Alistair

December 25

“So, this is all you’ve got?” I paced the length of my parents’ Spanish-style garden patio.

“I’m doin’ all I can, Mister Scott,” Lou answered, stabbing his cigarette into an ashtray. “My guys have been all over it—heard Holly popped up in northern Brazil last week, but she slipped the net. Word is she tried gettin’ her sister outta prison, but nobody knows if she made it. We’re still diggin’, but down there? She’s like a damn ghost.”

“Why the fuck did I hire you? Can you remind me?” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

The burly man took a step forward. “We’ve got a place.”

“What have you got?” I place my hands in my pockets to hide my fidgeting fingers.

“She stayed at a motel in Recife, a coastal city in northern Brazil.”

“For fuck’s sake. Find her. I want her alive.” I sighed, then checked my watch. Vera and her mother should be here in fifteen minutes. Family and friends started arriving at my parents’ ranch to celebrate Christmas in style… champagne and a buffet lunch.

“My boys took care of Steven,” Lou said.

Crossing my arms, I tilted my head. “Who the fuck is Steven?”

“He was with Holly the night⁠—”

“Did he speak?”

“He admitted helping Holly. Said a beautiful woman paid him. Someone who knows you. She’s got money and power, sir.”

“Find out who the woman is, and find Holly James,” I growled, clenching my fists in anger.

“I will.”

“Did Steven tell you anything else?”

“He refused, so we cut out his tongue and fed it to the fish.”

“And the rest of him? Swimming with them, too?”

Lou met my eyes, no trace of doubt. “He’s dead, sir. You wanted him gone. I made sure of it.”

“Right. I don’t need the details.” I’d given the order, and Lou had delivered. When you’re born with money and influence, power comes as naturally as breathing. I never wasted energy on guilt, especially not for assholes who crossed me.

“Feel free to grab some food inside before you leave. Keep in touch.” I waved my hand to dismiss Lou. He bowed, nodded, and walked away.

There was one thing about men like Lou. He was loyal as long as his family lived comfortably, and I took care of his family.. Heck, I threw in free private schooling for his kids. The guy belonged to a motorcycle club, and he was crazy about his woman, just as I was crazy about mine. We shared common ground from that standpoint. My friend, Angelo Lucciano, recommended him. Said he was reliable, and he was right.

As for who violated Vera, my gut screamed Saira, but suspicion wasn’t enough. I needed proof. When judgment day came, I wouldn’t stand in front of a judge and jury with nothing but guesses. I’d bring evidence sharp enough to cut her down.

Judgment day would come, and when it does, I’ll aim for the jugular.

Vera

“Merry Christmas, babe,” I greeted Alistair with a kiss when I arrived at the Scott Residence. He and I kept our relationship quiet from the public eye and the media for now. It wasn’t hard because he spent most of his time traveling abroad for work.

We decided it was time to let the cat out of the bag that we were officially a couple, starting with our families and close friends. Alistair invited my family⁠—Mom, Julian, Sapphire, and their baby, Drake Octavius Richland, born only a few weeks ago⁠—to the Christmas party.

“Merry Christmas, Alistair,” my mother said, holding her hand out for him to shake. They got along well from the moment they met back in September. I revealed my relationship with Alistair to Sapphire after she gave birth to my nephew. She was thrilled, and surprisingly, so was Julian.

Alistair chuckled and cupped Mom’s hand with both of his hands. “Make yourself at home, Frances. It’s good to see you again.” He turned to me and kissed my cheek. “I’m glad you made it, sweetheart. It’s been too long,” he murmured into my ear.

I gazed at Alistair’s dilated eyes, clouded with lust, and whispered, “It’s only been one week this time, but I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“Eight p.m. sharp at my place, or I’ll hunt you down,” he growled, gazing at my body. “I must greet my cousin, Cecily. Julian and Sapphire are already here, talking with my dad and some of his buddies. Damian’s here too. He can’t wait to see you.”

“Damian?” Mom asked, watching Alistair walk toward a bubbly blonde woman with a gift in her hands.

“He’s Alistair’s son,” I explained. I liked spending time with the kid. He and I watched a new action blockbuster at the movies last weekend.

