Chapter 110
Nathan's POV
Claire stiffened slightly. A tiny movement, almost imperceptible, but I saw it. "He's very professional."
"Professional," I repeated, watching how the word made her fingers tighten around the mug she was holding. The porcelain knuckles of her hand turned white. "Is that what you call it?"
She turned to face me, her expression neutral but her eyes wary. Like a cornered animal. "Would you like some honey in your tea?"
"Sure." I watched her move around her kitchen, the way she reached for things, the slight wince when she stretched too far. The car accident had healed, but there were new aches now. Different kinds of strain on her body. I could imagine her with him, his hands on her, and the thought made me sick and excited at the same time.
"You seem tense," I said, moving to sit at the kitchen island. "Work stress?"
"The usual," she replied, not looking at me. The kettle started to whistle, the sound shrill in the quiet apartment. "The urban renewal project is giving me headaches."
"I thought that was going well."
"It is. But there are always complications." She poured the hot water over the tea leaves, steam rising in a fragrant cloud. Her hands were steady, but I noticed the pulse jumping at her throat.
"Bathroom?" I asked, though I knew exactly where it was.
"Down the hall, first door on the right."
I nodded, walking past her. In the bathroom, I closed the door and stared at my reflection in the oversized mirror. The resemblance to Claire wasn't strong—I had my mother's darker coloring—but there was something in the shape of our eyes, the line of our jaws. Just enough that people knew we were related, even if they didn't know how.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to cool the heat that had been building in me since I saw her open the door. As I reached for a towel, I spotted them. Two toothbrushes in the glass by the sink. One white electric model—Claire's, I was sure. And one basic blue manual brush.
A man's toothbrush. In her bathroom.
I gripped the edge of the sink, water dripping from my face onto the pristine marble. She wasn't just fucking him. He was staying over. Regular enough to keep things here. The thought sent a surge of rage through me so powerful that for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
My gaze landed on the small cabinet under the sink. I hesitated only a moment before pulling it open. Inside were her usual toiletries, neatly organized. Face creams in expensive jars. Makeup remover. A box of tampons. But tucked in the back, partially hidden behind the box of tampons, was something else. Something small and teardrop-shaped. An anal plug.
My face burned as I picked it up. It was clean, obviously well-used. The silicone was smooth and slightly flexible in my hand. I'd seen enough porn to know exactly what it was for. The image of Claire using this—of Brown using this on her—made me dizzy with rage and something else I didn't want to name. Something dark and twisted that had lived inside me for years.
I put it in my pocket and closed the cabinet.
When I returned to the kitchen, Claire was cutting a lemon for the tea. The sharp citrus scent filled the air. She didn't hear me approach over the sound of the knife on the cutting board. I moved behind her, close enough to smell her shampoo, and wrapped my arms around her waist.
She froze. "Nathan, what are you doing?"
"Just giving my sister a hug." I pressed closer, my chest against her back. I felt her stiffen, her body rigid in my arms.
"Nathan." Her voice had that edge now, the one she used in boardrooms. The one that made grown men squirm. "We're not huggers. Let go."
I loosened my grip but didn't step back. "You seem different lately. Happier."
She turned in my arms, facing me now, her back against the counter. Her eyes were hard, like emeralds under glass. "Nathan, this isn't appropriate. We're siblings."
"Half-siblings," I corrected, echoing Richard's earlier words. The distinction suddenly seemed vitally important. "And I'm worried about you."
"There's nothing to worry about." Her voice was firm, but I saw the flicker of unease in her eyes.
"You're not being careful," I said, my voice dropping lower. "People notice things, Claire."
"What are you talking about?" Her eyes searched mine, looking for answers.
"About your bodyguard. About the two of you."
Claire's expression hardened. "There is no 'two of us.' Daniel works for me. That's all."
"Daniel?" I smiled, bitter. "Not Mr. Brown anymore? When did that change?"
"Nathan, you're being ridiculous." She tried to push past me, but I didn't move.
"Am I?" I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small teardrop-shaped object. Claire's eyes fixed on it, her pupils contracting sharply. The color drained from her face, leaving her lips the only spot of color. "I know everything," I said quietly, watching her expression. "About you and him."
She stared at the plug in my hand, then back at my face. For once, the perfect Claire Stanton was speechless. I saw fear in her eyes, but also something else—anger, building like a storm.
"You went through my things." Her voice was deadly quiet.
"I did." I didn't bother denying it. "And I found out what you've been doing. What you've been letting him do to you."
Her hand shot out, trying to grab the plug from me, but I held it just out of reach. "Give that back and get out," she hissed.
"Does Richard know about this too? About how depraved you've gotten?"
Claire's hand cracked across my face, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. My cheek burned, but I didn't move. Instead, I smiled, feeling something dark and satisfied unfurl inside me. I'd gotten under her skin. Finally.
"Get out of my apartment," she said, her voice shaking with rage.
"Claire—"
"Now!" She pointed to the door, her arm trembling. "Or I'll call security."
I stepped back, pocketing the plug again. "You can't hide this forever, Claire. Sooner or later, everyone will know what you're doing. What you've become."
Her green eyes were cold as she stared at me. "What I do in my private life is none of your business. Not yours, not Richard's, not our father's. No one's."
I looked at her—really looked at her. The woman I'd admired for so long. The sister who'd always been kind to me, even when others in the family weren't. The only person who'd ever made me feel like I belonged. Now she was pushing me away, choosing someone else over family. Over me.
"You're making a mistake," I said quietly. "He'll ruin everything you've worked for."
Claire didn't respond, just pointed at the door again. The dismissal hurt more than her slap had.
I walked to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. "I'm trying to protect you," I said, not looking back at her. "That's all I've ever done."
"I don't need your protection." Her voice was steady now, controlled. The Claire I knew. "I need you to respect my boundaries."
I laughed, hollow and bitter. "Boundaries? That's rich, coming from you. I'm not leaving."