I do my best to salvage what’s left of the celebration. As the last guests leave, I think they feel adequately appreciated for their help in bringing the Keans down and are ready to support me in bringing more profits and power to all of us, just as my father had done.
Thinking of my father brings more shame. He’d have hauled me out of this room the minute Keira entered in that fuck-me dress and given me a scolding of a lifetime. My father believed women needed to be protected, respected, and worshiped. It’s how he treated my mother.
I argue with myself that had he been supportive of my love for Keira ten years ago, tonight wouldn’t have happened. I’d be the husband he’d want me to be. Hell, my parents might still be alive.
“Well, that was quite a night,” Lucy says. She’s never one to mince words. I keep expecting Flint to explain to her how things work in our world, but it turns out he likes her being unafraid to express her opinions.
“I hope Miss Keira is alright,” Jenna says softly.
“She’s fine. And she will be fine,” I say tightly.
They all look at me dubiously.
When they all leave, I head upstairs. I consider stopping by Keira’s room to check on her, but what’s the point?
Instead, I take a shower like that will wash away my anger and shame. I don’t bother putting on sleepwear as I slip into bed.
Sleep is elusive, though, as I replay the night in my head. For a decade, I've pictured Keira laughing with her father over my family's deaths. I've imagined her celebrating on the ashes of my childhood home, counting the money her betrayal earned them. Every night in exile, I fell asleep to thoughts of revenge against the woman who used our love to destroy everything I held dear.
But tonight… something didn’t fit.
When she greeted Jenna, genuine concern flashed across her face. Not the performative sympathy of a socialite, but real warmth. The story she shared about Jenna’s mother expressed true admiration of the woman.
Then came her reaction to Hannah. The shock in her eyes when I mentioned Hampton shooting Ash's wife wasn't feigned. Her face went pale, horror etching across her features.
She didn't know. It happened just days ago and she didn’t know. It seems inconceivable unless my brothers were right. What if she really had been locked away? What if her parentskept her in the dark about everything including their plan to destroy my family?
I think back to the party. I’d kept her close not so much to dominate, but to let the men ogling her know who she belonged to. When she’d finally gone off on her own to get a drink, one of Donovan’s men sidled up next to me, his gaze fixed on Keira’s ass.
"Your bride is something else, Ifrinn. Wouldn't mind a taste of that myself."
My hand tightened around my champagne glass. I’m surprised it didn’t break. "Watch your fucking mouth."
"Hey, you're the one who dressed her like a five-star meal and served her up."
The truth was like a sucker punch, accentuated even more when I saw that other fucker squeeze her ass. I put her in that dress. I paraded her around like a trophy to be gawked at. And then I blamed her for everyone’s reaction.
But she deserved this. Her family destroyed mine. She betrayed me.
Didn't she?
I scrape my hand over my face feeling the weight of my ultimate douchiness. No wonder my brothers look at me like I’m a total stranger.
I close my eyes, thinking back to better times. Keira at eighteen, the moonlight catching in her blonde waves as we lay hidden in my father's garden. Her fingers tracing my jaw, her whisper against my lips. "Promise we'll find a way to be together, no matter what." The desperate way she'd clung to me, as if she knew something was coming that would tear us apart.
But what if Blaise and Flint are right? What if she's just another victim of Hampton's ambition?
The hope that rises is dangerous, a weakness I can't afford. If I'm wrong about her, I've hurt someone who might have sufferedas much as I did. Who could be an ally in my conquest of Hampton Kean. Who could love me as I’d loved her.
I fall asleep, but Keira seeps from my memory into my dreams. It’s not eighteen-year-old Keira, but Keira today. We’re in my office, just like we were earlier. I’m kissing her, but not to punish her. No. It’s soft and sweet. Her mouth opens under mine, her tongue meeting mine with equal fervor.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear. I back her against the door, pressing my body against hers, drinking in the taste I've dreamed about for a decade.
I break away just enough to look into her eyes. I need to see desire, not fear or resolve. She needs to want me too. I see the same hunger I feel. Like she's been starving for this as long as I have.
I deepen the kiss, all the anger, all the hatred transforms into something else entirely, raw, desperate need. My hand tangles in her hair, tilting her head back as I claim her mouth with mine.
"Phoenix," she breathes against my lips.