“Alistair reminds me of the mythical Orion. He was a hunter too, and Artemis’s lover,” my mother pointed out. “His fate was rather unfortunate, though, so Artemis placed his body among the stars. As for the scorpion she killed, she placed that one behind Orion in the sky to warn everyone of treachery and deception, or betrayal of trust.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Mom, what are you saying?”

“Why, not much at all. It’s just a silly story. Julian knows more about these myths.” Mom patted my hand.

“Boo,” a boy’s voice cut in, breaking the thread of conversation with my mom. I spun around and found myself staring into bright green eyes, a freckled nose, and dimples deep enough to disarm me.

“Damian. You scared me.” I placed both hands against my cheeks and opened my eyes wide to imitate Edvard Munch’s painting, The Scream.

“You look like a zombie.” He chuckled with a genuine smile. It was the same smile his father wore when he was content. Elizabeth stood next to her grandson, glowing with happiness.

“It’s good to see you again, Vera. I hope you’re enjoying your new job at Orion,” she said.

“The company keeps me busy, and I love my team,” I responded, then gestured toward my mother, who smiled serenely. “Damian and Elizabeth, this is my mom, Frances.”

The two women began to chatter after being introduced, but I felt a chill coming from another direction. Turning to my right, I noticed two pairs of malicious eyes glaring at me from a distance. Erin and Oliver Scott were here.

“I hear you’re part of the legal team at Orion,” Erin said, taking a seat next to me at the lunch table. “Congratulations on sleeping your way to a job. You should get a stop sign embroidered on that dress between your legs.”

It was my rotten luck to have Queen Bitch by my side on Christmas Day, so I snapped. “Actually, it was Elizabeth who offered me the job. You’re disgusting to think of me sleeping with your mother-in-law,” I replied. “Merry Christmas, by the way. I hope you get a lump of coal shoved down your throat.”

Erin raised her glass of water, tilting it toward me. “Merry Christmas to you, too, slut face. Wanna know what Oliver said about you?”

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks or says about me.”

Erin glanced at her husband, who sat next to a cousin further down the table. I introduced myself to Oliver earlier at the party, but he refused to acknowledge my existence. Ignoring what I’d just said, she continued rambling shit. “He said Alistair would never marry trash. That you’ll never be one of us. Once a slut, always a slut.”

Oliver was the real trash. He wouldn’t know what an equal relationship was, even if it hit him in the head. He married Erin because of her looks. How shallow.

“Wow, you’re running out of insults. Slut-shaming? Really?” I fired back. “By the way, where is Camilla?”

“My daughter is asleep in the guest room upstairs with her nanny.”

“She’s a beautiful little girl,” I forced the words to come out of my mouth.

“I know. She’s like her father,” Erin grinned with the sly satisfaction that cats wore on their faces when they stole cream.

“She is a gift,” I replied.

“I’m a lucky mother. Well, you do know how babies are made, don’t you?” Erin mocked. Her eyes narrowed at mine while she gloated in her little victory.

“Grow the fuck up,” I snapped. “I’m with Alistair. Get used to it.”

Erin’s brown eyes narrowed, snake-like and unblinking. “Fine. Stay, then.” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “You’ve just declared war.”

Saph, who sat across from me, widened her eyes. The pram with my sleeping nephew was parked behind her. Julian and Alistair sat further down to the right, near John, while my mother and Elizabeth were seated with Damian on the other end, to the left.

“Hi, I’m Sapphire, Vera’s friend.” Saph extended her hand over the table to shake Erin’s hand.

“Erin Everton-Scott. Nice to meet you, and Merry Christmas.” Erin shook Saph’s hand. “By the way, is your friend, Vera, always this rude?”

Saph’s icy blue eyes drilled down on Erin as her grip tightened. “Vera is rarely rude unless someone is either stupid or crazy. So, are you stupid, or are you crazy?”

Erin winced, letting go of Saph’s tight hold. She laughed nervously in a poor effort to regain her composure. “Brr, is it getting cold in here?”

“I can’t get a moment of peace without drama in here,” a haughty voice hissed with a hint of anger.

I glanced to my left at a lush woman in a tight, floral outfit, which accentuated her curvy hips and ample breasts. Her thick, dark curls gathered on her left shoulder and were held together with an intricate gold clip. I wondered who she was.

“My name is Bianca,” the woman announced as if she could read my mind.

