Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

I like that. She’s your wife. Everything else he said, however, doesn’t have the same impact. “She’s staying out of this and that’s final, Sebastian. Don’t even think about bringing it up to her if things get ugly. I don’t want her involved. Got it?”

He nods slowly but watches me as if we’re meeting for the first time. “You’re different.”

“Different how?”

“A few weeks ago, I swear you would’ve made her stand in front of the press with a carefully written statement and you would’ve prepared her to recite it with the right emotions and body language that would seem innocent but would actually be calculated. You’d make it into a sob story, because that’s what you do best, isn’t it? You use your clients’ goals as a motivator to turn them into actors and win cases. It’s how you’ve gotten this far.”

It is.

That’s how large and limitless my ambition is. I win cases to use them as stepping stones. I win cases, not because I have a sense of justice, but because I’m plagued with an insatiable need to go somewhere.

Anywhere.

Like a train.

“She’s not one of my clients. She’s my best friend’s daughter.”

“Is that all?” He’s smiling again.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get too defensive, Uncle. I’m just asking an innocent question here. Is she only King’s daughter to you?”

“Fuck off.”

“Annnd I got the answer I need.”

“Why do you sound so happy? I thought you were against this marriage.”

“That was when I thought she was caught in one of your webs and would be another stepping stone, but turns out that’s not the case. Maybe it hasn’t been all along.” He hops off the table and taps my shoulder. “Best of luck, Nate.”

“With what?”

“Being caught in someone’s web for once.”

And with that, he strolls out, humming a happy tune.

His words keep playing at the back of my head all day long, refusing to shut up or disappear.

When it’s time to go home, I’m ready to stop trying to ignore Gwyneth’s presence. She’s spent the whole day with the IT girl, according to Grace, and I know that’s one of her peaceful places, so I didn’t call for her. She gave my assistant all the work I asked of her anyway, so I didn’t have a reason to.

Now, I do.

Now, I need to sit her the fuck down and tell her about all her options. The ones I talk to my clients about so they have no rosy thoughts about what’s waiting for them in the real world.

I never wanted Gwyneth to be on the receiving end of that, but I need her to be prepared. I need her to be able to stand tall, even if she becomes a target.

She’s not in the IT department, though. And her silent friend isn’t there either. My jaw tightens when one of the engineers tells me she left with Jane and Christoph.

Of course, it’s fucking Christoph again.

I retrieve my phone and call her as I head to my car, but she doesn’t pick up.

My fist wraps around the steering wheel so tight, I nearly break it from its hinges.

Then I dial her again as I drive out of W&S. Still no answer.

I loosen my tie as I hit the gas and reach the house in record time. She really needs to learn how to answer her fucking phone.

When I go into the house, however, no loud music fills the air and there’s no sound of her off-tune singing and chaotic dancing.

It’s quiet.

Lifeless.

Empty.

Just like the hole she fucking left me with.

Martha has left for the day and it’s just one giant, silent house. This would’ve been my haven not so long ago. This is what I prefer, after all—silence, order, and complete discipline.

This is what I work for, what I like to come home to. But now, that same silence sounds violent and so fucking wrong.

I call her again and yank my tie when she doesn’t pick up.

My head crowds with images of her with Christoph and I nearly break the phone that continues ringing in my ear.

I’m on the verge of breaking other things, too.

My mind is going to ugly places where he has his hands on her, where his hands are on her fucking body. The same body that belongs to me and shouldn’t be touched by anyone but me.

But what makes me really lose it isn’t only that he’s touching her physically but that he’s also reaching her emotionally. That he’s in places I would never fucking be.

That drives me into an obsessive thought process that I wouldn’t allow myself to spiral into under normal circumstances.

But these are anything but normal.

I decide to focus on work since it usually clears my mind.

Not tonight, though.

Because I keep staring at my watch, at the minutes and hours ticking by.

I keep thinking about her barging in to confiscate my coffee and replace it with vanilla flavored green tea. In her words, tea is better for my health and she can’t have me getting sick.

“I’m, like, the protector of W&S right now. Imagine if the mighty Nate Weaver gets sick? Nuh-uh, that can’t happen,” she said the other night when she put the tea on my desk. She was wearing one of her countless pairs of tiny denim shorts and a tank top that fell off her pale shoulders, and her damp hair covered the small of her back. Due to being too impatient, she never properly dries her hair.