My eyes blur in and out of focus as I try in vain to study the monitors in my office. A constant stream of numbers inundates me. Patterns emerge. Money ebbs and flows. This is the one sanctuary I have in life. The one area I know without a doubt I can find solace. Yet it seems to evade me this past twenty-four hours.
I have spent all day holed up in this room, trying not to think about my wife and what she might be doing. Antonia has entered several times to offer me anything my black heart might desire, but her menus for the day lack the sustenance I truly crave.
I reach for the bottle of scotch, twisting the cap in my hand before I think better of it. This restless energy building up inside me is unfamiliar. I don't recognize it, and I don't know what to do with it.
"Fuck!" I growl, swiping my hand across the desk and scattering the contents around the room.
The scotch bottle shatters on the floor, and papers rain down like my fragmented thoughts. I am tempted to call Antonia back for yet another report on the current status of my wife. But I fear even she is exhausted with my constant requests for information, which so far have proven fruitless.
She tells me what she thinks I want to hear. Ivy has eaten. She has showered and dressed. She has rested. But those aren't the details I need, and in my exasperation, I find I don't know how to express what I need because I can't even identify it myself.
"Feel better?" Mercedes enters the room, eyeing the evidence of my tantrum with an arched brow, her red heels crunching over the broken glass littering the floor.
"What do you want?" I snap.
She flinches at my tone but recovers quickly as she often does, squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms as she pins me with her gaze.
"What is the matter with you?" she demands. "You've been sulking around in here all day. It isn't like you."
"I'm busy," I answer shortly. "It's a concept you might understand if you had any other motivation in life besides devouring the souls of the innocent."
A dry laugh erupts from her lips as she shakes her head in disbelief. "Really, brother? You of all people are going to lecture me on morality?"
I don't know why I'm being such an asshole to her. But it can't be helped, and I'm not in the mood for a confrontation with her, which is exactly what she came here for.
She takes a seat in the vacant chair opposite my desk and crosses her legs, cocking her head to the side as she studies me. Mercedes has always had the ability to stare at you like she can see into your very soul. It's an unnerving quality, and she has used it to bring many men to heel and plead for her attention. But hell hath no fury when it doesn't work.
"I hate to break it to you, Santi." Her lips curve into a wicked grin as she leans forward and lowers her voice to a whisper. "But you and I are exactly the same."
Had it been any other day, I would have agreed with her. We are the same. Or at least we were. But somewhere between the events of the last few days, it feels as though my thirst for revenge has taken a short leave of absence, leaving only confusion behind in its place. That's the only logical explanation that makes sense, given that I've been sitting here all day considering my wife's feelings. Trying to understand human emotion on a level I never have before. Feeling so off I can hardly sit still for more than a moment.
I want to destroy something, but for once, it isn’t her. I want to force her to be sweet to me again. What a grand delusion that is.
I must be going insane.
"She's getting to you." Mercedes mirrors my thoughts.
"No." My response is lifeless, and even I can't pretend the conviction in my voice doesn't sound contrived.
My sister narrows her eyes at me, a fire-breathing serpent from the depths of hell. If jealousy had a face, it would be hers right now. I know that's what makes her question my resolve. She has always been the baby in the family. The cherished princess who was adored by our mother and protected by her brothers at all costs. But things have been so different since the explosion. She lost half her family in one instant, and then her mother in the aftermath. We are both just ghosts, living in this house, haunted by the memories. She has been watching me slowly slip away ever since, trying with all her might to pull me back. That's what it boils down to. She fears she will lose me to Ivy like she has lost everyone else.
"I have seen it with my own eyes," she hisses. "You carrying her around the halls of the manor like a broken little doll in your arms. It's pathetic, Santiago. If you don't have the guts to go through with this, then tell me now. I will do what is necessary."
My chair crashes into the wall behind me as I rise up and lean over the desk, breathing my own fire into Mercedes's face so there can be no doubt to my authority.
"Don't ever question my abilities," I snarl. "You will do exactly as you are told, and nothing more. If you even so much as think about pulling another stunt, I will have you shipped off so fast your head will fucking spin. Is my intention clear enough for you now?"
She shoves back her chair, lip trembling as tears cling to the edges of her eyelids. It's unlike my sister to show such a display of emotion, and for a moment, I question if she is right.
"You think you have it all under control," she sneers. "Yet you don't even realize your sweet, perfect wife has been sneaking in her brother right under your nose."