“I’m Vera,” I said with a smile.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Bianca said enthusiastically. She grinned as if my name were music to her ears. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Alistair.”

“Oh?”

“He and I have been friends for a lifetime. We⁠—”

“Bianca and Alistair are friends with benefits,” Erin interrupted, glaring at both of us, then laughed. “What? Didn’t you know? Bianca is Alistair’s high school sweetheart, to whom he lost his virginity back in the day. Why do you think she’s here? Did you really think you were that special?”

“Erin, enough,” Bianca snapped, her voice edged with authority. Then she turned to me, her eyes softening with something close to pity. “I’m only here because my husband and I are friends with the Scott family.”

“Where’s your husband, Bianca?” Erin fired.

“That is none of your business,” she replied curtly.

“See, Vera? You’re not special to Alistair. You’re a dime a dozen,” Erin taunted, smirking like a bratty schoolgirl.

“Alistair told me you mean the world to him. He’s fiercely protective of you,” Bianca whispered into my ear. “Ignore Erin. She’s a pain in the ass for the Scott family.”

I laughed softly. “I’m glad we met. I love your dress, by the way. It’s gorgeous, very Parisian chic.”

Her grin widened as she brushed her fingers over the printed flowers on the silk. “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites. A rare Chanel piece.”

The sound of a spoon clinking on a champagne glass interrupted our bitter conversation, and all heads turned to Alistair, who stood up, ready to speak. “Thank you for being here today to celebrate this festive season,” he began. “It’s not often we have family and close friends gathered in one room to bond and celebrate the end of the year, and what a year it’s been.”

“Here, here,” a relative called out. Alistair’s slight smile turned into a soft chuckle.

“I’d like to make two toasts before we start lunch,” he continued. “First, I’d like to make a toast to our successes, good health, and lifelong friendships. Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Merry Christmas,” we cheered in unison, raising our glasses with him, before sipping our drinks.

Alistair cleared his throat, then continued. “For those of you who aren’t aware, I invited a lovely lady and her family here today to celebrate Christmas with us. Here’s a toast to the beautiful Vera Kathryn Richland. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” His eyes locked with mine as he raised his glass in my honor.

The guests chimed warm wishes and raised their glasses, but all this faded into a blur as I focused my gaze on my handsome Orion, the man who showed me love. My ears and cheeks burned with crimson heat when his soulful green eyes connected with mine. I felt as if the stars in the universe started to align for us. Of all the gifts he and I gave each other on Christmas, the most important one was an intangible exchange between our souls—a crazy thing called love.

Vera

A few months later

“Fucking bitch.” Alistair’s temper exploded like a grenade in his office. He threw the magazine at my feet.

I picked it up, saw the smut on the cover, and then flipped to the article, scanning it before placing it on the coffee table beside me. “It’s just tabloid rubbish,” I said, stroking my hot-tempered lover’s arm. His reddened cheeks ticked in heated anger.

“It’s a media attack,” he growled. “Clearly, someone is paying Rebecca to shit on me.”

The magazine, Lester Harbor Exposed, was a popular gossip rag with wild headlines and vulgar photos of the rich and famous. The latest exposé featured Alistair’s former fiancée, Rebecca Ross, exposing him as a whoring, cheating playboy who gave her gonorrhea. That last part was not true because his previous test results showed he was clean. She posed nude, showing her “new” breasts, which she claimed were a gift from Alistair when they were together. They didn’t bother covering up her nipples. The budding actress probably enjoyed the attention.

“Alistair is a sex addict who invited other women to share our bed,” Rebecca said in the article. “Ménage à trois became a regular activity for us. He’s not capable of love. He’s a sociopathic heartbreaker. I hear he’s dating a lawyer. Whoever you are, stay away from him because he’ll wreck you.”

“Scotty, this is BS,” I scoffed. “You can’t take it seriously. Honestly.”

“Your girlfriend is right,” a cold voice confirmed. Bianca Cavalli walked into the office, smelling like sweet temptation with her high heels, flowing locks of ebony hair, and figure-hugging dress.

Alistair greeted Bianca with a light kiss on her cheek. “Listen, thanks for coming at short notice. I hope I didn’t ruin your evening plans.”

“Vera, sit next to me,” she commanded, taking a seat on a leather sofa. I sat down, mirroring her, and clasped my hands.

