Would it have even mattered to me then?
I shove the truth aside before it can land and glide through my Parisian club, wearing the polished, distant smile my clientele and staff expect. Julien, my maître d’, inclines his head as I pass, and my smile tugs a little wider. He’s been a rare find: a fast friend and a man I trust to ensure this place delivers on the Royal HQ promise when I’m not around.
As the newest jewel in my empire, Paris sits at the apex ofeverything I’ve built: the loudest reminder of how far I’ve come. That I’m no longer the kid lying awake in the dark, praying the heating won’t cut out with the lights, clutching a shivering Sadie to my chest while spinning tales of better lives… manifesting a future beyond our wildest dreams.
And yeah, I know what you’re thinking: I’m no romantic, so why make Paris the pinnacle?
But this city gets under your skin.
The champagne-washed façades, the landmarks everyone knows, the world-class art, the vibrant cafés… it pulls you in before you realise it. Not just the romance, but the hum of possibility. A reminder that life is for living and making the most of every day.
As a kid, this place was an impossible fantasy; now it’s mine.
Perched on the edge of the Seine with the Eiffel Tower glittering across the way, the club is everything Royal HQ is known for: intimate, luxurious, unapologetically exclusive. Rich wood panelling and warm velvet booths, soft lighting and sultry jazz.
Of all my clubs, this place should soothe me the most.
But tonight, even it can’t dull the ache beneath my skin.
Before, it was the baby. Wanting one.Needingone.
Now I’m afraid it’s Axel. I miss him. I want him.
I dream of him by night and fantasise about him by day, and that’s not okay. Not on any level. Not when it goes beyond the boundaries of our arrangement.
What arrangement?my conscience mocks.There is none.
Not in writing at any rate.
He’s had the contract for a fortnight and I’ve heard nothing.
And I’m not pregnant; my recent period made that clear.
And I don’t even know how I feel about that. There was the smallest part of me that hoped it wouldn’t come. That a coupleof rounds with Axel andhey presto!But then we’d have no need to continue down this road… a road I’m not even sure exists any more.
Given the way it became more about a battle for control, for dominance in the end… Him forcing me to my knees, me sending him the same way. All of it about power. None of it about making a baby. The whole reason we were supposed to be crossing the line in the first place. Could I blame him for having regrets? Questioning it? Fearing it, even?
And is that what he’s doing? Working out a way to turn me down now he’s had time and distance to think? Or is it just me spiralling in his absence? Questioning things way too much and worrying unnecessarily?
And then there’s the kiss.
My God, that kiss.
His line, his boundary… blown to smithereens.
Buthekissedme.
And fuck, did he kiss me. I’ve relived it over and over. The fevered claiming of his mouth, his lips, his tongue…
Was that the line that broke us?
It all feels like a distant memory, one hell of a fever dream, even.
And I could have reached out to him, but I haven’t. I’m scared. Too scared that it’s over before it ever truly began.
I push into my office-turned-penthouse suite and don’t bother with the lights. The Eiffel Tower’s already doing the work for me, its silver-gold glow spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off the crystal chandelier, the marble floor, the gilded glass tables and plush velvet seating.
I head straight for the drinks cart by the window and pour a whisky. The bottle clinks softly against the glass – far too loud in the quiet – and I take a deep breath.
