The world was against me. I could feel the hot breath of rage and indignation huffing against the back of my neck. It was enough to make my blood boil and my vision haze behind the crimson curtain.

How dare he?

How dare he talk to me as if I were like him, a nobody, a nameless bastard with no future? He had no idea who he was dealing with. He had no idea the lengths I was prepared to go to get what belonged to me. I would show him. Once his pathetic little empire belonged to me, I would crush him into the ground. Maybe I’d even keep that little whore of his for myself and show her what a real man was like.

But first, I had to deal with the problem at hand. I had to get Gabrielle back. Then I had to get her as far away from the city and civilization as possible. Despite the confidentiality agreement, I was under no illusion that Rutherford would keep what he knew to himself. Sympathy from the world because Gabrielle was getting rest and relaxation in Switzerland was easier when there weren’t witnesses to argue the alibi. Plus, I couldn’t have him ruining my family name, not after everything I’d been through to keep it clean of mud.

So many complications I needed to fix. Too many loose ends that would need to be resolved. My job was never done.

The phone in my pocket buzzed, an annoying vibration against the side of my hip. I considered ignoring it, in no mood to be distracted when I was neck deep in preparations, but I had passed the hour mark and I wagered Kieran was on the phoning with another bogus demand.

It was Eric’s name on the screen.

For the second time in seconds, I weighed against the decision to hit the end button. My thumb hovered over the screen, inching towards cutting the call; whatever he wanted, his mother could help him with. If he needed bail money, needed money period, she would know how to handle it. I couldn’t even recall the last time I even spoke to the boy over the phone. Maybe it was for that reason that I opted to pick up.

“Yes?”

The roar of an engine overpowered the line. It clashed with the shriek of wind through the open windows. There was nothing else for several long seconds before I heard Eric’s hoarse response.

“Dad?”

I struggled not to roll my eyes; who else would pick up my phone?

“Was there something you needed, Eric?”

I thought I heard a sniffle.

“What the hell is going on?”

Hysteria thickened the emotional state of his question, the unmistakable wobble of his tears. Its cadence was enough to make me peer down at my device, just to be certain one of us wasn’t answering the wrong number.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, once certain it was in fact my son.

He actually sobbed, an irritating sound no grown man should ever allow anyone to hear. Its utter weakness made me cringe in my seat.

“What happened to Mom?”

The hysteria had grown in his voice, becoming a broken cacophony of grief I couldn’t even pretend not to be annoyed by.

“Eric, are you drinking? Pull over before you kill yourself and leave me to deal with your mother’s whining.”

His sniveling turned my stomach. “Is Mom dead?”

I momentarily forgot about the fact that my thirty year old son was snotting all over himself like an infant and pondered his question.

“What are you talking about?”

He choked on a whimper. “Cordelia texted me that Mom was dead. I tried to reach her, but she’s not picking up.”

Not this again. Marcella had a flare for the dramatic, especially when she let herself fall apart. She was such a tedious creature, a spineless flower — beautiful to look at, but weak and frustratingly delicate. The slightest breeze and she was a wilting, scattered mess. That whole ordeal with Kieran must have sent her into one of her little blackouts. I would no doubt find her in the bathroom, a needle in her arm, foam bubbling up past her lips, but dead? I wouldn’t be so lucky.

“I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll have Jameson check on her.”

“But Cordelia said—”

“Cordelia is in no position to be telling anyone anything,” I cut in. “She’s upset with me and is taking it out on you as Cordelia does.”

“You’re sure? What about the text Mom sent me?”

Oh for Christ sakes.

“You’re too old to be weeping like a woman, Eric. Control yourself and get back to your day. This display of nonsense is ridiculous and humiliating. You should be ashamed. No son of mine, no Thornton, would be caught carrying on in such a disgraceful manner. I am appalled.”

I hung up.

But rather than put the phone away, I dialed my lawyer. Whatever issues Marcella was having could wait. I had bigger problems that needed dealing with.

