Chapter 30
Laurette Devereux
My Wolf fucked me against the wall like I was a whore, then kissed my mouth like I was a precious treasure.
Even now, I touch my lips—just lightly—a ghost of pressure where his mouth lingered.
It wasn’t the fucking that undid me. It was the kiss.
Gentle. Unhurried.
It was a kiss that makes you question everything you thought you understood about men.
The Lemaire file sprawls across my desk, pages littered with contradictions and careful lies, each one a testament to how far some men will go to take what was never theirs to begin with.
A knock interrupts my thoughts.
“Ms. Devereux?” Sarah’s voice filters in as she opens the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but Jon David is here to see you.”
His name scrapes across my nerves—nails on a chalkboard.
No.
Not now.
Not him.
“Well, this can’t be good.”
Sarah doesn’t miss a beat. “It never is with him.”
I shake my head. “Has he forgotten how to use a phone?”
She laughs. “He prefers the flair of a surprise visit. It keeps the drama alive.”
Of course he does.
“Send him in, but give me a minute to move this evidence out of view. I don’t want that slippery bastard looking at any of it.”
Because he would try.
He absolutely fucking would.
Jon David is familiar with my habits. He knows I’d have everything spread across my desk at this point—files open, notes layered, every angle of this case under a microscope. He’s counting on it, banking on my efficiency being his advantage.
And that pisses me off.
It grates—disrupting my flow and moving things out of his line of sight to keep him from scavenging for information he’s not entitled to know.
But I do it because I know him. And because this case matters more than my irritation.
A moment later, he steps inside, impeccably dressed with an easy smile, that familiar flicker of calculation in his eyes. He thinks he’s here to shake something loose.
I lean back in my chair, unmoved. “You’re not here for pleasantries, so let’s not pretend. What do you want?”
He closes the door with a soft click.
He strolls toward my desk, letting his gaze sweep over the files.
Fucker.
“Busy morning?” he asks.
“Productive.”
I don’t offer him a seat, but he takes one anyway, settling in as if he still belongs here.
“A lot of noise floating around this morning?”
I rest my elbows on the desk, folding my hands. “Is there? Must’ve missed it. I’ve been a little busy locking down my case.”
A smile twitches at his mouth, polished and rehearsed. He means to imply that he’s already ahead of me.
“You were with someone at the gala.”
I meet his gaze without flinching. “Was I?”
Jon David leans back in the chair across from me—casual posture, legs relaxed, hands folded in his lap. But his eyes betray him. There’s calculation there.
His fingers tap in a rhythm too precise to be aimless. He’s waiting, giving me space to speak.
Silence isn’t passive. It’s pressure. Most people can’t tolerate it.
A pause stretches too long and the brain starts scrambling to repair it, to smooth the discomfort.
We fill it with confessions, clarifications, half-truths we never meant to offer.
We talk just to make it stop. It’s a well-documented tactic—say less, wait longer, let the other person unravel themselves trying to close the gap.
He knows that.
He’s counting on the itch under my skin, the instinct to explain, to justify, to volunteer more than I should.
But I don’t rush to fill it.
I let the silence sit between us, heavy and intact.
“Who is he, Laurette?”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
Jon David, the man who has built his identity around knowing everything, wouldn’t be able to process how I’m fucking someone I didn’t bother to identify. He’d short-circuit if I told him the truth.
The power of that—the chaos of it—inflates a little in my chest.
My amusement sharpens into something colder. “Who he is doesn’t concern you.”
He frowns, only a little, but I catch it. He hates being shut out, especially by me, which is why I don’t give him a single inch.
Jon David smiles again, but it’s hollow. All veneer.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingertips steepled. “You danced with him.”
I arch a brow and remain silent.
“Then the two of you disappeared for quite a while.”
It was a while. Because when My Wolf fucks me, he does it thoroughly.
“And when you came back, you entered the room as strangers, as if you’d never even been together. Separate entrances. No glances. Not a single touch.”
He watches me closely, but I give him nothing.
He leans in a fraction. “What are you hiding, Laurette?”
There it is. The real question.
“Wait—is he married? Is that why you disappeared together?”
That makes me laugh. “If you think I’d let a married man touch me, you’re more delusional than I gave you credit for.”
