40. CHAPTER 37 #2
She gave me a cutting look. “Lady Lavigne’s niece. According to the women there, your mother thinks she’d make you a perfect mistress. Apparently her family has leverage that benefits your ambition. She sat there simpering while your mother treated me like placeholder furniture.”
Rage flashed so hot behind my ribs it felt like it might crack bone.
“Léonie.”
“Don’t,” she said, her eyes cold with resolve. “If your clause matters so much, I will never give you the satisfaction of bearing your children.”
“Careful,” I warned, my voice turning dangerously calm in that way it did when I was two breaths from losing it.
“No.” She stood tall, regal with a legal fury. “You don’t get to warn me. You aren’t the only one allowed to protect themselves. I am not your pawn, and I am not your vessel.”
“Léa—”
She turned and walked out. The slam of the door rang through the wing like a gunshot. It might as well have been pointed at my head.
I stared at the scattered tests on my desk.
She’d misunderstood everything. I hadn't sent them as a demand for an heir. I’d sent them because I was a coward.
Sitting in Singapore, I’d been terrified that I’d hurt her—terrified she was dealing with the consequences of that night alone.
I'd sent the oils and bath wash to soothe her, and because I loved the way they smelled on her skin that night.
I’d sent the tests because I thought she might want to know, especially since we’d had sex without protection.
I hadn’t been looking for a pivot. I had been looking for a way back to her.
If she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d be forced to talk to me and—
Fuck! What was I even thinking?
My phone pinged. The group chat. Marcus had dropped the address for today’s location. Zane and Julian going back and forth about some fuckery my mind wasn’t trying comprehend at this time.
I stared at the screen, then at the scattered pregnancy tests on my desk, at the doorway she’d just stormed through.
I didn’t want to see anyone—least of all while they were buried inside someone else. But I needed to hit something. Or break something. Or… someone.
Moving toward the chair, I grabbed my coat.
Before I left the estate, I veered toward my mother’s wing. She’d been warned numerous times. Clearly, the lesson hadn’t stuck.
I intended for this to be the last warning.
Her staff tried to announce me, but I didn’t wait. I shouldered past them and walked straight into her private sitting room. She was draped in a silk dress, looking over a gala invitation as if she didn't have a care in the world.
“Rion,” she said, her voice a practiced melody of surprise. “You’re back. You really should have called; I would have—”
“We’re going to make this very simple,” I interrupted, my voice flat, cold, and devoid of any filial warmth.
She froze, the invitation crinkling in her hand.
“You will stop speaking of mistresses,” I said, stepping into her space until she was forced to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “You'll stop auditioning women for my bed as if I am a king in need of a concubine. And you'll never humiliate my wife in public or in private again.”
Her brows flew up, her shock quickly curdling into indignation. “Excuse me? I am trying to secure the longevity of this family. Léonie is a child. She doesn't understand the ‘arrangements’ required for a man in your position.”
“Then let me make it clear so even you can understand,” I said, leaning down until I was inches from her face.
“There is no arrangement. There is no other woman. There is only Léonie. If I hear so much as a whisper about Madame Lavigne’s niece—or any other of your aspirants—I'll not just embarrass you.
I'll strip your name from every board, every charity, and every social register I control.
I'll make you a ghost in this city before the sun sets.”
“This is how you speak to your mother? Over a girl you’ve known for five minutes?” I could hear her french lilt picking up.
“This is me being polite,” I said, and for the first time, I let the unhinged darkness she’d spent years trying to groom out of me show in my smile.
“The next time won’t involve a conversation.
If you cannot respect the woman I chose, you will stay away from her.
If you come anywhere near again, or you upset her again, you lose me completely. ”
She stared at me as if she were looking at a stranger.
Good. I wanted her to be afraid of the man I’d become.
I turned on my heel and left. I didn't need her response. I needed her absolute silent understanding.
Marcus Sterling’s penthouse was the last place I should’ve gone.
I slipped on my mask as the elevator rode up all the way, trying not to talk myself out of walking into the Sanctum’s gathering today.
I needed to talk to my friends, and this was the only place I could find all of them.
It was either this or getting drunk alone in the dark, and I was already halfway to a breakdown I couldn't afford.