This information takes me by surprise, and Mercedes shakes her head at me when she sees it.
"She is a traitor. And you'd be wise not to forget it. Not even for a second, Santi. She will ruin you if you let her."
With those words, she disappears, leaving me to my thoughts. Within moments, I find myself scouring the cameras, checking the videotapes of the entrance until I find the undeniable proof. Abel was here. He was in my fucking house. And Ivy is going to pay for it.
I'm halfway down the corridor to her bedroom when Antonia appears in the hall up ahead with a tray in her hands. She startles when she sees me stalking toward her, her lips drawing into a frown when she recognizes the stormy expression on my face.
"Santiago?" She pauses before me. "She is sleeping, sir."
"I don't care." I move to forge on, but Antonia steps into my path, peering up at me with an expression I don't recognize.
"Perhaps, tonight you should let her rest."
My eyes dart over her head, fists clenching at my sides. "No."
It is unlike Antonia to challenge me in this way, and I don't know what to make of her strange behavior, but when she casts her eyes downward, it appears that she feels remorseful for something herself.
"It's my fault, sir."
"What is?" I demand.
"Her brother," she says softly. "That's what this is about, right?"
Her answer surprises and confuses me.
"What do you mean it's your fault?"
"I know all visitors are supposed to be approved by you," she answers, her voice choked with emotion. "But I figured, he is her family. I did not think it would be too much of an imposition."
My tempered breath leaves my lungs in a rush of hot air. "Ivy did not request for him to come here?"
"No, sir. He arrived of his own accord," she assures me.
I drag a hand through my hair and glance over her shoulder once more. I should have known Mercedes was trying to provoke me. And Abel is something I will have to deal with later. But for now, I am content to know that it was not Ivy's doing. At least, not this time.
"He is never to step foot in this manor again without my explicit permission," I inform her. "Is that understood, Antonia?"
"Yes, sir." She dips her head. "I am sorry."
"Do you know what was discussed between them on his visit today?"
"No, I am afraid I was not present, other than to escort him into the room."
It's a fact I am already aware of, given that's exactly what I saw on the camera. But still I had hoped there would be some useful scrap of information. I know Abel was not visiting his sister out of the kindness of his heart.
Antonia remains there, uncertain, waiting for me to dismiss her. But I am trying and failing to find my next words, and when I do, my voice is stiffer than usual.
"Did she request to see me at all today?"
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she shuffles her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "No, sir."
"I see."
I consider turning around. That's what I should do. But try as I might, I find that I can't.
"You are dismissed, Antonia. Have a good evening."
She nods and scurries away, leaving me to a strange emptiness as my only companion when I make my way toward Ivy's door. When my palm curves around the knob, I try again to find a justification not to go in. I have no doubt she is still angry with me. There will be bitterness. There will be hatred. And for a moment, I'm not sure I want to see those emotions reflected in her eyes. Not tonight.
My forehead sags against the door as I consider what needs to be done. I'm still trying to find my anger when the knob turns from the other side, and the door opens to the sight of a startled Ivy.
She gasps when she sees me and immediately turns to flee back to the sanctuary of her bed. But the predator in me captures her around the waist before she even makes it two steps, dragging her back into my arms.
She trembles as I turn her in my grasp, my fingertips gliding over the silky material of her nightgown. Her head falls forward, hair shielding her face from my eyes as she tries to hide from me.
"And where exactly do you think you were going, Mrs. De La Rosa?" I whisper into her hair.
"Nowhere." She tries to yank away from my grasp but fails. "I heard a noise out there. I didn't realize it was you. If I had, I would have just barricaded the door."
I close my eyes and inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo. "Is that any way to greet your husband?"
"You are my husband in name only," she declares.
"So much fight in you." I stroke her hair back away from her face and clutch her jaw in my hand, forcing her gaze upward. "I am glad to see you have not been broken yet."
The words sound like too much of an admission, and I can see the confusion in her eyes when she peeks up at me from beneath her lashes. "I thought that was exactly what you wanted."
"That is the least of what I want," I threaten, guiding her body back into the room until her legs hit the bed behind her.
"I am tired." She closes her eyes and shudders as I lean into her, grazing her neck with my lips. "Please. I don't want to fight."
"Then don't." I seize the opportunity when her eyes are closed to force my lips to hers, startling her.
Her lips fall apart, and her eyes fly open as I kiss her deeply, curling my arm around her waist and bunching the fabric of her nightgown in my fist.
