Aaron dropped the phone onto the desk, blew a final cloud of smoke toward the dark paneling, and stubbed out the second cigarette.
He stepped out of the study, his leather shoes making no sound against the thick runners in the hallway, and walked toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
He pushed the door open inches at a time.
The room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the afternoon light.
Isabella was curled on her side under the white duvet, one small hand tucked under her chin, her dark hair spilled out across the pillow like spilled ink.
Her face was pale, her breathing shallow and steady in her sleep.
Aaron walked over to the side of the bed, moving like a shadow.
He didn’t make a sound as he sank down onto the mattress beside her, his long legs stretching out, his heavy shadow falling across her small frame.
He didn’t touch her face... not yet. He leaned down, his face dipping close to her head, his fingers gently hooking a strand of her dark, silky hair and pulling it up to his nose.
He closed his eyes and breathed her in.
She smelled like lavender soap, soft skin, and the faint, bitter tang of the sickness that had been wracking her body all week. It sent a low, dark thrum right through his chest.
His eyes opened, the bright, striking blue gleaming in the shadows of the quiet room, fixed entirely on her face.
She was so small here. So quiet. Away from the courtrooms, away from the lawyers, away from Kian’s pathetic hands trying to reach across the table to drag her back into his little cage.
Aaron smoothed the hair back from her temple with the tip of his thumb, his touch light, barely brushing her skin.
’Soon,’ he thought, his gaze tracking the line of her quiet mouth, the soft rise and fall of her chest. ’Very soon.’
He would clear the board. He would tear Arthur Pendleton’s pristine life into bloody rags, and he would crush Kian Carter until there was nothing left of him but a name on a piece of paper. And she would never have to look back. She wouldn’t have time to look back.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as she let out a soft, sleeping sigh.
If Kian fought too hard, if he didn’t know when to bleed out quietly, Aaron would put him in the ground himself. It wouldn’t even be a choice.
And Isabella wouldn’t even notice he was gone. She would be right here, in this bed, underneath him, her hands tangled in his shirt, her voice breaking as she gasped his name into the dark until she forgot any other man had ever touched her.
He smiled into her hair, a slow, terrifying thing, and kept his hand rested gently over her head while she slept.
...
(Present time)
In the city, the glass doors of Pendleton & Associates were usually a place of quiet, expensive order.
Arthur Pendleton sat behind his wide mahogany desk, a gold pen resting between his fingers as he listened to a couple sitting across from him.
The man was a mid-level real estate developer; his wife was wearing a pearl necklace that cost more than most people made in a year.
"The contract for the land transfer has to be finalized by the end of the month, Arthur," the man was saying, leaning forward. "If the city council tries to push back on the zoning—"
A sudden commotion flared in the outer hallway.
It wasn’t a raised voice at first, just the heavy, erratic thud of quick footsteps, followed by the frantic, tight sound of Arthur’s secretary trying to keep her voice professional.
"Sir, you can’t go in there! He’s in a private consultation—sir!"
Arthur raised an eyebrow, his pen freezing over his pad.
Before he could even put the pen down, the heavy double doors of his office were slammed open.
They cracked against the interior wall with a loud bang that made the woman in pearls jump in her seat.
Kian Carter stood in the doorway.
His tie was scrunched.
His jacket was unbuttoned, hanging off one shoulder, his hair a dark, messy shock over his forehead.
He was breathing hard, his chest heaving as if he had run up three flights of stairs, his skin flushed and his eyes wide, wild, and bloodshot.
Behind him, the secretary was flushed with embarrassment, holding her hands up. "Mr. Pendleton, I’m so sorry, I tried to stop him, he just walked right past—"
"Arthur," Kian bit out, ignoring the secretary entirely. He stepped into the room, his eyes locked on the man behind the desk. "We need to talk. Now."
Arthur didn’t panic. He slowly placed his gold pen back in its leather tray, his face smoothing into a calm, blank mask, though his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Kian," Arthur said, his voice smooth and steady, trying to pull the air back into the room. "As you can see, I am currently with clients. Take a seat in the lobby, and I will be with you in—"
"I don’t give a damn about your clients!" Kian snapped, taking two large, heavy strides toward the desk. His hands were shaking at his sides. "Get them out. Now. Right now, Arthur!"
The developer and his wife turned to look at Kian, their faces pale with shock and offense.
Arthur looked at Kian for three long seconds, taking in the trembling frame, the wild look in his eyes, the total lack of control. He knew Kian.
Kian was arrogant, he was stubborn, but he cared deeply about how he looked to people with money. For him to break into an office like this meant the house was on fire.
Arthur turned to the couple, his smile tight and practiced.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kent, I must apologize deeply for this interruption. It seems a critical emergency has come up regarding another matter. My secretary will escort you to the conference room down the hall, and we will reschedule our meeting for tomorrow morning at my firm’s expense."
The developer grumbled, rising from his chair and pulling his wife up by her elbow.
"This is highly unprofessional, Pendleton."
"I entirely agree," Arthur said smoothly, standing up to bow his head slightly. "Sarah, please see them out."
The secretary hurried the couple through the door. The moment the threshold cleared, Kian reached out, grabbed the heavy wood edge, and slammed the door shut so hard the glass pane rattled in its frame.
He turned back to the room and marched straight to the desk.
Kian slammed both of his hands flat onto the polished mahogany surface, leaning over the wood until he was inches from Arthur’s face. His breath came out in hot, ragged hitches.
"Kian," Arthur said, his voice dropping into a stern, reprimanding tone as he straightened his cuffs. "You cannot run into my practice acting like a lunatic. If anyone saw you in the lobby—"
"She’s pregnant," Kian rasped out.
The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
Arthur stopped midway through adjusting his sleeves. He looked at Kian.
"What?" Arthur said.
"Isabella," Kian spat the name out, his fingers digging into the edge of the wood until his knuckles turned white. "She’s pregnant."
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