Bruce answered on the second ring, sounding mildly breathless, but no less brisk.

“I have a matter I need you to look into,” I stated simply, careful to veil the tiny knot of panic in my chest.

“Would you like to set something up for tomorrow?”

“No, now. I’ll be at your office in twenty.”

I cut the line before Bruce could utter another word. I didn’t want to hear excuses. I was the reason he had a villa in Italy. He would see me whenever I wanted, wherever I wanted.

“Bruce’s office, Ansel.”

I only caught the briefest bob of the driver’s head, making the naked folds of skin between his thick neck and shaven head bunch. I could have sworn it grinned at me a little. Did normal people get rolls along the back of their heads? Was it possible for a head to be so large that it would leave layers of skin? Six years of driving me around and I couldn’t believe I never noticed, but heads should not have rolls.

I made a mental note to get a new driver, which reminded me of my other problem.

Cordelia answered before the first ring even finished, her voice a high pitched squeak of an excited bird. The hope in her breathy little gasp made my temples thrum.

“Daddy?”

I should have called Marcella, but if the junky was passed out on the floor, she probably wouldn’t have picked up anyway. No. I should have called Jameson.

Damn it.

“Where’s your mother?” Her hesitation took just long enough to sear against my patience. “Cordelia!”

“I...”

“Fucking useless.” I stabbed the end call button a bit harder than was necessary, surprising myself that the screen didn’t shatter.

Jameson answered promptly.

“Yes sir?”

“Where’s my wife?”

The butler, who had served my father before continuing with me, paused. The sliver of empty air raised little prickles along the nape of my neck. It toyed with the unease already hot in my stomach. If Marcella was in her room, Jameson would have just said, even if she was on the floor. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with in the past.

“Where is she?”

He cleared his throat, a discreet hmm-hmm. “Sir, I regret to inform you that Mrs. Thornton passed this afternoon. The paramedics—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Leather shifted beneath my stiffening frame. “What happened?”

“There was an accident, sir. Mrs. Thornton was found in her quarters. The paramedics ruled it an overdose, sir. I was under the impression someone would be in contact with you.”

“What are you telling me, Jameson?” I barked. “Marcella’s dead?”

Another waver of resistance.

“Yes sir, I’m sorry.”

Something had to be done. I was almost certain of it. People needed to be called, arrangements made. The police would no doubt need to talk to me at some point, like I didn’t have enough on my plate. It was just like her to make my life harder. She couldn’t even die quietly.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

What a nightmare. And to think, I’d woken up that morning feeling like nothing could possibly go wrong. My weeks of planning had finally come to order, I had men ready to follow every detail to the letter, I was going to have the thing I’d been patiently waiting for by the end of day.

Well, I got Gabrielle, and even that had gone to shit. I lost her. I was at risk of losing my reputation. I lost my Kincaid connections, successfully losing my Prime Minister seat. Now, I had to explain to the world how my idiot wife had a drug problem and I did nothing to help her because I hadn’t given a shit. Playing ignorance wouldn’t help. I would need to find answers.

“Sir?”

Jameson’s voice interrupted my thoughts, reminding me he was still on the phone.

“I’ll handle it,” I muttered and hit the end button.

Bruce would handle it. He would know what to do with this mess. Aside from the personal matters that would need to be dealt with, there were legal issues, not to mention the media to contend with. They would want to know why Marcella wasn’t taken to get help. More importantly, why I wasn’t with her during her time of death, especially when it came out that I wasn’t at work, but at an underground dungeon I doubted those vultures would understand.

I tapped a finger on the screen thoughtfully, leaving smudges in the process. I glowered at my own reflection snarling back at me.

