Chapter 71 71. Kneel For Me
Ronan had direct connections with the Chief Justice himself?
The man standing on that lawn was the same man I'd seen at Ronan's after-party. The one whose presence had made my instincts scream that something was wrong. I would have found out something that day... if not for Camila's mother.
The smile he'd been giving the dog dropped instantly. His face hardened, deep lines settling in.
"You said ten o'clock. It's five minutes past."
"My apologies. Traffic-"
He made a short sound in his throat, the kind men made when they were already done with you. No interest and patience left. He clasped his hands behind him and walked toward the house without another word.
I followed.
"Why did you want to see me, Mr. Hayes?" he asked, not bothering to look back.
"I want a charge removed."
We stepped inside. Marble floors and dark wood paneling as expected. Old money showing itself off like it needed applause. He led me into a living room dominated by leather furniture and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Judge Taylor sat in a high-backed chair like it was a throne. When I moved to sit on the sofa across from him, he snapped,
"Did I give you permission to sit?"
Every instinct told me to walk out, to tell this man exactly where he could shove his permission, but the damned image of that ankle monitor on my girl's leg dragged me back to stillness.
"I'm here to make you an offer. Leave Ronan's side and come to mine. Give me your price."
"Name my price?" His gray eyes dragged over me. "How generous of you, Mr. Hayes. Tell me, do you always conduct business from a position of desperation?"
"I'm not desperate. You want something. I want something. We make a deal."
"A deal." His lips curved into something not quite a smile. "You think you can ignore my attempts at alliance for years, then walk in here now and purchase loyalty like you're in a market?"
Before I could respond, heels clicked against the marble floor. A woman cat-walked into the room. Mid-twenties, designer dress, with the kind of beauty that came from expensive procedures and maintenance.
"Daddy," she purred, draping herself over the arm of his chair. "This is Lucien Hayes? Hm. He's not nearly as impressive up close. Though he'd be taller."
I looked at her. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused." She flicked her hair off her shoulder. "I don't know why my father bothered meeting you."
"Victoria," Taylor said, affection softening his voice. Then to me: "You may not remember, but my daughter and I have been trying to align with the Hayes family for years."
I did remember, just not the exact one. Invitations to galas I'd ignored, business proposals I'd had Rafe reject, a particularly persistent approach at some charity event where I'd made it abundantly clear I wasn't interested.
"Instead, you sent warnings, blocked our calls. You made it clear the Taylor family wasn't worthy of your attention." He gestured at me dismissively. "And now, after settling for a lowly kitchen girl, you need my help keeping your murderer of a girlfriend out of prison."
Kitchen girl. The words made my hands curl into fists.
"I wanted Victoria to be your wife, your equal, someone worthy of your name. But you turned us down."
Spoiled daughters of powerful men always saw me the same way-something shiny to place on their shelf. I wasn't interested then. I wasn't interested now.
"I don't apologize for my choices."
"Of course. Arrogance never apologizes." Taylor seemed pleased. "That arrogance is exactly why you're standing alone in my living room with no leverage and no options."
"Daddy doesn't want you anymore anyway," Victoria added. "I have a much better suitor now. Someone who actually values we, the Taylors."
I almost laughed. "Lucky him."
Her eyes narrowed.
Taylor lifted a hand. "Let's get to the point. You want my help? Fine. Here's my offer." He leaned back. "Get on your knees. Beg me to join your side. Beg like you finally understand your place. Beg with the sincerity that convinces me you've learned your lesson about dismissing people you deem beneath you."
The room fell silent except for the ticking of an antique clock on the mantle.
Victoria sat up straighter. "No. Not enough." She crossed her legs slowly. "He should kiss my feet. Since he's about to be my father's little servant. Get on your knees, Lucien. Kiss my feet. Show us how far you'll go for your criminal sweetheart."
I looked at her, then at Taylor. They were both waiting, and visibly convinced they'd cornered me. A short cough slipped out before I could stop it. Then there was silence again.
I closed my eyes only for a second and dropped to one knee.
Shock hit their faces hard. Victoria's smile climbed real high like she already saw me broken. She lifted one leg, and the foot pointed toward me.
I took her ankle in my hand, lifted it toward my face... and spat directly on her leg.
She screamed and jerked her leg back, spittle running down her calf.
"You-you disgusting-Daddy!"
I stood, brushing off my knee. Very unpleasant but necessary task.
"Go fuck yourselves. Both of you."
Taylor's face turned a shade of purple I didn't know humans came in. "You've just ruined your life. I will make sure the judge buries her under the maximum sentence."
I was already walking away. My mistake was thinking men like him could ever be reasoned with.
They want me humiliated? Broken? Good luck with that.
Victoria's voice shrieked behind me, promising destruction, prison, regret, but it all blurred into static as I slammed the door behind me.
I drove too fast. The speedometer climbed past ninety, the engine roaring like it wanted blood as I tore down the highway back toward the city.
"We should play fair." Camila's voice in my head.
Could we win that way? With Ronan holding all the cards, with judges and prosecutors in his pocket, with evidence stacked against her that no amount of legal maneuvering could fully explain away?
Or was fairness just another word for losing?
And Elysium. God, Elysium. I'd wanted that empire for one reason and one reason only-to reduce it to ashes while Don watched helplessly from his deathbed.
That inheritance he'd never intended for his bastard son, that prize he'd dangled for a decade like I was a dog begging for scraps. The victory he never meant for me to have.
I finally won.
And burning it to nothing would've been the last hit in my revenge.
If I gave it to Ronan, how would I make Don feel that pain?
How would I get the satisfaction of destroying everything the old man had built?
But what was revenge worth if Camila spent the next twenty years in prison?
Her beautiful smile this morning... the way she tugged my tie, the way she kissed me like she trusted every word I said, the hope in her eyes when I promised to take her out tonight.
That hope would die in prison. Day by day, year by year, until there was nothing left of the bright, fierce woman I loved.
My revenge can wait.
Camila cannot.