Chapter 109
Nathan's POV
I'd been watching them for weeks. Claire and her "bodyguard." The way he looked at her when he thought no one was paying attention. His eyes never leaving her, tracking her movements like she was the center of his universe. The way she seemed softer around him, her usual sharp edges smoothed down like she'd been polished. Her voice took on a different tone when she spoke to him—lighter, almost musical. It made my stomach twist into painful knots.
"You're not doing enough," I said, pacing Richard's hotel room. My voice bounced off the expensive walls, echoing my frustration. The thick carpet muffled my heavy footsteps as I moved back and forth. "Why haven't you looked into what's going on between Claire and Daniel? It's obvious there's something between them."
Richard sat on the edge of his bed, loosening his tie with practiced fingers. His hazel eyes followed me, calm and calculating. The afternoon light from the window caught the gold flecks in his irises. "Nathan, you need to relax."
"Relax?" I stopped in front of him, my hands trembling with barely contained rage. "Have you seen them together? The way he watches her? The way she's changed?"
"People change. Claire's a grown woman." He shrugged, like we were discussing the weather instead of my sister's questionable relationship with her employee. The casual dismissal made my blood boil.
"She's engaged to you!" My hands clenched into fists, nails digging painfully into my palms. "Don't you care? Does your reputation mean nothing to you?"
Richard smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Our arrangement has always been... flexible. Why do you care so much?"
I turned away, not wanting him to see whatever was written on my face. The jealousy that burned inside me whenever I thought about Claire with someone else. "She's my sister."
"Half-sister," Richard corrected, making my jaw clench so tight I thought my teeth might crack. "And she's older than you. She can make her own decisions."
"Bad decisions." I walked to the window, looking out at Seattle's skyline. The Space Needle stood in the distance, piercing the cloudy sky. "You should be doing something. Setting boundaries. You're her fiancé."
"On paper." Richard stood up, joining me at the window. I could smell his expensive cologne, sharp and citrusy. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but Claire and I understand each other. Besides, what proof do you have?"
I thought about Claire at Sunday dinner last week. The way she laughed more easily, head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. The faint mark on her ankle that makeup couldn't quite hide—a small red bruise I was certain was a kiss mark. The new glow about her that made my father comment on how beautiful she looked. "You're radiant, Claire," he'd said, and she'd smiled in a way I'd never seen before.
"I just know," I said, my voice lower now. "Something's different about her. She walks differently. Smiles more. She even jokes with our father now."
"So what if it is?" Richard's reflection in the glass showed no concern. "Our engagement serves its purpose. Her personal life is her business."
"It's disrespectful to you. To our families. To the agreement." My voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Richard laughed, a short, sharp sound that felt like a slap. "When did you become so traditional? This isn't about respect. This is about something else with you."
I felt heat crawl up my neck, spreading across my face. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You tell me." His eyes narrowed, studying me like I was a specimen under a microscope. "You've always had an... interesting relationship with Claire."
The implication hung in the air between us. I wanted to deny it, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I turned away from the window, needing to move, to escape his knowing gaze.
"I'm going to check on her."
"Now?" Richard raised an eyebrow, checking his Rolex. "It's almost nine."
"She'll be home." I already had my coat in my hands, feeling the soft leather between my fingers. "Unless she's with him."
"Nathan." Richard's voice stopped me at the door. "Be careful. Claire doesn't like people interfering in her life."
I didn't respond, just pulled the door closed behind me with more force than necessary.
---
Three days later
I knocked on Claire's apartment door at Queen Anne Heights, my heart beating faster than it should. The hallway was silent except for the soft hum of the building's heating system. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and waited. I heard movement inside, then her voice.
"Who is it?"
"It's Nathan."
A pause, then footsteps. The door opened, and there she stood in a loose cream cashmere set, her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. No makeup. She looked younger this way, more like the Claire I remembered from years ago. Before she became the polished corporate executive. Before she belonged to the world instead of just to our family. To me.
"Nathan? What are you doing here?" Her voice was surprised but not unhappy. The scent of her perfume—something expensive with notes of jasmine—wafted toward me.
I smiled, trying to look casual. "I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
She didn't believe me—I could see it in the slight narrowing of her green eyes, so like our father's. But she stepped aside anyway. "Come in."
Her apartment smelled like her—that expensive perfume she always wore, mixed with something else now. Something masculine. Sandalwood and leather. My teeth clenched as I scanned the living room, looking for signs of him. A jacket draped over a chair. A pair of shoes by the door. Anything. But the place was immaculate, as always.
"That's a lie," I said, dropping onto her couch. The leather was soft, buttery beneath my hands. "I wasn't in the neighborhood. I wanted to see you."
Claire closed the door, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is everything okay?"
"Where's your shadow?" I asked instead of answering.
"My what?"
"Brown. Your bodyguard." I watched her face carefully, noting the slight stiffening of her posture. "He's usually glued to your side these days."
She walked to the kitchen, her back to me. "He has time off. Even bodyguards get to go home, Nathan." Her voice was even, controlled. Too controlled.
I followed her, leaning against the doorframe as she filled a kettle. The kitchen was all sleek surfaces and hidden appliances. Expensive, like everything Claire owned. "How's school?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Fine. Got another award last week." I tried to sound casual, but I couldn't help the pride that crept into my voice.
She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. "The Peterson Scholarship? That's impressive."
"You heard about it?"
"I keep tabs on you." She turned back to the stove, the blue flame reflecting in the polished backsplash. "I'm proud of you."
Something warm spread through my chest at her words. Like sunshine after a long winter. "Thanks."
"God," she said, half-laughing, "if Alexander had even half your drive, I'd be grateful."
Her words sent a spike of pleasure through me. I'd always been better than Alexander in Claire's eyes. It was one of the few advantages of being the bastard son—I had to work harder, be smarter. Claire respected that. Maybe even admired it.
"Does he?" I asked, stepping closer. Close enough to smell her shampoo. Something floral and clean.
"Does who what?" She measured tea leaves into a pot, her movements precise.
"Brown. Does he have drive?"