, there was something definitely wrong with me.
At 7:58PM, I stepped into the foyer, and there she was waiting by the stairs in red.
Fuck.
My body reacted before my mind fully calibrated the vision in front of me. A heavy, magnetic pull centered in my gut, dragging my focus entirely to her and making the rest of the world go quiet around me.
It was a deep shade of red that clung to her like it knew whose attention it existed for.
The dress might perhaps be simpler on a hanger—thin straps, a fitted bodice, a skirt that skimmed mid-calf with a high slit—on her, it looked devastating.
Her brown skin glowed against the colour, the fabric hugging the curve of her hips, the long line of her legs made worse by the pair of heels she’d chosen.
Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that bared her neck and accentuated her cheekbones.
For a split second, my brain emptied.
I’d asked for this. I wasn’t prepared for the extent to which she would obey.
“You look speechless,” she said, her mouth twitching. “Is that a good sign or should I go change?”
It’s a sign that I’ve underestimated my own instructions.
The idea of her taking that dress off, even for a second, sent a fresh jolt through me, but not for the reasons she was implying.
“If you go back up those stairs, I’m coming with you,” I said, my voice dropping. “And we'll end up wasting a fine reservation.”
“Always so demanding,” she whispered, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Is that a promise or a warning, Mr. Kade?”
“Both,”
She chuckled, and the sound hummed in the small space between us.
What I didn't tell her was that I would have traded the most expensive table in the city just to see that red dress pooled on my bedroom floor, and I’d have had zero regrets.
I stepped closer, my eyes tracing the line of her ponytail, the slope of her bare shoulders, and the mouth I was increasingly certain would ruin me.
“You listened,” I murmured.
She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Consider it a thank-you.”
“For what?”
“For bullying an entire supply chain into giving me my fabrics on time,” she said, smiling. “Céleste says you frightened at least three men in Milan and one in Rotterdam.”
“Four,” I corrected, my gaze dropping to her lips. “The one in Antwerp tried to lie.”
Her laugh slid under my skin like heat. “Not surprised. Antwerp gave me the most problems.”
I didn't mention the logistics—how I’d had Severin use Stratum to track the suppliers' personal lines or the forty-eight hours of pressure it took to unstick the shipment.
It had been an easy use of resources. More than that, it was a bargain; a few phone calls in exchange for the way she was looking at me now.
I offered my arm. She took it without hesitation, her initial touch gentle before she moved a little closer. The grip of her hand on my arm felt satisfying.
We stepped out to the waiting car, the cool night air doing nothing to dampen the fire she’d started in the foyer.
The restaurant was one I reserved for special occasions. It was a Kincaid property—part of a portfolio Zane preferred to ignore to avoid a one-way ticket to his brother in Glasgow. Still, he didn't mind extending the perks of his name to the rest of us.
It was a silent understanding within the circle. We didn't ask questions about his family, and in return, we were granted a level of privacy that money couldn't buy.
We were given the entire top floor, as expected. The view of Paris from up here did its job—the muted lights, low murmur from below, nothing close enough to intrude. The staff knew better than to hover over a Kincaid guest, let alone a Kade.
She looked out at the lights, trying not to smile. “You picked well.”
I watched her take it in. “I always do,” I boasted.
She gave a dismissive little huff, even though her eyes warmed.
Dinner was… easy. Between plates of seared scallops and wine that tasted like forbidden fruit, conversation flowed without either of us forcing it.
I’d chosen a bottle of red that matched her dress. We drank as she told me about the early sketches for the Vassier collection; I told her enough about work to answer her questions without dragging her through the uglier parts. Every time she laughed, my chest felt lighter.
She teased me about my mother, and somewhere in between I’d started saying our estate instead of the estate without noticing.
Slowly as the wine went down, the civility started to fray. Tension crept in where the politeness had been.
“It’s a bit distracting, watching you try so hard to be a gentleman when you clearly want to be anything but.” she teased in that breathy, taunting little voice that made every muscle in my body tighten.
The smirk that pulled at my lips was wicked, dark, and entirely lacking in gentlemanly intent. My mind was already three steps ahead.
“Really Orion, you could try smiling without it looking like a threat,” she quipped, swirling her glass, her leg brushing mine under the table, accidentally, maybe, but the heat in her gaze said otherwise.
I leaned forward, smirking. “And you could stop pretending you don’t like the edge. Admit it, you thrive on it.”
She laughed, low and throaty, but her skin warmed under my scrutiny. “Maybe. But don’t get cocky. I’m not some puzzle for you to solve.”
