Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

A muscle clenches in my jaw and I loosen my hold on her shoulders, starting to step away from her.

I’m unprepared for what she does, though.

Completely and utterly taken off guard.

Just like two fucking years ago.

Gwyneth lunges at me and wraps both arms around my waist. And as if that isn’t enough, she stuffs her face in my chest—her damp face.

I can feel the moisture clinging to my shirt and seeping onto my skin. But it doesn’t stop there, no. It’s like acid, melting away the flesh and bones and reaching for an organ I thought only functioned to pump blood.

If my jaw was clenching earlier, I now feel like it’s going to dislocate from how hard I’m gritting my teeth.

“Gwyneth, let go of me.”

She sinks her nails into the material of my jacket, grazing my back, and shakes her head against my shirt. More moisture, more shaking.

She’s like a leaf that’s about to be blown away and destroyed into pieces.

“One minute…” she whispers against my chest.

“Gwyneth,” I warn, my voice guttural and strong, and I can tell she feels it coming from where her face is hiding.

“Please…I have no one but you.”

Her statement makes me pause. The truth behind her words strikes me deep in that little nook she’s been digging for herself since she was eighteen.

Fuck. It’s true.

With Kingsley gone, she has no one but me.

I let that information sink in, recalling his last words to me over the phone. The fact that I should take care of her.

Take care of his fucking daughter.

I forget that I should be pushing her away, throwing her off me. So Gwyneth interprets my silence as approval and does what Gwyneth does best.

Takes liberties.

She presses her body against mine, sniffling into my chest. And the scent of vanilla hits me in my bones. The sound of her weeping is low, haunted, and I know it’s not every day that she shows this side of her to anyone. Especially me.

I let her grieve, I let her get the excess energy off her chest, because if she doesn’t, she’ll explode.

But I don’t touch her, don’t hug her back, and I sure as fuck don’t comfort her. I keep my hands on either side of me, and my body is stiff, giving off unwelcoming vibes.

Either she doesn’t catch on to them or she doesn’t give a fuck, because she hugs me tighter. This girl has zero understanding of the word boundaries.

I stare over her head and through the window at Kingsley’s inert body and sigh deeply, but even that is mixed with her low sniffles.

Everything is muddied with her pained voice, her soft body, and the smell of fucking vanilla. But my attention remains on the man lying on what seems like a deathbed.

For someone so smart, you did something so fucking stupid, King. You should’ve never entrusted her to me.





5





Nathaniel





Gwyneth falls asleep.

After so much struggle and standing for hours in front of Kingsley’s room, she lost the physical battle and slumped over on one of the chairs in the waiting area.

I told her that she could go home, but she vehemently shook her head, pulled her knees to her chest, and closed her eyes.

Which is why she’s about to fall forward.

I place a finger on her forehead and push her back so she doesn’t hit the ground. It’s light contact, only a damn finger, and yet it feels as if my skin has caught fire and the flames are now extending to the rest of my body.

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have let her hug me. Or I should’ve pushed her away sooner. Because now, even a mere touch brings back memories of her body pressed up against my chest.

Her slender body that I can’t stop thinking about how small it is compared to mine.

I clench my fist and close my eyes to chase away the haze. It doesn’t work. Because even though she’s out of view, her scent clings to me as stubbornly as its owner.

Vanilla was never my thing—in anything. And yet, it’s the one thing I’m able to smell.

When I’ve made sure she won’t drop, I release her. She falls sideways on the chair, still hugging her knees to her chest in some sort of self-comfort.

“Dad…” she murmurs in her sleep, a tear sliding down her cheek.

After all the crying she did earlier, one would think she doesn’t have any tears left, but grief works in mysterious ways. Maybe she’ll never stop crying. Maybe this event will change the life she knew up to this point.

It sure as fuck is making dents into my own.

I remove my jacket and place it on her. It’s supposed to be a single motion, but I’m caught off guard. Again.

Her hand reaches for mine and she grabs it in a steel-like hold, even though her eyes remain shut.

“Don’t go…”

The haunted murmur is packed with so much pain and heartbreak. Maybe it’s a plea, maybe this is her begging like she did earlier.

This is why I don’t like seeing Gwyneth and have done everything in my power to make her as invisible as possible for the past two years.

She’s no longer the innocent little kid I’ve known all her life, though the innocence is still there. She’s not the child who asked me to hide things from her father because she didn’t want to hurt him.

All that stopped when she stopped acting like a kid—toward me, at least.