Chapter 37 37

Chapter 37 37
CAESAR LAURENT

Iris wasn’t home when I got to the estate.

I stood in the middle of our bedroom, staring at the bed that still looked untouched from this morning, and called her.

No answer.

I called again and it went straight to voicemail. What the hell was she doing now? I walked back downstairs and found Naomi in the kitchen, going through something on her tablet.

“Where’s Iris?” I asked.

She looked up, setting the tablet down. “She went out.”

“Out where?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

I was midway through dialing her number for the third time when the phone vibrated against my palm with a buzz that made my heart leap. But it wasn’t a callback. It was a photo.

In the glow of the screen, Iris looked radiant, her head tucked perfectly into the hollow of Aaron’s shoulder. He had that smug, breathless look of a man who couldn't believe his luck. A hot, static hum started in my ears, and the edges of the world began to bleed into a dark, pulsing red.

I turned back to Naomi. “Do you know this place?”

She glanced at the photo and her face fell. “That’s The Apex. It’s a rooftop lounge in the financial district. She goes there when she needs a break.”

She barely finished the word “Apex” before I was moving. The air outside was cool, but I was burning up, my lungs pulling in sharp, ragged breaths. I was halfway to the car when a car cut through the gloom, sweeping across the estate gates.

Aaron’s sleek silver hood. My feet hit the pavement and stayed there as the car came to a halt near the entrance, and the driver’s side door opened.

He rounded the car with a light jog before swinging the passenger door wide. I watched Iris tumble out, her heels skidding on the gravel and his hands were already there, locking around her waist to pull her flush against him.

She let out a messy giggle that only came with too many drinks and too much comfort. It was the sound of my undoing. The world narrowed until all I could see was the blur of her swaying form and his hands holding her up.

I cleared the driveway in a blur, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of my stride echoing off the stone. Aaron saw me close the distance, his grip tightening on her as if daring me to bridge the gap.

“Caesar,” he said calmly. “Good timing. She’s all yours.”

I ignored him, turning to Iris whose hair had come undone, spilling in dark waves over her shoulders. She looked wrecked and entirely gone.

I watched her eyes struggle to find mine, and when they did, she let out a soft, breathless giggle that felt like a slap to the face. “Look at you,” she said, her words slurring slightly. “Acting like a husband now.”

I reached for her, but he shoved me away, stumbling back into Aaron’s arms.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, holding onto Aaron like he was the only thing keeping her upright.

Aaron’s hand was still on her waist. “Let her be, man,” he said easily. “I’ve got this.”

“Get your hands off her.”

“She doesn’t want me to.”

I stepped closer. “Iris. Come here.”

She shook her head, still leaning against Aaron. “No.”

“Iris—”

“I said no!”

I ran a hand down my face, trying to breathe, trying not to lose my shit completely in front of him. But she was embarrassing me. Standing there drunk, clinging to him and laughing at me like I was nothing.

“You’re my wife,” I roared, the words tearing from my throat. “And you will not humiliate me with him. I’m the one who should be holding you. I’m the one who should be touching you. Not him. Never him.”

“You have no right,” she spat. “You forced me to my knees on the pavement and you walked away, Caesar. You don't get to stand here now and pretend you give a fuck.”

“She’s got a point,” Aaron said from beside her.

I turned to him. “If you touch her again, I will bury you.”

Aaron didn’t so much as blink. “You can’t even bury your own fear, Caesar,” he said. “How are you going to bury me?”

My knuckles turned white, the urge to shatter his jaw vibrating through my entire frame. I wanted to see him bleed; I wanted to erase that smug confidence with a single blow. But Iris was a ghost between us, swaying on her feet, her gaze drifting.

I stepped into his space, my hands closing around her arm. I didn't rip her away, but there was a finality to the movement as I reclaimed her. She shoved at my chest, a weak, clumsy protest that lacked any real heat.

“Let go,” she slurred, the words thick.

“No.”

Aaron just watched, his hands tucked casually in his pockets like he was observing a play. “Take care of her, Caesar,” he called out as I turned. “She’s had a rough day.”

I simply hauled her toward the house, her dead weight a stinging reminder of everything I was losing.

She stumbled beside me, her weight leaning heavily against my side. “I don’t need you,” she mumbled.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t.”

Her heels caught on the first step and before she could hit the ground, I swept her up in one fluid motion. She felt dangerously light, a fragile thing held together by spite.

This time, the fight had drained out of her; she just slumped against my chest, her breath warm and smelling of gin.

“Why do you care?” she murmured, the question drifting up. Her eyes were glassy, searching mine for a truth I wasn't ready to give.

I set her on the edge of the mattress and she sat there for a moment, swaying slightly, then looked up at me.

“You don’t love me,” she said.

“No,” I agreed. “I don’t.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

I knelt in front of her and started unlacing her heels. “Because you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”

She laughed bitterly. “I’m not yours.”

“Yes, you are.” I pulled off one shoe, then the other. “Whether you like it or not.”

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she whispered, “You’re impossible.”

I stood and pulled the blanket over her. “So are you.”

She drifted off before her head even hit the pillow, her breathing leveling into the rhythmic hum of the deeply drunk.

I killed the light, the darkness rushing in to swallow the room, and retreated to the couch. I sat, my body heavy and useless, my hands trembling with an anger I couldn't switch off.

It wasn't fear. I’d never feared a man like Aaron. It was the skin-crawling reality that his hands had been on her. That she had leaned into the very person I’d spent a lifetime trying to bury.

The fact that I was sitting here, counting her breaths instead of walking away, was the bitterest pill of all.