Ipoured wine I didn’t even want into a glass and stared at the half-million-dollar contract that told me to shut up. Nonetheless, I signed it, and my signature looked too calm for the way I really felt. Ares always knew how to wound me with precision. A clean cut. No real warning. No apologies.
He ended us like a business merger he wanted out of.
Professional.
Respectful.
Heartless.
But the thing about heartless men was that I knew how to play their game better than they did. He must have forgotten who I was before him, who I was with, and who I could go back to.
What many people did not know was that I was with Laurent before Ares. Ares took me from Laurent. Promised to further my career and fucked me better than Laurent ever could. Laurent was pissed, but he knew not to approach Ares about it. But I always knew I could run back to him.
So now he was sitting at my kitchen island, sipping cognac, watching my every move in a sexual way that I was not ready to be on with him yet.
I lifted the glass to my lips and tasted the wine. It was expensive and bitter, like most of the choices I had made in my life.
“You read it twice already,” Laurent said, nodding toward the NDA and cashier’s check on the marble. “You are going to set it on fire or frame it?”
“Neither,” I muttered. “I am trying to decide if I want to choke on it.”
He chuckled and leaned back on the barstool, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking at his wrists. Laurent Delacroix was a pretty white boy, but in that dangerous way. Light green eyes. broad shoulders. Tall. Just enough stubble to look careless and expensive at the same time.
“What is the problem, Bianca?” he asked. “Half a million is a nice parting gift for a girlfriend. I say go on vacation.”
I cut him a look. “I was not just a girlfriend.”
“No,” he agreed. “You were the clean-up crew. The fixer. The woman behind the Don. The one who made sure nobody could touch him.”
“Exactly. And this is his way of pretending none of that mattered. One check. One signature. One lifetime gag order.”
I read the line again. No books. No interviews. No social media posts. No implied defamation. No nothing. My whole story reduced to a paragraph of what I was never allowed to say.
“He did the same with the others?” Laurent asked casually.
“Different numbers. Different clauses. I am sure.” I took another sip. “But I am the only one who knows how much trouble he would be in if I ever opened my mouth.”
Laurent’s gaze sharpened. “Exactly.”
“You know what bothers me?” I said finally. “It’s not the ending. I knew he would never marry me. Men like Ares don’t marry women who know where the bodies are. It is the price he put on me. Half a million dollars for five years of my life.”
“How much did you put on yourself?” Laurent asked.
I scoffed. “More than that.”
“Then act like it.” His voice dropped, a little silkier, a little rougher. “You are worth more than a closed mouth and a check he probably signed while he was on a conference call.”
I swallowed hard. He was not wrong. That was the problem.
“I can’t break this,” I said, touching the papers. “You know how Ares is. He will not hesitate to make me disappear if he thinks I am a threat. I’m not stupid.”
Laurent set his glass down and studied me. “You think I begged to come here to tell you to run on Instagram and trash him? No, bella. I am not that sloppy.”
“Then what do you want?”
He easily changed the subject to something darker, which left me in disbelief. Laurent exhaled slowly, swirling the cognac in his glass.
“You know why he really cut everyone off this way, right?” he asked.
