Chapter 40 40

Chapter 40 40
CAESAR LAURENT

I was sitting at the desk in the bedroom, staring at nothing, my mind replaying Iris running out of the room.

What did you tell Aaron?

She’d said nothing. But she was lying.

I knew she was lying because I’d seen the look on her face; the same look she had when she was caught off guard or when she knew she’d said too much.

What contract was she talking about?

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Mr. Laurent?” One of the staff, a young woman whose name I couldn’t remember. “Your father would like to see you in his study.”

I stood slowly. “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment.”

She nodded and left.

I ran a hand through my hair and walked toward the door, my mind still on Iris. When I got to my father’s study, the door was slightly open. Despite that, I gave the wood a single, firm knock and stepped inside. He stood behind his desk, his back to me as he looked out the window.

“Close the door,” he said without turning around.

I closed it. I kept my hand on the knob for a second too long, my jaw tight, before turning to face him.

The object was a blur. I saw it coming, but I was too slow—or maybe, subconsciously, I knew better than to dodge. The Sharpie caught me square on the cheekbone, the plastic cap slicing a clean line into the skin before it hit the floor with a hollow thud.

I didn't move a muscle. I just stood there, staring at the back of his head, feeling the stinging heat bloom under my eye. I reached up, my movements slow, and wiped a single drop of blood away with my thumb. I looked at the red smear on my skin, then back at him.

“What the hell were you doing,” He said, turning around fully, “while your wife was gathering evidence that could ruin this family?”

I stared at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play stupid with me.” He stepped out from behind the desk. “Iris has her father’s copy of the contract. The original contract. If she’d been hasty—if she’d leaked it—do you have any idea what could have happened to our empire?”

“Why do I need to be aware of something that happened when I was a child?” I asked, raising my chin. I kept my voice level, though my throat felt like it was lined with glass. “Why did you have to be so sloppy and not take care of it?”

He went very still, cocking his head to the side before walking toward me.

Every step he took felt like it was crushing the air out of the room. My instinct was to brace, to widen my stance, but I forced myself to remain casual.

He stopped right in front of me, his eyes boring into mine. Up close, he smelled of expensive tobacco and a coldness that no hearth could warm.

“What’s giving you this confidence to talk back to me?” His voice was chillingly quiet, the skin around his eyes tightening. “Have you forgotten about Aaron?”

“I see Aaron at the office every day,” I said. I met his gaze, refusing to be the first to blink. “Of course I haven’t forgotten him. But I’ve decided not to be bothered by either you or him.”

His hand shot out in a blur of movement I’ve spent a lifetime trying to predict, and gripped my shoulder. His fingers dug into the muscle, finding the exact pressure points that would make a lesser man buckle.

I didn’t wince. I refused to. I watched him with a mask of boredom while my pulse hammered a frantic, heavy rhythm against my ribs.

“Are you aware,” he said slowly, his thumb pressing into my collarbone, “that I had Hugh followed?”

Something cold slid down my spine, but I kept my expression neutral. I couldn't let him know that he'd finally hooked the bait.

“Why would Hugh tell me such a thing?” I asked.

“Don’t act coy with me, boy. I know you’re conniving with him against me.”

I reached up and removed his hand from my shoulder, my grip firm, and took a step back. “Bring me evidence of me doing anything,” I said. “And then I’ll answer to you.”

He smiled, and for a second, I thought I’d won the round. “You bet I will.”

I turned to leave, my back to him, already imagining the door opening, the escape.

“One.”

The word hit me like a punch to the chest, stealing the air from my lungs as it jerked me backward through time. I hadn’t heard that tone that promised violence in years. Not since I was nineteen.

“Two.”

I turned slowly. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else, heavy and uncoordinated. Father was watching me, a devilish look on his face, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a man who had just remembered he still held the remote to my nervous system.

My hands were shaking.

I shoved them into my pockets, trying to crush the movement, to force them still, but the tremors traveled up my arms and settled in my jaw.

“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten,” He said. “Because if I find out you’re doing things behind my back, you’ll meet that fate again. And this time, Caesar, I won’t stop at five.”

I couldn’t speak. The façade was gone, buried under a landslide of memories and all I could do was stand there, rooted to the expensive rug.

“Get out of my sight,” Victor said, dismissing me and in that moment I recalled iris calling me his dog.

I forced my spine to stay straight as I walked out. I passed the staff—the maid with the downcast eyes, the valet who suddenly found a spot on the wall very interesting. They were pretending not to notice the blood drying on my cheek or the way my hands were vibrating with a tremor I couldn't kill.

I went to the bar first. The crystal decanters clinked against my fingernails, announcing my weakness to the empty room. I grabbed two bottles of whiskey without reading the labels, my grip so tight the glass felt like it might shatter.

Then I went to the gym.

As soon as I met the cold floor, the first bottle already open. I drank long, deep gulps that scorched my throat, but the fire in my chest was colder.

One.

Two.

I pressed my head back against the mirror, closing my eyes to find “anything else,” but the darkness behind my lids was a trap.

Suddenly, I wasn't in the gym. I was in the basement.

I could feel the grit of the concrete against my knees and hear the terrifyingly calm cadence of my father’s voice as he stood over me, counting the seconds of my life away.

One. Two. Three.

A sudden whoosh echoed through the gym—the HVAC kicking on or a door settling—and I flinched so violently the whiskey sloshed over my hand.

I took another desperate pull from the bottle, trying to drown the nineteen-year-old boy who was currently screaming inside my skin. I thought I’d buried him. I thought I’d paved over that basement with muscle and money and coldness.

But he had dug him up with two syllables.

I finished the first bottle, the glass clicking against the floor as I reached for the second. I was a “Laurent.” I was supposed to be a titan. Instead, I was… this.

Then, the worst happened. I heard familiar footsteps.

“Caesar?”

Iris.

My body screamed to stay down, to hide in the shadows, but I forced my fingers to wrap around the neck of the bottle and shoved it behind a weight bench. I tried to stand. I made it halfway, my muscles screaming, my vision swimming, before my knees hit the mat again.

“Caesar?”

I lifted my head slowly as she entered and for a second, I expected pity. But instead, her gaze dropped to the blood on my cheek.

And she smiled.