“Oh, but you're the best kind,” I shot back, my voice dropping. “The one that keeps me up at night, wondering how much deeper I can push before you pull me under.”
Her breath caught, and she bit her lip, that push-pull firing between us like electricity.
Definitely the wine talking now.
My phone buzzed on the table. Then again… and again.
I didn’t need to look to know which chat it was; the sheer frenetic rhythm of the notifications gave it away. Old habit made my hand twitch toward it anyway.
I flipped it over, screen up. They didn’t disappoint.
Marcus: Tomorrow night. No excuses. We’ve been charitable. That’s 3 sessions you’ve missed.
My jaw ticked.
Zane: I see you’re drinking the ‘82 Petrus. Bold choice for a Tuesday. I assume you're celebrating an acquisition or finally admitting I own the better cellar?
Julian: He’s not celebrating, Zane. He’s hiding. Three weeks MIA. He’s gone soft. You're two weeks away from that intervention, Kade. ????
Zane: My floor manager is calling it a ‘romantic date.’ Never thought we’d see the day we associated the priest with anything but ruthless acquisitions. Is there even a heart under that suit, Kade?
Marcus: What romance? The man is literally a statue. He’s probably just explaining the pre-nup over dessert. Don’t let the performance fool you, Zane. Kade doesn't do dates, the only language he understands is negotiations.
More notifications stacked underneath: location blurbs, references to talent, jokes only men who’d grown up with too much money and too little accountability could think were funny.
Across the table, Léonie lifted her gaze from her plate.
“Work?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
Her eyes held mine for a long beat. She didn’t push. She just nodded and went back to her food. The trust implicit in that—you’ll tell me what matters—struck harder than any outright question.
I pressed the side button, the glass of the screen going dark and cutting off their noise. They knew nothing. They saw the priest, the man who lived by discipline and cold logic, but they hadn't seen the way Léa had looked at me by the foyer today, or how she was looking at me now.
“You were saying,” I prompted, my voice a low thrum that seemed to make the candle flame flicker, “about how you aren't a puzzle for me to solve.”
Her smile returned, but there was a softness to it now, a warmth that felt like an invitation. “And you were the one saying you wanted me to pull you under.”
“Did I?” I teased, my eyes dropping to her lips. “I must have been recklessly honest. But then again, I’ve always been a fan of the deep end.”
“Is that so?” she murmured, leaning in just enough that the scent of her perfume—floral and sin mixed together—overtook the wine. “And what happens if I don't let you back up for air?”
“Then I suppose we both drown,” I said, the words feeling more like a promise than a joke. “I’ve never been a particularly good swimmer.”
She laughed, freely and unguarded, and took everything heavy with her. The weight of my father’s prognosis and the vultures on the board vanished entirely. There was only the red dress, this private dinner, and the woman who was slowly, methodically, dismantling all of my restraint.
After dessert, I handed her a small box.
“Orion,” she said in mock warning, “What are we celebrating?”
“Open it.”
She did.
Diamond drops, delicate and viciously expensive, winked up at her from the black velvet. They hit the light like captured stars.
Her lips parted, but for a moment she couldn’t speak.
“I thought you had enough jewellery on your neck,” I said, nodding toward the chain resting against her collarbone. “Your ears were… lacking.”
She wore a diamond piece that was nothing compared to what I’d just gifted her.
“That’s your definition of lacking?” she murmured.
“I’m a Kade, Lea,” I said, the corner of my mouth twitching. “I don't do things by halves. If it doesn't command the room, it's not enough.”
She shook her head, but her fingers were gentle as she traced one earring. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
She looked up at that, and the warmth in her eyes made my heart stutter. “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice losing its teasing edge. “For this. For earlier. For… everything with the collection.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Now turn around.”
She obeyed. I changed her earrings myself, close enough to see the flutter of her pulse just under the skin, the way she shivered when my fingertips brushed the back of her neck.
When she faced me again, the diamonds caught the candlelight and shattered it around her face. I had the sudden, absurd thought that if we had a daughter, she might inherit that same tilt of chin, that same stubborn look in her eyes.
I shut the thought down. We weren’t there yet.
But we could be. Soon.
The craving for it…for her, for a legacy that wasn't built on power plays and my father’s dying breath roared through me. I wanted to drag her across the table and claim it all right now, but I forced my hands to stay steady.
I’d spent weeks learning how to hold this line with her. I wasn’t about to break now. Not when, for the first time, it felt like she might actually step over it on her own.