I lay her down in my bed, beneath my sheets, in my shirt. My hand presses against her stomach for a moment, just to feel her breathe. Just to feel she’s real.
She doesn’t belong to herself anymore; she belongs to me.
And I will never let her forget that.
Her in my space, wrapped in my clothes, the mark of our oath fresh on her chest; all that assures she is mine and mine only.
I leave her there and move through the halls, barefoot, silent, as the house bends around me.
My study waits behind a door that only I have the key to. As I open the door and step inside, I look to the far wall, where mahogany paneling, unmarked to the untrained eye, is visible. I press the hidden latch, and the panel clicks open.
Behind it lies the safe that requires a thumbprint and code, full of stacks of assets, sealed files, and various items that men like me inherit. But buried beneath them is what I came for.
My mother’s emeralds.
The necklace gleams as I lift it, stone after stone, rich green fire captured in platinum settings. Each emerald is at least four carats, strung tight and close like a collar—a chain of wealth, Legacy, and ownership.
She wore this to remind people who she was when she wanted to silence a room without speaking.
I run my thumb along the clasp. Old-world craftsmanship, nearly impossible to open without knowing the trick. Once it’s on, it stays on.
Perfect.
I set the necklace down on the desk and reach for the ring box beside it. My mother’s, too. Massive. Heavy. A square-cut emerald, framed in diamonds.
I return to the bedroom with the velvet-covered boxes. The necklace glimmers under the low light, stones catching every flicker like they know exactly what they’re worth. Like they know where they belong.
She’s still asleep. Still perfect.
I kneel beside the bed, watching her chest rise and fall beneath the fabric of my shirt. The collar slipped slightly to one side, exposing the base of her neck, the faintest edge of the wound between her breasts.
I smile.
Carefully, I undo the clasp, and with slow precision, I place the necklace around her throat. One emerald at a time settles against her skin, cool and heavy. She shifts slightly, a faint murmur escaping her lips, but she doesn’t wake.
The clasp clicks into place with finality and permanence.
The weight and symbolism suit her. A true emblem of wealth, power, and Legacy. It was my mother’s pride, and now it is mine to give.
She stirs again, this time a little more, her brow furrowing faintly.
“Hayden…” she mumbles, barely audible. A whisper tucked between sleep and awareness as she reaches for me.
My chest tightens with something sharp, a sudden pain cutting through a feeling that should be soft.
I set the ring box down on the bedside table.
I climb into the bed, pulling back the covers, slipping behind her. My body curves around hers effortlessly, as if I were made for this. Like I’ve done it a hundred times in a hundred different lives. I’ve never let anyone sleep in my bed before. Fuck. I’ve never slept next to anyone.
I pull her close. One arm is tight around her waist, the other resting just beneath the emeralds at her throat.
She murmurs again, softer this time. She settles into me, the curve of her body folding perfectly into mine, her breath warm against my forearm. The weight of her, the scent of her skin, the emeralds catching faint glints of light with every slow rise and fall of her chest,it's all perfect.
But it’s not enough.
Not yet.
I reach for the ring box on the nightstand, flick it open with a quiet snap. The emerald stares up at me, cold, unblinking, massive. A stone that saysyou’ll never belong to anyone else again.
