It was in his blood.
Inevitable.
And nothing else mattered but his rise to the top.
Not even me.
Here, the proof of that greed was exuded in this pretension that was purely masculine. Everything was both rugged and sleek.
Rough and dark.
As if a high-rise loft in New York had been juxtaposed with the presidential suite at a ski resort.
To the left was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the quaint city that rambled on below and the mountain peaks in the distance. To the right was a massive fireplace that roared of overpowering warmth, the lapping of flames heating the smooth, black-stone floors.
The living room was filled with oversized suede furniture with a plush rug in the middle. It was fitted with comfy blankets and pillows intermixed with abstract statues and artwork.
The kitchen ran the opposite wall from the entry. Everything was chunky wood, frosted glass, and thick cuts of stone. A large island separated the two spaces, and six short stools sat facing the kitchen area. There was a small nook with a round table set that overlooked the forest at the back.
There was a hall that ran the wall on the right and another set of double doors that sat on the far left on the other side of the kitchen.
“Welcome home, Aster.” He cracked a grin. It wasn’t nice.
It was strange, looking at him then, at this cruel, harsh, bitter man up against who I’d witnessed earlier. The easy playfulness with which he’d interacted with his nephew.
I wondered which side of him was real.
Or maybe they both were, and I just brought out the worst in him.
“So, what now?” I threaded my fingers together.
His expression shifted to something unreadable. “That’s up to you, isn’t it? You’re the one who came to me. It’s on you to figure out what you want. What you’re willing to fight for. If you’re brave enough to see it through.”
His head cocked at that. His words seemed both an encouragement and a challenge.
A question.
As if he were daring me to prove there was anything left of who I used to be.
I wanted to demand the same.
Beg him to show me.
To answer…why.
Why did he have to do it? He’d promised me. Promised. And here we were, seven years later, shells of who we’d hoped to be.
“It might end badly.”
He moved for me.
Dark energy vibrated out ahead of him, wrapping me in a greedy warmth I shouldn’t take comfort in. He touched my chin. The gentlest caress. The deepest wound. “It already did.”
For a moment, he gazed at me as if I were the light before he stepped away, breaking the connection.
The distance amplified the emptiness that would forever live on in me.
“This way,” he grunted as if he were suddenly ambushed in annoyance.