Page 141

Her stupidity had created another responsibility for me to contain. She foolishly believed the baby would force me to choose her. It only guaranteed that I would have to keep visiting that beach house, paying her expenses, managing her emotions, and preventing her from interfering with my real life.

Samantha could never find out. Maggie had already approached her once without permission. Now she had something permanent to hold over me whenever she felt neglected.

A wife struggling after childbirth. A newborn who screamed through the night. A pregnant mistress convinced she deserved more than I had given her. Every one of them wanted something from me.

That was why I needed to leave tonight.

The crying that usually started around three in the morning had become unbearable, but tonight I reached my limit before midnight. The diapers reeked of shit. Seth screamed every time I held him, and Samantha responded by rocking him and pretending every miserable second was precious.

I had held him earlier and studied his tiny face, expecting my son and the continuation of my bloodline to satisfy me.

It had done nothing.

Fatherhood hadn’t weakened my urge to kill. Maggie’s pregnancy had made it worse. I needed someone beneath my hands who could not cry for my attention, question my decisions, or threaten the life I had built.

I lingered in the doorway, fingers twitching.

“He’s not burping,” I said flatly.

Samantha glanced up with that exhausted, trusting smile. “He will. He just needs more time. Rough day?”

“Same as always.” The irritation was already sharpening into something feral behind my eyes. I didn’t trust myself to stay.

It had been over a year. A whole fucking year since I had killed anyone. The urge had been building, burning from the inside out like acid eating through my veins, turning every polite conversation into a fantasy of ripping throats. Playing husband and father was a cage, and tonight the bars were closing in.

“I need to head back to the office,” I told her. “I’ll be back.”

She nodded. “Okay, be safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I turned and walked out before the mask cracked.

The night air slapped me awake as I lowered the car window. Headlights carved silver wounds through empty streets. The engine growled in time with the fire in my chest.

I couldn’t keep pretending. The domestic shit was a lie I had sold myself, but the beast didn’t sleep. It paced. It hungered. One year. One endless year of restraint, and now it was clawing to get out.

I parked behind the building. Inside, the lobby was silent. That was when Madison emerged from the side office, heels clicking. Her blouse unbuttoned one notch too low, and that short skirt clung to her hips.

“Mr. Kincaid? Thank God,” she said, clutching her bag. “My car’s in the shop. Any chance I could get a ride home? I’d owe you… big time.”

I let the mask of the perfect boss slide into place. “Of course, Madison. Let’s go.”

She fell into step beside me, chattering as we reached the car. At first, it was all work nonsense: difficult clients, the usual office complaints. But halfway through the drive, the conversation shifted. She crossed her legs so her skirt rode higher on her thigh. The scent of her perfume filled the car. Her hand brushed my arm, then settled on my thigh with growing confidence.

“You know, Mr. Kincaid,” she said, testing the waters, “I’ve always admired how in control you are. All those long nights at the office. A man like you must carry so much tension.”

Her fingers squeezed gently. I kept my eyes on the road. Inside, the fire was already roaring hotter. She had no idea what kind of relief I truly needed. Not her mouth or her pussy. Something darker.

I let a small smile touch my lips. “You can call me Richard.”

Her eyes lit up at that, as if I had handed her a key. The shift was immediate. She leaned closer, her hand sliding higher on my thigh.

“Okay, Richard,” she repeated. She let the silence stretch for a moment, watching my face in the passing streetlights. “I’ve noticed the way you look at me sometimes in meetings. Like you’re thinking about something… intense. Am I reading that right?”

I glanced at her, letting just enough heat show in my eyes. “You’re not wrong.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. She exhaled a soft laugh, bolder now, and her fingers stroked in slow circles.

“Good. Because I’ve thought about it too. About you pinning me down. About how it would feel if you stopped being so professional.” She bit her lip, studying me. “I’ve fantasized about you tearing my clothes off, fucking me on your desk until I can’t walk.”