This is your fault, I wanted to snap at it. Despite all my meticulous planning, I had lost focus of what needed to be done. For six years, all I had wanted was her. I let myself become consumed by the prospect, by the fantasy of her soft, unblemished skin littered in bruises and leaking wounds. I wanted so badly to be the one to mar her, to destroy her the way she destroyed my life, the way she stole my dignity, my pride. From the very moment she came wailing into my life, I had to restrain myself not to smother her with a pillow and toss her lifeless carcass into the trash. She’d been such a useless child, a scrawny, mousy thing with big eyes and the power to tear my kingdom to the ground. Her true purpose never came into light until the day I dragged her to her knees, my hand twisted in her hair. Something in that moment had sent a whip of flames snapping inside me. The sight of her tear stained eyes, the perfect, red handprint on her cheek, the blood on her lips, it had been all I could do to keep from taking what I wanted, from forcing myself on her the way she’d forced herself on me.

I should have. Her age had stopped me then, a random bout of morals I regretted almost immediately. I told myself there was only two more years between right and prison and I could wait that.

Clearly a mistake.

First chance she got, the bitch betrayed me. She took it upon herself to once again take a mallet to my world. The shattered shards lay at my feet, a testament to my weakness, my damn mercy. Father always warned me about having a bleeding heart. There was no room for softness, for love. That was for children and morons. He would have been so disappointed if he hadn’t wrecked his car driving to the hotel with his mistress in the passenger seat. The official report was a cut gas line. She hadn’t lived either, which hadn’t been part of the plan, but fortunate, especially since Father had left nearly thirty percent of everything to her in his will. Fifty went to me as his sole heir. Thirty went to Mother, or would have if she hadn’t had that tragic accident tumbling down the stairs.

Mother had always been so clumsy.

But with all of them gone, and no siblings to compete against, I became the only living Thornton before the age of eighteen. The youngest heir and the wealthiest.

It was perfect. Life had been perfect. I had the wealth and power to do anything I wanted. No one could stop me.

Then I made the mistake of getting married.

At the time, it had seemed like a sound idea. I needed an heir and I needed a woman, someone not too bright, but money hungry enough to keep her mouth shut, and beautiful enough to make me the envy of every man in the room. Marcella had been the smart choice, a washed up junkie model with depression and an eating disorder. Gorgeous and just broken enough to make living with her bearable. I allowed her the luxury of sustaining her habits while she ... who the fuck knew what she gave me. Two mindless idiots for children and a constant black smear on my family name. I had clearly been conned.

Bruce’s office, a jutting blade of steel and glass, rolled into view as Ansel took the final turn. Each plate gleamed with a fierce and aggressive sheen. It almost hurt to look directly at.

Like the building and its outer polish, Bruce Paxton was every bit the sight in his five-thousand-dollar suit, watch, haircut, and smile. It was evident to see where my money was going.

“David.” Bruce extended his hand.

I accepted and let him guide me into his office. The door was shut behind us and we made our way to the massive, oak desk silhouetted in the sharp spill of sunlight from the enormous window behind it.

The place smelled of dust and old papers with hints of wood polish and expensive cologne. It was a comforting smell, a lot like my own office.

I sat while he veered off towards the drink cart. Two tumblers of scotch were brought back. One was placed in front of me. The other was carried with him to his side of the desk. He sat with a gratified exhale.

“What can I help you with?”

“Marcella’s dead.”

The crystal goblet he’d lifted to his lips stilled. His eyes over the rim went wide.

“What?” The glass was set down with an audible clink. “How? What happened?”

I took my own drink and claimed a sip, needing it to help me steel my nerves.

“OD’d,” I muttered into the amber liquid. I swallowed and kept the cup in my hands as I sat back. “She’d always had a problem.”

“Christ.” He dropped back as well. “Jesus, David, I’m so sorry.”

I waved the unnecessary sympathies aside. “I wasn’t home when it happened. I’m assuming they took her wherever they take bodies.”

“The morgue, I’m thinking.”

I shrugged.

“Should ... do you need me to call someone, or...?”

