I pressed my forehead to my knees and let the tears keep coming. Because they had to go somewhere. Because if I didn't cry, I'd scream. And if I screamed, they'd hear. And if they heard, they'd move me somewhere darker. Somewhere with no windows. No tree. No moonlight. No chance.
I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough for the blood to dry on my hands. Long enough for the rage to subside. I heard my momma's voice.
"When I'm gone, Chloe, you become a doll. You hear me?"
"Yes, Momma."
"A doll doesn't speak. Doesn't complain. Doesn't have a mind to break."
"I remember."
"When the time comes and you have the chance to be free, take it. Do anything to do it."
"I will."
I stood up. Walked to the basin. Washed the blood from my hands. Straightened my mattress. Swept the broken porcelain into a corner where it would look like an accident.
Then I went to the window, my mind drifting to Killian. Olivia thought she'd won. Olivia thought she'd taken everything. That was fine. The higher she climbed, the more air she'd need when I finally cut the cord and pushed her off her pedestal.
Chapter 8: Killian
Arthur Landry swirled his cognac, the amber liquid catching the light of the study’s fireplace. He looked like a man full of himself, his chest puffed out, his smile a little too greasy. I should have avoided drinks after dinner; lunch at the club with his daughter had already pressed against my patience.
"Your grandfather is a legendary man, Killian," Arthur started. "But we have to be realistic. When he… passes, the Hart empire is going to need a steady hand. A partnership. A merger between our two companies wouldn't just be smart—it would be even more profitable."
I leaned back in the leather armchair. My mind was still upstairs, anywhere but here. The thought of discussing my grandfather as if he were already gone filled me with a cold resentment. "The Hart legacy isn't going anywhere, Arthur," I said flatly. "There are other family members prepared to take the helm. The company is in good hands. This is a nominal marriage—a marriage born from two scared soldiers. Sure, there will be benefits, but there’s nothing that the Harts need from the Landrys. Neither company will suffer if they stay exactly as they are."
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany desk. "Are you speaking of your cousin Emilia Hart taking the primary seat?"
I didn't blink. "Yes. She will be."
Arthur let out a dry, condescending chuckle, shaking his head as if I’d told a joke. "Doesn’t sound wise, Killian. Let’s be men of the world for a moment. Are you and the old man really sure about handing a multi-billion dollar conglomerate over to a woman? In this climate? It’s a liability. A merger with the Landry line would provide the… traditional structure the board is going to be looking for. You don’t want to run it? Transfer power to me, and I will."
He grinned.
The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. I stared at him, seeing a small, arrogant man who sounded like a relic from another century. I knew bullshit when I smelled it.
"Traditional structure," I repeated, my voice coming out like a low, dangerous hum.
"Exactly," Arthur beamed, oblivious to the cliff he was standing on.
"That's interesting," I said, my voice cutting through his smugness like a blade. "Correct me if I’m wrong, Arthur, but didn't your late wife run her family’s company before her death? Was she not capable?"
The glass in Arthur’s hand paused. His smile didn't vanish, but it froze, becoming brittle. "Well, Chloe's mother was passable. But as I said, the climate—"
"The records I've seen show the company was actually running better back then," I interrupted, leaning forward just enough to invade his space. "Higher margins, better expansion, a cleaner ledger. It makes me wonder... how would the Landry bloodline feel about that? You know, theactualbloodline. The ones who built this chair you're sitting in."
Arthur sputtered, his face flushing deep red. "Now, see here, Killian, you’re taking my words out of context. I only meantthat in the current market, a firm hand—a man's hand—is what investors trust."
I stood up slowly, smoothing the front of my shirt. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head to bed."
I walked out.
I was in my room for less than five minutes when an insistent knock echoed through the suite. I opened it to find Olivia, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. I frowned; something about her disgusted me—the fakeness lurking beneath her trembling lip.
"Killian," she started, reaching for my arm. "I heard what happened. My father... he’s just old-fashioned. He didn't mean to offend you. He just wants what’s best for our future. He thinks—"
"Good night, Olivia."