If I didn't get out of my own head, I was going to go back to the estate and beg for forgiveness I hadn't earned.
And a Kade never begs…until he does. And really means it.
The elevator dinged open onto the penthouse floor.
I nodded at security, who recognized my black lacquered mask.
Once I entered the space, the assault hit me immediately—the throb of bass-heavy music filling the air, mingled with the wet, rhythmic slaps of skin on skin and the chorus of moans that rose and fell continuously around me.
The air was thick with sweat, expensive cologne, and the unmistakable scent of sex.
The entire floor was dark except for the flicker of dim red and purple LED strips snaking along the walls and pooling on the floor.
“What the hell did Marcus do with this place?” I whispered to myself as I tried to navigate my way through.
Tangled bodies writhed as I moved past. Figures sprawled on the leather sectional against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline.
A woman on all fours moaning, her anonymous partner pulling her hair and grunting as he thrusts.
I could tell that was Zane. The diamond-encrusted cuff on his wrist tugging at her hair gave him away.
I tried to make out other figures in the space but all the outside light reflected in were sofas, masks, more bodies. The muted sounds of pleasure threaded beneath the music, more murmur of moans and breathy laughter.
Usually, these meetings meant control. An outlet to exert my frustrations. A mask, literal and metaphorical. Once you step into one, you check your real life at the door. Tonight, mine felt like part of me as I navigated the space.
A flash of light hit the skyline as I looked ahead and spotted Julian.
Mask on. Shirt open. A girl on her knees in front of him, his hand lazy in her hair. His head tipped back. Bored. Not even pretending to be present.
I dropped onto the empty seat beside them.
It took him a few seconds to notice me, after he did a double take.
“What the fuck, Kade!” Julian snapped, tensing, his hand stilling. "Couldn't you have announced your presence at least?
“Evening,” I said flatly, my voice carrying over the noise in the room.
He stared at me for a second, then rolled his eyes and tapped the girl’s shoulder. “Up. We’re done.”
She pulls out her mouth and pouted at him, but Julian tips his head to signal the show was over and she obeyed. Got up, grabbed her dress and walked away.
Next, the sensor was triggered and a low light filled the space, making everyone else dimly visible.
The ripple spreads. Adrien, across the room, disentangled from the redhead he's got bent over the bar counter. “Out, ladies," he calls, his voice gruff but amused, zipping up as he waves off the girl and another who was grinding on his thigh.
More lights flicker on, the huge chandelier in the middle of the room coming to life revealing the messiness of the space: sex toys scattered on the side, bottles of lubes, condoms—both used and unused—lying around like confetti.
Zane hauled up his jeans from around a blonde sprawled on the rug, her chest heaving. “Party's on pause, girls. Important meeting.” The women murmur, some laughing softly, others grabbing robes or clothes as they filter toward the elevator while the security escorted them out, leaving us alone.
I finally took off my mask, so did Julian and Adrien.
Marcus walked toward us with a glass in one hand, white shirt half-buttoned. Zane followed, still tightening his belt, his hair a mess of sweat and irritation. Elias trailed behind them, more put together, his mask pushed up onto his forehead like a discarded crown.
“The fuck is this?” Marcus gestured to the room. “Why is everything stopping? Some of us were middle of something.”
“Intervention,” Julian muttered, his own mask hanging from his fingers. “Apparently, it’s finally happening.” He tossed his mask on the table.
The lights brightened a notch. The heavy bass of the music dipped into a low hum. The privacy of the dark peeled back, exposing us all.
“Is this about the wife again?” Adrien asked with a muffled exhale, pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head as he walked towards the bar.
“I didn’t give up an orgasm to hear you talk about how much you love your wife, Kade,” Zane said, dropping into a velvet chair and pouring himself a drink with theatrical irritation.
“Love?” I snorted, the word feeling foreign and displaced. “Who said anything about love?”
Elias raised a brow, leaning against the bar. “Yeah. Who said anything about love?” Then he looked at me. His expression changed. “Are you?”
The room froze.
Marcus slowly lowered his glass. Adrien cocked an eyebrow. Zane’s smirk faded into a look of genuine concern. Julian just sat back, watching me like my answer would determine his next move.