He was watching me as if expecting me to fall apart. I guessed that normal people would have. The woman had been my wife for the last thirty-seven fucking years. Three and a half fucking decades. I probably should have cared even slightly. Instead, all I felt was relief, like a child waiting for an elderly parent to finally die and free them of the burden. That was, after all, what Marcella had been, a chain, a noose that kept tightening around my neck with every passing year. Her insufferable whining, her overdramatic bullshit, Christ, if she hadn’t done it herself, I probably would have killed her myself. I would have sooner if the husband wasn’t the first person they suspected when whores went missing. Ending her miserable life was the smartest thing she’d ever accomplished on her own. At least she got it right, which was a surprise in itself. The bitch couldn’t even wipe her own ass after a shit without falling apart and me finding her huddled by the toilet, shit running down her legs. I was supposed to believe she had depression and anxiety, made up diagnoses to pacify weak minded women into believing it wasn’t all in their heads, but it kept her happily medicated and kept me from having to deal with her.

None of that mattered now. 

“I need you to put a gag order together.”

Bruce blinked. “A ... gag order? I thought it was an overdose—”

“Not for her.” I took a larger sip of my drink. “I may have done something.”

I told him everything. Even being my lawyer for nearly ten years, I had never divulged my personal life to him, my secrets, but the time for that was at an end. If he was to represent me properly, he needed to know the truth.

“Jesus Christ, David!” My lawyer scrubbed a palm over his face, hard enough to leave red welts rising up beneath his skin. “Is this a joke?” He lowered his hand and stared across the wide surface at me. “You’re pulling my leg.”

I shook my head. “No, I can assure you I’m not.” I finished my drink and set the glass down. “Never been so serious.”

“Let me get this straight, you want me to get Gabrielle back from a place that you forcibly kidnapped her to, after killing her bodyguard and you want to make sure all the business just goes away.”

When said like that, I almost doubted it, but I hadn’t come that far to fail now.

“If you can’t do it...”

“David, you killed a man, you kidnapped a woman, put her in a dungeon, threatened to rape and torture her ... oh, and she’s your daughter!”

“She’s not my daughter.”

The very thought left a sick, coppery taste in my mouth.

“You signed the birth certificate,” he reminded me. “For the last twenty-two years, you’ve been telling everyone she’s your flesh and blood.” He gouged the tips of his fingers into the bit of skin between his eyebrows. “There is no way to spin this that won’t have people yelling molestation and child abuse.”

“The bitch signed a contract!” My voice rose with my rage.

“There isn’t a judge on the planet who will side with you on that, David. Not if they want to remain a judge. Her becoming your whore in exchange for the chance to go to school is not going to win you any favors either. If anything, you’re looking at ten years easy.”

“For what?” I roared.

“You killed a man!” he shot back. “Jesus Christ, David! What the fuck are you doing?”

“They’re never going to find the body,” I stated, dismissing his dramatics. “I hired professionals.”

“Oh, well!” He laughed, the sound irritatingly brittle. “Why didn’t you just say so? That makes everything just dandy.”

I hated sarcasm. It was such a commoner behavior.

“Will you calm down,” I muttered. “This is what I pay you for. Handle it.”

“Handle helping you fuck your daughter. Okay then.” He was panting heavily, his whole body vibrating beneath the suit I paid for. “Well, regardless, we need to go to the authorities. You need to turn yourself in. We’ll think of a defense, stress, maybe. A crime of passion. Insanity. I don’t know, but we’re going to nip this before it gets out of hand. Turning yourself in may make the judge look favorably on the situation. I’ll...”

I tuned him out, his idea to have me arrested was ridiculous. I was David Thornton. I created laws. I made kings. I wasn’t about to have my name synonymous with the trash of society, nor was I about to take the blame for this, especially when I had done nothing wrong. This was all on Gabrielle and Kieran. They brought me to this point. They made me bring out a side of myself that I fought daily to pacify.

The cold, slimy sensation started in the pit of my stomach, the oily feeling of fear and annoyance. Coming to Bruce had clearly been a bad idea. I should have dealt with the matter myself. He was just one more person who knew my secret. That made him dangerous. I couldn’t have that. It ... he needed to be dealt with before he could tell anyone. Then I needed another word with Rutherford and Kieran. There were too many loose ends I needed to fix.

