Chapter 41 41

Chapter 41 41
CH. 41

IRIS QUINN

I found him in the gym.

I’d been looking for him for twenty minutes, checking the bedroom, the office, even the study after Victor had left. No one had seen him. Then Mrs. Hale mentioned she’d seen him heading toward the west wing with bottles in his hands.

The gym, she’d said.

I pushed the door open slowly. Caesar was fighting the floor, one hand white-knuckled around the neck of a whiskey bottle and the other shoved against the wall for leverage. He was struggling to stand, his muscles jumping with a strain that looked painful.

He made it halfway up, his boots skidding slightly on the rubber mats, before his knees betrayed him. He dropped, his back hitting the wall with a heavy thud that echoed through the empty gym.

His hands were shaking. Not a lot, but enough that I could see the liquid inside the bottle sloshing against the glass.

I should have turned around right then. Walked away. Left him there to whatever this was.

But I didn’t.

Because the man sitting on that floor wasn’t the one who’d raised his hand at the board meeting. Wasn’t the one who’d told me I’d lost everything.

This version was broken and… useful. The thought made my stomach turn, but I didn’t push it away. He had made me kneel in front of strangers and walked away without keeping his word. I couldn't let the sight of the blood soften the memory of the pavement against my knees.

I stepped closer, keeping my voice soft. “Did he do that to you?”

Caesar went completely still. Then his head turned slightly, his eyes landing on me for half a second before looking away.

“Get out,” he said quietly.

I didn’t move. “Caesar—”

“I said get out.”

There wasn’t anger in the way he spoke. Just emptiness and somehow that was worse. I watched him take another drink from the bottle, his hand still trembling.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said without looking at me.

“Like what?”

“Like you pity me.”

I almost laughed. “I don’t pity you.”

“Good.” He set the bottle down beside him. “Then leave.”

I ignored his command, walking closer before sitting down on the floor a few feet away from him. He reeked of whiskey. “Who smells like a distillery now?” I teased, shaking my head.

I saw his throat move as he swallowed and a treacherous flicker of pity sparked in my chest. To stop myself from reaching out to touch the cut on his face, I reached over and snatched the bottle from beside him.

“What are you—”

I took a long drink, the whiskey burning down my throat and settling hot in my chest.

“Ah!” I exhaled sharply, setting the bottle down between us. “I needed that.”

Caesar was staring at me now, his expression somewhere between confusion and suspicion. “What are you after?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t do anything without a reason.”

I looked at him. “Maybe I was bored.”

He scoffed. “Bored.”

“Whether you believe it or not,” I said, leaning back on my hands, “we’re kind of in the same boat.”

He picked up the bottle and took another drink. “What are you talking about?”

I sighed. “Your father found out about the contract. The one my father hid away.”

Caesar went still. “How?”

“Like you don’t already know.” I sighed, “But it was Aaron.”

He let out a mocking laughter. “It took you a while to listen.”

I reached for the bottle and he let me take it. The alcohol was making everything softer around the edges, dulling the sharpness of my thoughts. I handed the bottle back to him.

“I should have listened to you,” I said. “And now I’m in a mess because of that slip-up.”

He took the bottle but didn’t drink. Just looked at me. “So?”

“So I need advice.” I paused. “What should I do?”

Caesar blinked. “Are you drunk already?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why the hell are you asking me for advice?”

“I don’t know.” I looked down at my hands. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not the only person who would be affected if your father makes it look like my mother and I leaked that article.”

“So?” he repeated.

I sucked in a breath. “So I need your help.”

The words hung there as Caesar stared at me like I’d just spoken a different language, his brow furrowed against the fog of the whiskey. “Help you,” he said slowly.

“Yes.”

“Stop my father.”

“Yes.”

“Why would I do that?”

I looked at him directly. “Because it’s the least you can do for making me kneel on the street and walking away without keeping your word.”

Caesar snorted—actually snorted—and took another drink. “That’s your fault for trusting me.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

He blinked again, the rhythm of his breathing hitching as if he hadn’t expected me to agree.

“You’re right,” I repeated. “I shouldn’t have trusted you. But I did. And now we’re both sitting on the floor of a gym getting drunk because your father has us both by the throat.”

He silently stared at the far wall, the tremor in his hands finally beginning to dull into a heavy, slumped stillness. The chill around him was now replaced by a hollow exhaustion that made him look human in a way that made me feel uneasy.

I reached for the bottle again. This time, he didn’t fight me. He handed it over without resistance, his fingers brushing mine for half a second. I drank, then set it down between us.

“I don’t think you’re as powerless as you look,” I said.

Caesar didn’t respond. He just looked at me as something dark shifted in his eyes.

“You hate him more than I do,” I continued.

Still nothing, so I pushed harder, hating that I was sitting here on the floor trying to crack him open.

“You wouldn’t be drinking on a gym floor if you didn’t,” I said.

He tilted his head slightly, a ghost of his usual arrogance flickering through the haze. “You’re fishing.”

I looked at him seriously. “And what if I am?”

Caesar sat up straighter, though he swayed a little, the alcohol clearly working through his system. He braced his hand against the floor to steady himself. “What exactly did you discuss with my father?”

This was the line. Once crossed, there was no stepping back.

“The truth?” I said. “Your father is suspicious of you. He thinks you’re working against him. And he plans on removing you if he finds substantial evidence.”

Caesar swallowed thickly.

“And,” I continued, “it looks like there’s a replacement already lined up.”

He went very still. “What are you talking about?”

“I might be everything,” I said, “but I’m not stupid. If Aaron told Victor about a contract that has nothing to do with him, it’s because he wants something. And I know what that something is.”

Caesar waited, his breathing shallow and tight.

“Your position,” I said.

Caesar stared at me for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing on something bitter and to my surprise, he laughed loudly, brushing his hair away from his face. “So that’s why you came. To get something out of me.”

“No,” I leaned into his space. “I came because what I said earlier is true. We’re on the same boat.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“You have a position to keep. I have shares to protect. So why not work together?”

Caesar watched me intently, his eyes sharpening despite the alcohol.

“Continue,” he said.

I took a breath, the smell of iron and scotch filling my lungs. “Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you what I know. Let’s work together.” I paused, letting the final blow land. “What do you say, husband?”

Caesar picked up the bottle and took another drink, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he set it down with a clink against the floor.

“You first,” he said.