I looked away, blinking hard.
He slid a finger under my chin and made me look at him.
“You deserved more than this,” he said. “More than a quiet exit. More than being replaced by a girl who doesn’t even know her own legacy.”
His breath brushed my lips.
“You deserved revenge.”
“I am not trying to go to war with Ares.”
“Who said anything about war?” he whispered. “Sometimes all it takes is a crack in the armor to make a king bleed. You are that crack, Bianca. You always were. The first woman he trusted with more than his body. The only one who knows where the signatures do not match.”
He was feeding my ego on purpose. I knew it. I felt it. But it still worked.
“What do you want me to do exactly?” I asked.
“For now?” Laurent brushed a curl behind my ear. “Nothing loud. Nothing foolish. Just look over this NDA like it belongs to someone else and circle anything that feels off. Any phrase that can be twisted. Any word that can be used. Bring it to me. I will handle the rest.”
“And if there is nothing?”
“There is always something,” he said. “Men like Ares believe they are invincible. That is when they miss the small things that kill them.”
I shivered, and not from fear alone.
“This could blow back on me,” I whispered.
“I won’t let it,” Laurent said. “You forget who I am. I am still a Delacroix. Fully. My blood runs thicker in this family than his ever will. If Ares wants to come for you, he has to come through me.”
“That is what scares me,” I said.
He smiled slowly. “You will be fine, bella. You survived loving me. You survived loving him. You will survive taking what you deserve.”
He took my glass, set it aside, and slipped his hand into mine.
“Come sit down,” he murmured. “We can talk details after you relax.”
I let him lead me to the sofa, hating how familiar his touch felt. Laurent moved in front of me slowly, like he had all the time in the world to ruin my life. When he lowered himself onto his knees, it wasn’t the way a man begged; it was the way a man claimed something he believed already belonged to him.
“Laurent,” I warned.
“What?” His eyes glinted. “You look tense. Let me help you think.”
I swallowed, heat rising under my skin as he pulled up my silk night gown. He kissed the inside of my thighs, slow and deliberate.
His hands slid up my ass with that same old confidence I used to fall for, his palms warm, his fingers firm, tracing me like a memory he was picking back up.
I should have stopped him.
I should have stood up, walked away, doneanythingexcept sit there and let him pull me under.
But when I looked down and met those green, smug, deadly eyes… I froze.
“You’re tense,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate. “Let me take care of you.”
He said it the same way he used to when we were together, before I learned how dangerous softness really was.
My breath hitched when he pushed my knees apart further.