I pushed to my feet, studying the approaching night outside the window behind him. Most of the light was nearly all gone. In their place was a scattering of life far below, too far for anyone to notice us on the very top floor.

“Are you listening to me?”

I sidestepped the desk and moved closer to examine the single layer of glass separating us from the brutal plummeting.

Behind me, I heard Bruce scramble to his feet and moving to see what had captured my attention.

It was unfortunate, really. I had always really liked Bruce. He’d won many of my corporate battles and clearly had a good, moral backbone. It was difficult to find a lawyer with a conscious.

“David.” He placed a warm, caring hand on my arm. “I will take care of this, okay? I’ll do my best to get you the least amount of—”

For a man his size, it barely took more than a shove to send him through the pane. The cacophony of shattering glass accompanied his scream, his open-mouthed expression of horror, one working to mask the other. The shards glittered in the void, the endless vacuum of space between earth and sky, surrounding him in a shower of diamonds while his fingers snatched at air.

Betrayal.

It radiated around him in a perfect halo of disbelief, a laughable waste of time even as he began to plummet.

He hit the pavement before the shower of glass did. His whole body burst upon contact. I could hear the sickening crunch of bones and the splatter of meat, then the screams of those below as they came to realize what had come inches from dropping on their heads.

Their panic and chaos stabbed at my amusement, coaxing a laugh I hadn’t felt in a damn long time. I hated that I’d allowed myself to forget how good the little things felt. It was a shame, really. I used to love laughing.

Unfortunately, this was neither the time, nor the place. My humor in Bruce’s untimely demise would have to wait until I could properly enjoy it.

I stepped away from the jagged hole, away from the crisp snap of autumn now tinged with the coppery after taste of blood and picked my way to the desk. My empty glass winked at me, enticing me to have another drink before I left, but there was no time for that. I had roughly fifteen minutes before the cops made it through the traffic to the building, then another fifteen before they determined which floor and room Bruce had come from. That left me thirty minutes to erase all evidence of my presence there and leave.

Nevertheless, I took the glass. I tested its weight in my hand, the coolness of it. The rigid patterns along the sides cut into my thumb.

All that money and the bastard couldn’t even afford real crystal.

From my pocket, I removed a handkerchief and wiped all traces of my touch and the stray droplets of scotch from the bottom. I returned the glass to the cart and placed it with the others. As an afterthought, I carried the bottle back to the desk, using the scrap of fabric to shield my fingerprints. I set it down next to Bruce’s cup, but not until I’d refilled it just enough to make it appear as though he’d made his decision to jump midway through his drink.

Outside, the wail of sirens approaching from a great distance hurried my progress. I scrubbed the armrest and the knob on the door as I left.

Ansel was waiting by the car when I reached the underground parking garage. He said nothing when he opened the backdoor and waited for me to get in.

I paused just long enough to shrug my coat off. I shook it once to free the sleeves from creasing before draping the heavy material over my arm.

I eyed the man before me as I did, determining the likelihood of him keeping his mouth shut if questioned. Bought loyalty was a tricky matter. It could easily be swayed, especially when faced with authority. A shame, really. I was nearly certain he had a family and children.

“Home, Ansel, please.”

Wide shoulders straightened. “Sir.”

I climbed into the back, fingers digging into the pocket of my coat for my phone. I was already listening to ringing when he closed the door behind me.

“Wilkens.”

I watched Ansel climb in behind the wheel. The folds of skin at the back of his head forming what looked like a pair of lips.

“I have a job for you,” I told the man on the phone. “I need it handled immediately.”

“Name?”

“I will text you the information.”

