Isabella knew just the right button to push to flush every logical thought from his mind in that moment, in his office,facing down the bitch of a viper who was all too eager to sink her fangs into him and his power and money.
He hated that he allowed her to get under his skin, to prick at the soft tissues he swore didn’t exist.
A knock on the door, then a soft shuffling sound, told him that Piers had arrived with the packages. The sound of the door shutting behind the concierge drew Gideon out of the kitchen.
He was suddenly very curious about what his wife had bought.
There were two boxes, one that looked like a cigar case, and one that was flat and rectangular like the boxes his fine art purchases came in. The other package was a designer gift bag.
What the hell did she buy?
Had she ordered something and forgotten they were coming today?
It’s probably Christmas presents…most likely something for him. His wife loved to spoil him and his family at the Holidays.
And what the fuck do you ever buy for her other than jewelry from a catalog?
While Kendra’s gifts were always thoughtful, Gideon couldn’t be bothered with gift-buying, which was why his PA had access to his credit cards and no spending limit. His brothers got expensive booze and gadgets, Cora and the kids got whatever shit moms and kids needed, and his wife got sparkly shit.
Not that she ever wore any of it.
Curious about what was in the packages, not the least bit guilty about wanting to look, and desperately in need of something to take his mind off the suffocating, gnawing ache in his chest, he carried the packages into the sitting room where, after a long day, he’d often go to unwind….
With Kendra.
Cursing, he placed the packages on the coffee table, sat on the couch, and stared at the first of the packages, the gold and blackgift bag from Neiman Marcus, a brand Kendra loved because they were about comfort and class, which she appreciated.
The second package was a heavy, ornate, rectangular wooden box with a small clasp in the front.
It was definitely a cigar box, but why the fuck would Kendra buy cigars?
Picking up the gift bag, he noticed it was light, barely heavy enough to be anything but a pair of socks.
Reaching inside, his hand brushed against something soft, and he grabbed it, pulling it out of the bag. It was a tiny scrap of fabric, folded delicately. Dropping the bag on the coffee table, he brought the fabric up, and let it drop open to reveal a onesie.
At first, the words made no sense—like a foreign language had been force-downloaded into an already wrung out brain.
Then…they registered.
Merry Christmas, Daddy….
Daddy….
That couldn’t mean?—
His heart pounding, his ears ringing, he grabbed the cigar box and tore it open, uncaring of the damage to the obviously expensive, hand-crafted box.
Inside was a row of hand-rolled cigars, wrapped in a deep red paper, with a gold label carefully adhered to each one.
His hands shaking, he pulled a single cigar from the box, his gaze eating up the words handwritten on the label.
Baby Maddox Coming – 2026
He couldn’t breathe—the air was stuck, glued to his throat, cemented inside his mouth. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get enough oxygen.
The world spun, black and gray dots dancing wildly in his vision.
Dizzy yet refusing to stop, he dropped the cigar, and tore into the final package.
