Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
PRESENT DAY
Wade
My estate was a fortress of glass, sprawling across the land like a modern cathedral dedicated to nothing but the view. Panoramic windows wrapped three sides of the structure, capturing the Caribbean in perfect, unobstructed frames.
Turquoise water softened into deeper sapphire, and the horizon line was so sharp it could cut. I'd commissioned the place years ago with one specific requirement: I wanted to see the ocean from every room, and the architect had delivered.
Thomas followed me through the marble entryway, his footsteps quiet and efficient. My assistant was thirty-eight and had been with me since he took over the role from his father.
Long enough to anticipate my needs before I voiced them, short enough that he hadn't developed the jaded cynicism that plagued most people in my orbit.
"The security system is fully operational," he reported, his tablet already out, fingers moving across the screen. "Perimeter cameras, gate codes, and the private beach access are set. The staff has been vetted and signed the NDAs."
"Good." I moved to the window, hands in my pockets, and watched a yacht cut across the water far in the distance. Small, white. Probably tourists paying for rum and a sunset.
My reflection in the glass showed me what I already knew—platinum blonde hair that had started picking up silver at the temples—though whether that was age or genetics was anyone's guess.
I was forty-seven and kept my body in shape.
Lean muscle sat under the pale blue linen shirt I'd had tailored, the fabric moving like water against my skin.
My eyes were a blue that photographers always wanted to capture and never quite managed—too pale, too sharp, the kind that made people uncomfortable if I held their gaze too long.
I'd learned to use that discomfort years ago, turning it into an asset.
"Sir." Thomas's tone shifted, the slight uptick that meant he was about to tell me something I'd either enjoy or hate. "I've had several requests come through since we landed."
"Let me guess." I turned from the window, loosening another button at my collar. The Caribbean heat was pleasant but persistent. "Someone wants money."
"Three someones want you."
He pulled up his tablet and angled it so I could see the screen. Three faces stared back at me, all with bedroom eyes and beauty that came from a team of expensive professionals. "They're on the island for a shoot and heard you'd arrived."
I recognized the names. One had been in Europe last year—we'd spent a weekend that involved a hotel suite she'd posted about on social media without my permission. I'd been annoyed, she'd been apologetic. We'd parted amicably enough.
"They want to visit," Thomas continued. "Tonight, specifically. I can arrange transportation to the estate within the hour."
A year ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. I’d have had Thomas pull something obscenely expensive from the cellar, would have enjoyed the evening for exactly what it was—beautiful women, meaningless conversation, and a night that was forgotten by sunrise.
They wanted the story more than anything else, the social currency of having spent time with Wade Easton, and I'd always found that arrangement amusing. Everyone got what they wanted—I got company, they got bragging rights, and my bank account barely noticed the cost.
But that was a year ago, a lifetime before Jax fell in love.
My son had always been like me, cut from the same cloth, living exactly as he pleased, consequences be damned. Women orbited around him the same way they did around me, drawn to the confidence, the money, and the dominance we both wore without apology.
I'd watched him move through life with the kind of ease that came from never wanting for anything, never doubting his place in the world.
Then Estelle happened.
And my son, my reckless, untouchable son, became obsessed.
I’d watched him go from a man who kept staff just to manage his rotation of women, to someone who looked at exactly one person like she hung the moon and the stars and every damn constellation in between.
She'd come with a nephew, Leo, seven years old now, a boy she loved so fiercely it had caught Jax off guard. He'd proposed and married her within a year, and now Leo was legally his son, which made the boy my grandson in every way that mattered.
Now Jovie, my daughter, had beaten him to parenthood by a good few years. Avery was seven, and a walking hurricane. Jovie had built a life I barely recognized—stable and warm with her daughter.
I had two grandchildren.
The realization still hit strangely sometimes. I was forty-seven and two someone's grandfather, a title that should have felt ancient but mostly felt surreal.
I'd produced Jax and Jovie in what could only be described as a business transaction masquerading as marriage. It was one year with a woman whose bloodline was as impeccable as her indifference to me.
We'd had an understanding—two children to carry on the family names, then a quiet divorce and separate lives. She'd held up her end of the bargain, and I'd compensated her generously for the trouble.
The children had been raised by me, which suited everyone involved. No pretense, no messy emotions cluttering up what was essentially a breeding arrangement between two powerful families.
And then I’d picked up my two adoptive sons. They were disasters, through and through, yet had managed to bring out the best in each other. Connor taught them a way to release their emotions, and Adrian… was Adrian. The wild card.
Except now, my sons had found something I'd never even looked for, and it was making me feel things I didn't particularly enjoy feeling.
"Sir?" Thomas's voice pulled me back. "Should I tell them yes?"
I looked at the faces on the screen again. Beautiful, willing, uncomplicated faces. Everything I'd spent the last twenty-five years entertaining myself with.
And I felt nothing.
Not disinterest, exactly. More like distance, like I was watching my own life through the same glass windows that separated me from the ocean—present but not in it. Not the way my sons were with their partners.
"Tell them no for tonight," I said finally, the decision coming easily. "I have dinner with Minister Moreau next week. They can join me afterward at Meridian."
Thomas made a note, his expression neutral. If he was surprised by my restraint, he didn't show it. "The dinner is at five at Le Jardin. I've confirmed the reservation."