He smiles. “I’m just saying it’s odd. All that heat on the dance floor, and then nothing. You didn’t want anyone to see you together.”
“Who I’m with and what I do isn’t yours to question anymore. We’re not together. My life isn’t yours to judge.”
Jon David’s smile shifts into something sly—the manipulator, right on cue, as if temptation can make you forget the poison underneath. “We had an exciting sex life, Laurette. You can’t deny that. It could be again if you’d open your mind a little.”
I laugh again, sharper this time. “My sex life is more exciting than you could imagine, more than you could ever comprehend.”
His jaw tightens, but I don’t stop.
“I know you’re wondering, and the answer is yes. He has a magnificent cock, and he knows exactly how to use it.”
I lean forward, voice a whisper meant to slice. “And I’ll never share him with you. So don’t ask.”
He blinks once, his expression scrambling into something defensive.
“I’m not gay,” he says, his voice quick, almost wounded. “And I wish you’d stop acting like I am.”
“Gay… bi… that’s your business. It’s no longer a concern of mine. But if you’re still trying to convince me you’re straight, you’ll need to be a much better liar.”
His eyes narrow. “Have you ever once considered that he might have drugged us both? Perhaps neither of us was aware of what was happening.”
I consider it for a heartbeat and dismiss the thought. That’s textbook Jon David right there, trying to sow confusion, trying to make me second-guess myself. He’s blowing smoke. I’m familiar with his tactics and see through them.
“Sorry. Not buying it, JD.”
His tone sharpens. “I came here on business, not to discuss your latest fuck.”
“I’m not the one who brought it up. What’s your business?”
His posture changes, clipped and formal. “Julian’s death changes everything.”
“Julian’s death changes nothing. Evan still stands trial.”
His jaw flexes. I catch the flicker in his brow, quick but not quick enough. Cracks always show when you recognize where to look.
“You’re going to push forward while his family’s still mourning? You’re going to haul them into court days after they buried their beloved patriarch? That’s not justice, Laurette. That’s cruelty.”
I let the accusation hang, untouched for a moment.
“You’re calling me cruel?”
His smile fades, but I don’t let him find his footing.
“Cruel… because I won’t let a rapist walk?”
He exhales, frustrated. “He’s not a rapist.”
“Oh, but he is. And I’m not in the habit of shielding entitled predators, no matter how suddenly fatherless they become.”
“Evan’s a kid—”
“No. Evan is a grown man who drugged and assaulted a woman. And Julian’s death doesn’t wash the blood off his hands. There’s no grieving clause in the law. He doesn’t get a pass.”
Jon David leans forward, tension winding tighter. “His father died. The family is completely shattered.”
“And what about her? What about the victim’s family who had to watch her fall apart in a hospital bed while he skated home to his estate?”
Silence stretches across the desk, dense and electric.
Jon David scans my expression and leans back in his chair. He offers a slow, deliberate smirk, a charming facade masking his intent to wound.
“Keep telling yourself you’re the hero here. But from where I’m sitting, you look like a vindictive bitch.”
That makes me laugh.
“You’re welcome to think so. I don’t lose sleep over your opinion of me.”
Something flickers across his face. He hides it quickly, but not quickly enough. A glitch in the system.
It’s not frustration. Not even anger. It’s the realization that he doesn’t know me anymore. And maybe he never really did.
His smirk falters, and the mask slips.
“I’m going to bury you in court,” he says. No charm left. Only steel.
I shrug. “We’ll see.”
We hold each other’s stare across the desk. He waits for me to look away. I don’t.
His jaw ticks. Mine doesn’t move.
No shouting. No theatrics. Just two people who know how to destroy each other and are prepared to do so.
He rises and smooths his jacket, too eager to seem uninterested.
There’s venom there, but there’s something else too.
Curiosity.
He wants to know who Bastien is, who has me now, who got past the walls he could never climb.
It’s eating him alive.
“Enjoy your friend and his magnificent cock.” The words are bitter and barbed, a last-ditch jab at me.
I can jab too.
“Trust me, Jon David. I do.”
He holds my gaze a moment too long, then turns and walks out.
Jon David says we could’ve had something more exciting if I’d been willing to try new things—expand my horizons, take a few risks.
He has no idea what I’m trying now.
Or who I’m trying it with.
Or who I fall asleep beside at night.
And if I’m being honest, neither do I.