The question hangs between us. I could deflect; maintain the careful distance I’ve always kept. Instead, I find myself speaking truth I’ve buried for decades.
“My parents never hit me. They just... weren’t there. Physically present but emotionally vacant.” I stare at my hands. “When I was eight, my little sister drowned in our pool while they were hosting a fundraiser. I found her body.”
Dominic reaches for my hand. I let him take it.
“That night, after everyone left, my mother told me never to speak of it again. Said it would damage my father’s judicial career.” The words feel foreign in my mouth. “We moved three weeks later. They never mentioned her again. No grief counseling, no acknowledgment. It was like she never existed.”
“Christ, Liam.” Dominic’s fingers tighten around mine.
“I’ve never told anyone that.”
He moves to kneel before me, his hands framing my face. “You survived. So did Cora.”
The gentleness in his usually commanding eyes undoes me. I lean forward until our foreheads touch.
“We’ll get him,” Dominic whispers. “For Cora. For her mother.”
I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly his lips are on mine. The kiss is tender at first. His tongue slides against mine, and heat builds between us. His hands thread through my hair, pulling me closer.
We break apart, breathless, foreheads still touching.
“We should get back to the others,” he murmurs against my lips.
Dominic pulls back slightly, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity I’ve rarely seen from him outside the bedroom. There’s something different in his gaze now—a vulnerability that makes my chest tighten.
“You know,” he says, his voice rough, “I always thought I was the one who preferred being alone. That independence was strength.” His thumb traces along my jawline. “But we’ve all been alone in our own ways, haven’t we?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. The confession about my sister has left me raw, exposed in a way I’ve spent decades avoiding.
“Cora with that monster,” Dom continues, “Ryder bouncing between gambling halls, you with parents who couldn’t see you,me building empty penthouses no one lives in.” His fingers thread through mine, squeezing once. “But that’s done now.”
“Is it?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“Yes.” The certainty in his voice is unmistakable. “None of us have to worry about being abandoned again. Not emotionally, not any other way.” Dom leans forward, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss so brief yet achingly tender it nearly breaks me. When he pulls back, his expression is resolute. “We’ve got each other now. All of us.”
What he doesn’t say hangs in the space between us—that this unexpected family we’ve formed isn’t just for the contractual year from the Hunt. What we’ve built together has foundations that could last far beyond that. Neither of us gives voice to it, but I see the certainty reflected in his eyes.
I squeeze his hand back, a silent acknowledgment of everything unsaid.
39
CORA
My reflection stares back at me in the full-length mirror—emerald dress hugging every curve, hair swept into an elegant updo, diamond earrings catching the light. I look composed, polished. No one would guess my heart’s hammering against my ribcage.
“You look stunning.” Dom appears behind me, sliding his hands around my waist. His custom tuxedo makes him look even more powerful than usual.
“I’m terrified.” The admission slips out before I can stop it.
“We don’t have to go,” he says, but we both know that’s not true. This charity gala is my father’s annual flagship event—the one he uses to cement his image as the city’s moral compass. My attendance tonight with Dom, while Ryder and Liam accompany us as a couple, is nothing short of a declaration of war.
“Yes, we do.” I turn to face him. “I’m just?—”
“Scared of people judging you?” Ryder appears in the doorway, adjusting his cufflinks. “Join the club.”
Liam follows, looking devastating in his tux. “Your father’s already painted us as the villains who corrupted his innocent daughter. This isn’t going to be pretty.”
“I know.” I smooth my hands over my dress. “But I’m tired of letting him control the narrative.”
