He'd admitted that without flinching, owned the ugliest part of himself and laid it at my feet like an offering all for the chance to stop pretending he was something other than what he was.
A monster. Like me.
Maybe that was why I couldn't let him go, why the rage and the want kept tangling together until I couldn't separate them anymore. He'd done terrible things in service of his devotion to me, and some dark part of my soul recognized that devotion as the mirror of my own ruthlessness.
We were the same, both willing to destroy anyone who threatened what we wanted. Both of us were capable of cruelty that would horrify decent people. Both too proud to admit we needed anything until the need became unbearable.
My hand tightened in his hair, and he stirred, making a questioning sound.
"Shhh." I loosened my grip. "Sleep."
He settled again, his cheek pressing harder against my thigh, trusting me to hold him even though I hadn't forgiven him. Even though I might never forgive him.
That was the thing about Maxime. His trust had never wavered. Not when I'd treated him like a convenient hole to fuck on the plane, not when I'd walked out after the riding crop. Even now, when I'd explicitly told him the debt was still outstanding, he knelt at my feet and gave me everything, and he didn't demand any guarantees in return.
Twenty years ago, that kind of surrender would have made me contemptuous. I'd have seen it as weakness, as a lack of spine, as proof that he wasn't worth my respect.
Now I understood it differently.
Maxime didn't kneel because he was weak. He knelt because he was strong enough to want something and admit it. Strong enough to strip away the pretense and show me his real self, even knowing I might reject him. That took more courage than any boardroom battle or corporate negotiation.
I'd spent my whole life building walls so high that nothing could touch me. And here was this man, offering me everything he had with no guarantee of return, and I'd almost missed what that meant because I was too busy punishing him for his betrayal.
He was mine. He’d always been mine, even when I'd been too blind to see it.
The question was what to do with him now.
Forgiveness wasn't on the table. That much I knew. What he'd done to Imogen, to my sons, that couldn't be erased with a confession and some pretty words about desire. He'd carry that weight for the rest of his life, and I'd make sure he remembered it.
But I could give him something else. Something that wasn't absolution but wasn't rejection either. I could give him a place at my side, not as a penitent servant working off his debt, but as a partner who'd chosen to kneel. Someone I trusted with my empire even though I couldn't yet trust him with my forgiveness.
It wasn't enough. It wasn't fair. It wasn't the clean resolution either of us probably wanted.
But it was honest. And after thirty-two years of careful lies and professional distance, honesty was the only foundation worth building on.
Maxime shifted against my thigh, and I realized my hand had stilled in his hair. I resumed the slow stroking, watching his face relax again.
We'd figure out the rest. The anger and the want, the betrayal and the devotion, all the tangled mess of what we were to each other. Not tonight. Tonight was just this: my hand in his hair, his breath warm against my leg, the silence holding us both.
My phone buzzed on the side table.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again. Then again.
Maxime stirred, lifting his head. His eyes were hazy with sleep, and for a moment he just looked at me, like he wasn't sure if the conversation we'd had was real or some dream he'd conjured.
"Your phone," he murmured.
"I know."
It buzzed again, with multiple messages now, the vibrations running together.
Maxime pushed himself up, wincing as his knees protested after kneeling so long. I caught his elbow to steady him, and something flickered across his face at the casual touch. Surprise, maybe, or hope.
I reached for the phone.
Xavier's name filled the screen, followed by a cascade of alerts from my security team. My stomach tightened as I scrolled through them.