As I disconnected the call, it dawned on me that I probably should have saved myself the headache by having Bruce handled as well. Then I wouldn’t have had to put a contract on Ansel. It certainly would have made my life easier, but I couldn’t trust that Bruce wouldn’t have taken it upon himself to call the police the second I’d left his office; he’d always been irritatingly honest for a lawyer. So, in retrospect, he had no one to blame but himself for being dead.

I texted Ansel’s name and description to Wilkens. I included the place he would be in the next twenty minutes, and the best time to come around.

As an afterthought, I included a cleanup job for Bruce. I realized it was too late to possibly make a difference, but these were professionals who staged crime scenes and concealed bodies for a living. This was their job.

I hit send and put my phone away.

There was a cruiser in front of my house when we drew up to the manor. The lights on top were off, but the sight of it after murdering someone wasn’t exactly comforting. I had to assure myself that there was no way they could have found me already while I climbed from the backseat.

The officer, a scrawny kid with a tangle of brown hair and honest to God pimples was in my foyer, looking flushed and mildly starstruck in his admiring of Cordelia. I wondered if he wasn’t straight out of the academy for the way he kept gulping down spit like some horny teenager meeting his favorite centerfold.

Both jolted when I stepped into my own house, guilty expressions turning sheepish.

“Daddy!” Cordelia started forward a little too fast.

She stopped when I put my hand up.

“What is this?”

The kid shifted in his discomfort and need to play an adult.

“I’m here regarding your wife, sir.”

I frowned at my daughter. “I thought you said she was dead.”

Cordelia opened red lips, but the man-child beat her to it.

“Yes sir, but we still need to follow up.”

I frowned as I passed my coat to Jameson. “Follow up that she’s still dead?”

“No, the cause...”

“She OD’d, did she not?”

The last part was directed to Cordelia. My ever-eloquent daughter faltered, regressing into a stuttering twit and forever ruining my perception of her; I had almost hoped she would be better, better than her mother, better than the usual female race. She almost had me believing I could be wrong about women. Yet, she stood before me now, a lost little doe with big eyes and an empty skull.

How tragic indeed. All my hard work wasted.

“She is,” the man-child declared. “She did,” he corrected. “But it’s mandatory for the police to investigate.”

“What is there to investigate? She overdosed.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

Whatever made it complicated was never clarified. Instead, he was rummaging through his pockets for his pen and pad. I found myself frowning as he stopped on a clean page.

“Where were you tonight?”

The audacity momentarily stunned me into an outraged silence. Was he honestly suggesting I had anything to do the death of my wife? Did he not understand how ludicrous that was?

“I wasn’t home, as I’m sure you were told.”

Even to my own ear, each syllable hissed out, the violent grate of stone dragging across steel. I could feel the intensity of it rising up the back of my neck, the hot wash of fury laced with serrated tips of aggression. If I were honest with myself, it was more than simply being asked a routine question. My irritation stemmed from the day I had. It seemed everything that could go wrong had, and I could feel the threads containing me beginning to come undone.

“I understand that, but I still need your whereabouts.”

My whereabouts.

The truth was out of the question. That would lead to Gabrielle, which would lead to her ridiculous bodyguard and Bruce. I may not have been responsible for Marcella’s death, but I wasn’t about to take responsibility for them.

“I had matters at the office,” I lied. “I was there all evening. Alone,” I added before he could demand a witness.

“I can vouch for that,” Cordelia chimed in. “I’ve been helping with his new project and I can assure you he hasn’t been home all day.”

Idiot girl.

I would have backhanded her if the man-child wasn’t two feet away, studiously scribbling everything we said on his idiotic notepad.

“Was your wife suicidal?”

Her first doctor had thought so. He’d stamped depression with suicidal tendencies on her records before I’d had them shredded and the doctor stripped of his license. Those were words that could ruin a man’s reputation. No one wanted a broken wife and I couldn’t risk people finding out just how truly pathetic the woman I, David Thornton had actually married was. The shame of it would have made me suicidal.

“Of course not,” I snapped.

Man-child lifted his head and fixed me with eyes that no longer seemed quite as clueless as I’d suspected. In fact, there was wariness there that made the place between my shoulder blades itch.

