I’m across the room before the words finish leaving his mouth, my fist connecting with his jaw in a satisfying crack. Knox stumbles back but recovers quickly, launching himself at me with the wild enthusiasm he brings to everything.
We crash into a marble side table, sending crystal decanters flying. Knox gets his hands around my throat, but I drive my knee into his ribs, loosening his grip enough to grab a fistful of his shirt and slam him against the nearestpillar.
“She’s not like the others,” I snarl, dodging his wild swing.
“She’s exactly like the others!” Knox roars back, blood trickling from his lip. “But you’re too pussy-whipped to see it!”
My vision goes red. I tackle him to the ground, and we roll across the marble floor, throwing punches and grappling like we’re teenagers again instead of grown men who run an empire.
Knox manages to pin me for half a second before I buck him off, my elbow catching him in the temple. He staggers, then comes at me again with renewed fury.
“That’s enough.”
Landon’s voice cuts through our violence like a blade. Strong hands grab my shoulders, hauling me back while Vane restrains a struggling Knox.
“Both of you, grow the fuck up.”
I strain against Landon’s grip, still seeing red. Knox spits blood onto the marble, his chest heaving.
“We’re not children anymore,” Landon continues, his voice cold with disapproval. “And this tantrum proves nothing except that Knox hit a nerve.”
I stop fighting, suddenly aware that our violence has woken some of the women. Mira sits up among the cushions, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as she searches for me with bleary eyes.
“Xavier?” Her voice is soft, uncertain.
The sound of my name on her lips drains the fight out of mecompletely.
Knox is right. I am completely, utterly pussy-whipped.
The realization burns worse than the split lip Knox gave me. I release my fists, stepping back from Landon’s restraining grip as the truth settles in my bones like poison.
This isn’t me. Xavier Blackwood doesn’t throw punches at a woman. Xavier Blackwood doesn’t lose his shit because someone questions his choices. Xavier Blackwood sure as hell doesn’t need his younger brother to haul him off Knox like some rabid animal.
I’m the one who stays calm. I’m the one who thinks three moves ahead, while my brothers act on impulse. I’m the fucking strategist who built this empire by keeping emotions out of business decisions.
But here I am, knuckles bleeding, chest heaving with rage because Knox dared to speak the truth about a woman I’ve known for a handful of weeks.
“Fuck,” I breathe, running my hands through my hair.
Knox straightens his shirt, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His grin is gone, replaced by concern.
“When’s the last time you lost control like that?” he asks.
Never. The answer hangs between us, unspoken but understood.
I built my reputation on cold, calculated judgment. While Vane lets his emotions drive him to violence and Knox thrives on chaos, I’ve always been the anchor. Theconstant. The brother who never lets anything ruffle him enough to throw the first punch.
Landon studies me. “She’s under your skin.”
It’s not a question.
I want to deny it, but the evidence is splattered across the marble floor in crystal shards and spilled whiskey. My split knuckles throb with each heartbeat, a physical reminder of how thoroughly Mira Sullivan has dismantled my self-control.
“This is a problem,” Vane says, his voice cutting through the tense silence.
He’s right. A man who can’t maintain objectivity is a liability. A leader who makes decisions based on emotions instead of logic gets people killed.
Gets his brothers killed.