My other hand moves up to cover her eyes, obscuring her vision as I tilt her head backward and give in to the temptation to devour her lips, if only for a moment.
She's breathing hard against my chest, nipples scraping against her nightgown, body arched so beautifully, I could witness her like this for an eternity and never be satisfied.
As I deepen the kiss, her hands come up to mine, nails digging into my skin. She wants me to believe she doesn't like this, but her body tells me otherwise. And when I release my grip on her waist to slide my fingers down between her thighs, she jolts at the touch.
She's breathless and gasping for air when I finally let go of her mouth and dip her head back even farther to kiss her throat, nipping at the fragile skin.
"Santiago," she croaks.
I'm teasing her, even as she tries to squeeze her thighs together around my fingers. Taking her tonight is out of the question, but I am compelled to touch her simply for her pleasure. A notion I don't want to examine too closely. It is only a momentary weakness. That's what I tell myself when I turn her around and hoist her body up onto the bed, yanking her hips up and forcing her facedown into the blankets as I kneel behind her.
"Santiago," she begins again but abruptly falls silent when my nose glides along her slit.
She nearly jolts out of her skin, sucking in a sharp breath as I hold her hips in place and really taste her for the first time. The first lash of my tongue produces a cascade of goose bumps along her skin, and the second has her fists curling into the blankets.
She bites back her sounds, trying to swallow them down as I force her legs wider apart, taking pleasure in the vulgarity of her spread wide open for me. One hand clutches the flesh of her ass, holding her in place as the other skates up beneath her, groping her breast through the silk. She is already wet for me, the faint groans of her restrained pleasure muffled into the bed as I eat her like a man starved.
It occurs to me that this isn't right. It isn't my place to provide her pleasure. But I can't seem to stop now that I've started. I want her sounds. Her weak, trembling thighs squeezing around my face. Her almost silent pleas as I bring her closer and closer to a different kind of destruction. The kind that is dangerous to us both.
She tries to fight the inevitable, even as her body tenses past the point of breaking and the first crest of pleasure starts to rumble over my tongue. Her shoulders collapse into the bed as it overtakes her completely, spasms wracking her body as I draw it out to the point when she can no longer handle it and begins to shake her head.
"Please," she begs.
I smirk against her, taking one last taste of her pleasure before I turn to her inner thigh, pressing a soft kiss against the flesh there. She shivers and then collapses into the bed entirely, glancing back at me over her shoulder.
Her face is a mixture of unfamiliar emotions as I pull the nightgown back over her hips and stroke my palms down her thighs. She knows better than to stare at me, yet it seems she can't help herself.
"I still hate you," she whispers.
I close my eyes and feel a torment unlike any I've ever known. "As you should."
The room falls silent, only the sounds of our breathing between us. Her eyes are growing heavy, and there is no reason for me to stay. But I find that I am not yet ready to go. And so, I sit there, stroking her thighs beneath my palms. Studying the curves of her body. Trying to make sense of this growing war inside me.
I want to know if she carries my child yet. I want to own her. Possess her from the inside out. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything, and it unnerves me.
I turn my thoughts toward the gala. It will be our first public appearance together since the wedding. Mercedes has been instructed to help her prepare. But I still have lingering doubts in my mind about her readiness for the occasion.
"Tomorrow is the event," I murmur. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you it's important."
She glances at me over her shoulder. "I'm well aware."
I stare into her eyes and consider telling her that Mercedes might need her as a welcome distraction, though she would never admit it. She will be seeing Van der Smit and his new wife there, and it could undoubtedly stir up some issues in her. But my sister would never forgive me for telling Ivy such an intimate detail of her life. She doesn't like to appear human to anyone.
I will need to deal with her later this evening after I've finished my conversation with Ivy. In the lingering silence, I know what it is I need to address. But I suspect as soon as I bring up her brother, she will shut down entirely.
Just as I'm about to mention it, there's a knock on the bedroom door. It's late, and my staff knows better than to interrupt me in here unless it's something important.
Ivy sits up, glancing at the door as I rise from the bed and move to answer the door. I open it enough to see Antonia standing there in her pajamas, an apologetic expression on her face.
"I'm sorry to disturb, sir," she says tiredly. "But one of your men is waiting for you in your study. He says it's urgent."
I nod and dismiss her before glancing back at my wife. Our conversation will have to wait for another time.
"Go to sleep, Ivy."
She drags the sheet up to cover herself and meets my gaze for one lingering second before breaking it.
"Okay."