Le Jardin was another high-end establishment tucked inland, a place where politicians and power brokers made deals over aged liquor and handshakes that would never see paper.
I'd been in the Caribbean for less than two hours, and I was already working, but that's what this trip was—part vacation, part strategy.
I'd be settling here for a while, maybe a few months, maybe longer. Long enough that I needed the local power structure to understand I was here to enjoy my privacy, not disrupt their operations.
Men like Moreau appreciated that courtesy, but more importantly, they could ensure I got what I wanted without interference.
"Meridian is a lounge inland by Le Jardin," Thomas added. "Invitation only. I've already secured your access, and the models can meet you there late evening.”
That was late enough for the dinner to be done and to compartmentalize—business, then entertainment. Except the entertainment part felt more like obligation now, like I was going through motions because that's what Wade Easton did.
He collected beautiful women, expensive scotch, and lived exactly as he pleased.
"Fine." I moved away from the window, already thinking about the conversation with Moreau. The angles I'd need to play, the connections I'd need to leverage. Politics was just another kind of game, and I'd been playing long enough to bend the rules myself.
Thomas left me alone in the glass cathedral, the ocean stretching endlessly blue beyond the windows. The sun was starting its descent, painting everything in amber and rose gold. Beautiful and expensive.
I poured myself two fingers of scotch from the bar, a bottle most couldn't afford. The liquid was smooth and smoky, burning pleasantly down my throat as I returned to the window.
My reflection ghosted over the view, platinum hair catching the dying light, and I took a moment to appreciate what I'd built. The estate, the empire. The life that men would kill for.
So why was I standing here feeling like something was missing?
Somewhere out there, Jax was probably doing something domestic—helping Leo with homework, making Estelle laugh, living a life I'd never thought he'd want. A life I thought could only be fiction for men like us.
Except it wasn't fiction. It was my son's reality, and I envied him for it.
Since my marriage, I'd had arrangements that lasted weeks or months, always with clear boundaries, always ending before anyone caught feelings I couldn't return.
I was generous, financially and in bed, but I never promised more than I could give. And what I could give was limited, defined by a power exchange that few understood and fewer could handle.
What I wanted, what I'd spent years not quite articulating even to myself, wasn't something I couldn’t find at charity galas or in the beds of women who saw me as a conquest.
I wanted someone who could match me in public—intelligent and capable, confident enough to hold her own in any room. The kind of woman who needed me by choice, who'd built her own life yet wanted me anyway.
I also wanted someone who, behind closed doors, would let all that competence fall away. Who'd trust me enough to be vulnerable, to surrender, to let me take care of everything because she knew I'd never let her fall.
I wanted a woman who was strong enough to be soft with me, who'd choose to need me even though she didn't have to.
The problem was, I hadn't found her.
The women I met performed submission like they performed everything else—calculated and designed to get them what they wanted. I could always tell when someone was playing a role, when the breathless words were just another transaction.
I drained the scotch and set the glass down. The ocean had gone dark, the last of the sunset fading into deep purple twilight. Lights began to bloom along the side shoreline—hotels and restaurants where people were starting their evenings, laughing and drinking.
"Sir?" Thomas reappeared in the doorway, tablet in hand, because the man had a sixth sense for when I needed interruption. "The chef wants to know your preferences for tomorrow's breakfast."
"Whatever he recommends." I didn't turn from the window. "Clear my morning tomorrow. No calls, no meetings."
He paused, careful and weighted. "That's unusual for you, sir."
"Maybe I'm trying something new." I finally looked at him and saw the concern he was too professional to voice. "Or maybe I'm just tired of the same pattern. Either way, I want the morning free."
He nodded slowly, made another note, and disappeared back into the efficient silence that made him invaluable.
I stayed at the window until the ocean was just a dark whisper beyond the glass, until the estate came alive around me with automated lights and security cameras tracking every shadow on the property.
Everything was exactly as I'd designed it—safe, controlled, private. A home that people dreamed of and I'd built without breaking a sweat.
Next week, I'd have dinner with Moreau, charm him into ensuring my stay here remained undisturbed, then meet three supermodels at a lounge where the champagne costs more per bottle than imaginable.
We’d end up at a hotel if things went as usual. I'd be generous, attentive, in control, and by sunrise, they'd leave with a story to tell, and I'd be exactly where I started.
The thought wasn’t appealing.
Instead, I stared at the dark ocean, wondering what it would feel like to find someone who'd make me want to rewrite the pattern entirely. Someone who'd look at me the way Estelle looked at Jax, not at the money or the power, but at the man underneath all the expensive trappings.
Someone who'd be brave enough to trust me with the vulnerable parts of herself, and who'd let me be everything I was without flinching.
I'd spent nearly fifty years being exactly who I wanted to be, living exactly how I pleased. I’d built an empire, raised two children, collected experiences, and enough power to live as I wanted. I'd never apologized for my appetites or pretended to be something I wasn't.
But standing in my glass cathedral, watching the Caribbean night settle over water I could see but not touch, I had to admit that I was ready for something different.
I wondered whether I'd recognize it when I found it, or if I'd gotten so comfortable with control that I wouldn't know what to do with something real.