“Were you aware that your wife had a substance problem?”

Problem? Those drugs were our solution to her delusions. They kept her balanced, and unlike the medications the doctors would have given her, no one knew about them. There was no record, no way to become a problem.

I suppose I was wrong about that.

“My wife wasn’t well,” I corrected. “She was sick and we were doing what we could to help her manage it.”

“What kind of sick?”

This was getting out of hand.

“The kind that will require you to get in touch with our lawyer.”

He never so much as batted an eyelash, as if he were already expecting that answer. “Why would your wife take her own life, Mr. Thornton?”

“Did she?” I challenged sharply. “It could very well have been an accident.”

“Perhaps,” he countered smoothly. “We’ll have the toxicology report within the next few hours, I imagine.” His pen and notepad wielding hands slipped into his pockets and returned without the items to hang at his sides, nearly non-threatening. “Someone will be in touch, Mr. Thornton.” He turned in the direction of the doors. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I said nothing until he’d gone and my foyer was void of useless know-it-alls who essentially worked for me. After all, I paid their salary, I gave money to their ridiculous charities and had monthly dinners with their chief. My wife dies and he has the nerve to accuse me. I had half a mind to have his badge.

Instead, I reverted my attention to the woman standing a few feet away, watching me.

“What were you thinking vouching for me?”

I stalked past her without waiting for an answer, not really caring for one. My feet moved in the direction of the parlor. Hers followed obediently, a loyal lab. I didn’t know whether to tell her to fuck off, or throw her a dog treat. Perhaps the latter, just to shut her up.

I poured myself a large drink and imagined I was alone with my thoughts. I ignored the squeak and rustle of weight claiming the sofa. Her eager gaze burrowed into the place between my shoulder blades, rusted nails digging into flesh and bone. I had half a mind to pitch my glass at her head.

“Fuck me,” I grumbled into the rim, battling with the last of my patience.

Why was I surrounded by so much disappointment? The fact that it was Cordelia only seemed to make the matter worse. Perhaps I had myself to blame for that. I had, after all, indulged her, cradled her, allowed her to believe she was worth something. Well, she had been once. She’d been my means to a better future, a promising one. I suppose that’s what you get when you put all your eggs in one basket, but what choice did I have? I had originally put my money on Eric, hoping his friendship with Kieran would be the door I needed. Granted, I hadn’t been entirely surprised when Kieran had outgrown my son’s manwhoring bullshit. But there had been so much hope for Cordelia. Walter had agreed, had even approved the arrangement. I had everything ready and perfectly in place. All she had to do was lock him in. One job. One tiny little job and she fucked me over so monumentally, my asshole hurt. I couldn’t even look at her.

“I’m sorry.”

I cringed at the sound of her voice, at the tremor that only managed to intensify my disgust.

“I know I let you down, but I’m going to fix it, okay? I promise.”

How she was planning to do that was beyond me. Frankly, I didn’t give a shit. Kieran wasn’t an idiot. He’d already set his sights on Gabrielle and turned Cordelia down. No sane man would ever pick a cow over a prized mare, especially if he’s already rejected it once before.

No. There was nothing she could do to fix the damage she’d caused.

Come to think of it, it was her fault I had to resort to such petty discomforts. If she had done what she was supposed to, I would have had Gabrielle to myself and would already be making plans for my own seat at parliament as planned.

Instead, in a matter of mere days, Cordelia managed to royally screw everyone simply by being a colossal waste of space.

“There is nothing you can do now,” I mumbled, mainly to myself, but apparently loud enough to prompt a response from her.

“I can! I promise I can.” She was practically panting, an irritating sound of a dog in heat. “I will. Just ... please don’t be angry with me.”

I walked out, taking my drink with me; now that Marcella was no longer hovering around in dark corners, waiting to pounce on a man for having a drink or two during the day, I was finally free to do whatever the fuck I wanted.