Chapter 47 Madeline
Madeline
Three months later
I pressed my palm to the cold glass of one window and let my shoulders drop an inch. The air outside the ballroom was cooler.
And I really needed air.
The summit had been a disaster from the minute I sat down. Numbers blurred. Clauses I could normally recite in my sleep needed rereading. I’d stumbled over a rollover provision I’d drafted myself.
Three different negotiators had asked if I was “alright” with that particular tone—trying to be kind without saying, you’re off your game.
My father had given me one of his quiet, worried looks from across the table.
And under all of that, like I kept thinking was he’s here.
Exactly three months and one week since he’d told me to pack my things and get out of his bed.
One sighting of his name on the summit program and every nerve ending I had lit up like a warning system.
Avoid him.
That was the plan. With a hundred people in the building and at least twelve exits, it shouldn’t have been that hard.
I breathed in slowly through my nose, out through my mouth. Counted the breath. Tried to remember which version of myself I was supposed to be at a global merger summit.
“Madeline.”
God. No. I was beginning to think I had personally offended a god in another life.
I went rigid hearing his voice for the first time in months.
For one wild second, I considered pretending I hadn’t heard. Just staying exactly as I was, forehead nearly against the glass, and hoping the floor swallowed me.
Then the old training cut in.
Turn. Face. Don’t show your throat while you’re bleeding.
I straightened, smoothed my hand down the front of my dress, and turned around.
Vince stood halfway down the corridor, hands in his pockets like he owned the building by default.
The black suit. The open collar. The tattoos peeking from his throat. The kind of control in his shoulders that made other men move out of his way before he even spoke.
He’d always looked deadly. Tonight he looked… untouched. Like the last three months had left no mark at all.
His gaze traveled over me in one quick pass. Not slow enough to be intimate, not fast enough to be casual. An inventory check.
He stopped a few feet away.
“Mr. Crow,” I said, because my mouth needed something to do.
His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly at the title. “Madeline.”
Silence stretched between us. Not the comfortable kind.
“You left the table,” he said. “You looked—”
“Like shit?” I offered lightly. My throat was too tight for it to land as a joke.
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Unwell.”
I shrugged, aiming for careless, hitting somewhere closer to brittle. “Summits are exhausting. I needed air.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the window behind me, then back. “You’ve lost weight.”
I flinched before I could stop it. “Congratulations. You and my mother finally agree on something.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It’s what everyone means when they say it. I’m twenty. Thin is the assignment, isn’t it? Gold star for me.”
He watched me quietly. “How long have you been like this?”
Like this. Like I was a condition.
“Don’t… don’t talk to me like I’m broken and you’re doing inventory.”
“Someone has to do inventory. You’re not doing it.”
“You don’t get to say that,” I snapped. “You set me on fire and then walked away. You don’t get to show up three months later and comment on what’s left.”
He took that hit without flinching. On the surface, anyway. A muscle in his cheek jumped.
“I’m not commenting. I’m observing.”
“Same thing.”
“No. Commenting is for everyone else. Observing is for people who know the baseline.”
For a second, it hurt. How well he spoke my language. How accurately he named the difference.
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you want, Vince?”
His mouth tightened at the sound of his name from me. As if he wanted Mr. Crow and I’d given him something too intimate instead.
Maybe that’s why I said it again.
“What do you want, Vince?” I repeated. “You already broke my heart. You’ve ticked that box. What’s this? Quality assurance?”
His eyes flickered—pain, quick and buried. If I hadn’t spent a year studying his micro-expressions I might have missed it.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Something ugly and hysterical pushed up in my chest. I laughed. It sounded wrong even to me.
“You told me I was too much work. You told me you didn’t want me. You watched me fall apart in your bedroom and did nothing. Why would you care if I’m okay?”
I dragged in a breath that tasted like blood “Do you know how long I kept waiting for an explanation? Two weeks. I kept telling myself you were in danger. That Damius had threatened you. That you did it to protect me and when it was safe you’d explain.”
His hands curled into fists in his pockets. That was new. He used to hide that better.
“And then,” I continued, because if I stopped I’d start crying, “I realized it didn’t matter why. Not really. The result was the same. My chest was still split open. You were still gone. And I was still the idiot who believed every promise you made.”
His voice dropped. “I meant what I promised.”
I laughed again, sharper this time. “You promised you wouldn’t do this to me, Vince. You sat in that bed and told me you wouldn’t switch me off. That I wasn’t temporary. Do you remember that?”
His throat worked. “Yes.”
“You told me to trust you. I was safe. You would never hurt me.”
His eyes closed briefly, like it physically pained him. “I know.”
“And then, three hours after telling me you loved me, you looked me in the eye and said you didn’t want me. That I was too much work.”
My voice broke on the last word. I hated the sound. Hated how small it made me feel in my own mouth. The worst part was that he didn’t argue.
He just stood there, breathing quietly, letting me talk. As if I was dramatic little child throwing a tantrum.
“You look like you haven’t been sleeping. Why?” His tone was so sharp, I wanted to slap him. Apart of me wanted to turn away. Instead I narrowed my eyes, and stepped slightly forward.
“Why I haven’t been sleeping?”
“Tell me.”
I forced the words out. “Because I sent you things that could ruin me. And I don’t trust you not to use them.”
He went very, very still. Good, I thought viciously. Bleed a little. Let him hear a sentence that doesn’t paint him as noble.
“You think I’d release your photos?” he asked. The calm dropped out of his voice. What replaced it was low and lethal. “Is that what’s keeping you up?”
My chest constricted, but I nodded. “Yes.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you,”
“That’s what you said about breaking me. And yet.” I gestured between us.
His jaw flexed. “I don’t leak what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours. Whatever this was, it’s over. You made that very clear. But those videos… those photos… the recordings… they’re permanent.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “They’re encrypted. Stored offline. Locked down. No one touches them but me.”
“That isn’t reassuring. You being the only one who can destroy my life.”
“I wouldn’t.” His voice roughened.
“And, I’ve heard that line before,”
His stare hardened. “You truly think I could do that to you.”
He sounded hurt. Good, I thought again. Then immediately hated myself for it.
“I don’t know what you’re capable of anymore,” I whispered. “You say you’re protecting me. You say you love me. And then you drop me so cold I nearly freeze. And three months later you’re standing here talking about inventory. What am I supposed to believe?”
He didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.
I looked up at the ceiling to stop the tears gathering again. Chandeliers glittered. Everything sparkled like we weren’t standing there tearing something apart that had already died once.
“I lie awake wondering if today is the day I open my phone and see my own body on someone else’s screen. If you’ll send something as leverage. Or as revenge. Or just because you’re bored and heartless.”
He flinched that time. Properly. Like the image hurt him physically.
“I am not bored. And I am not heartless.”
“You were heartless that night.”
His eyes sharpened. “No. I was calculated. There’s a difference.”
“Feels the same from this side,”
We stared at each other, the air much too still for two people with this much history.
“I will never release anything you gave me. Even if you never look at me again.”
The certainty in it made my throat close.
“I want to believe you,” I said.
“Then do.”
“I did,” I whispered. “Once.”
I could feel him wanting to move closer. The way his shoulders tightened, like his body was arguing with his brain.
He stayed where he was.
“So.” I dragged a deep breath in that hurt. “Now you’ve done your duty. You’ve checked my weight, my fear of revenge porn. Anything else on your list, Mr. Crow?”
“You’re leaving Villain. I saw the request to leave the chambers.” He watched me for a long moment. “Where?”
“St Cross.” My voice shook on the name and I hated that, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ve accepted a permanent post there. Port and infrastructure portfolio. I relocate in four weeks.”
His eyes darkened. “Permanent.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen the word in contracts.”
He didn’t rise to the sarcasm.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“A couple of weeks,” I said. “We finalized it yesterday. My father announced it at lunch like he was talking about a stock split.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me.”
My laugh came out dry. “You blocked my number, Vince.”
He absorbed that like another blow, shoulders tightening.
“Right,” he said. “You’re going alone?”
“Yes.”
“No escort?”
“I’m not your asset to assign security to. It’s a Thorne move. They’ll handle it.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Something about that sentence seemed to hurt him more than anything else I’d said.