“You’ve heard of Lester Harbor Daily and the biweekly Lester Harbor City News, I’m sure,” she said.

I nodded, awed by the cold-as-ice queen bee. Her champagne dress shimmered against her smooth chocolate skin, the contrast striking and impossible not to admire.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself,” she said. “I’m Bianca Cavalli, CEO of Cavalli Media Group, the parent company of both The Daily and City News.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I asked, a little confused.

“Everything,” Alistair said. He stood by the forty-fifth-floor window and stared at the city lights under the night sky. We worked in the same building and met up in the evenings so he could drive me home when he was in town.

“Alistair tells me he’s invested in you,” Bianca continued.

I arched a brow. “Are you two planning my life already?”

“No,” the media magnate replied, calm but firm. “But we’re protecting you. A smear campaign is brewing. Someone with deep pockets is feeding the press stories to drag both of you down.”

I turned to Alistair, heat rising in my chest. “Scotty, we can sue Rebecca for defamation, and anyone else who tries this shit.”

“Rebecca will hear from my lawyer in the morning,” he said, his lips pressed into a hard line.

Bianca looked me straight in the eye. “There will be news about you, my dear. It won’t be from the Daily or any of my publications, but there will be more media attacks. We will do whatever we can to help you.”

“How?”

“For starters, I’ll arrange media training for you next week. Then we’d like to feature you and Alistair as Lester Harbor’s darling couple in The Daily’s next feature spread. You’ll talk about life, family, and your relationship. Oh, make yourselves relatable to the readers.”

“Will we see the article before it goes to print?” I asked.

“Of course,” Bianca promised, placing her hand on mine.

Alistair

“Bianca, I appreciate you being here,” I said, keeping Vera’s hand steady in mine.

“That’s what friends do,” she answered absently, checking her mobile phone.

“Vera, let me speak with Bianca.” I gave her hand one last pat before meeting Bianca’s eyes. “A word.”

“Sure,” she replied, glancing at Vera, who nodded and made her way to the coffee machine in the foyer.

I closed my office door. “What’s going on between you and Dominic?”

“My husband is living with his mistress these days. He rarely visits the kids,” Bianca said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“There’s something else you’re not telling me. What is it? Did your reporter find any more information about Holly James? Is it Saira who’s attacking Vera?”

“We can’t prove it’s your ex-wife, but it fits. She’d love nothing more than to drag you and Vera down. Remember, she’s Julian Richland’s sister. My sources unearthed some ugly truths about his arrangement with Saira. He ended things, and Saira’s furious. But lately, she’s gone silent.”

“That’s not a good sign.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“How about Holly?”

“My reporter dug up something damning. The woman who paid Holly and vowed to free her sister? She’s the one who arranged her arrest. Holly doesn’t know.”

“Oh? You’re sure this isn’t speculation?”

“Scotty, June is the Daily’s best investigative journalist. She works with credible sources. I can count on her, and she won’t say a word. She will not leak anything to harm someone’s life or reputation because she has integrity.”

“That’s rare in the world of journalism,” I teased, grinning at Bianca.

“Save that seductive grin for your girlfriend,” Bianca flirted, letting her hand linger on my arm. “I’d take you to bed in a heartbeat, but you’re clearly hers. I like this one.”

“My charm stays with her,” I assured. “I’m going to marry her one day.”

“Promise me the Daily will have exclusive photos and a feature on your big day.”

“Treat Vera well, and I’ll say it’s a done deal.”

“Scotty, are you treating her well?” Bianca asked, plucking lint from my shoulder.

I removed her hand and shifted. “I’d give everything for Vera.”

“You really mean that?”

“I do.”

Vera and I picked up Chinese takeout on the way to my place. She sat across from me at the dining table, fishing a dumpling out of her wonton soup with a spoon.

“You’re unusually quiet,” I said, watching the steam curl between us.

Her gaze lifted from the bowl to my face. “Here’s the thing. Don’t you think I’m capable of looking after myself?”

“I know you can, sweetheart.”

“All my life, someone’s protected me. First, it was Julian. Now, it’s you and your friends. I appreciate the care, I really do, but I’m not helpless.”

“I know,” I admitted, leaning back. “But when I’m not here, I worry myself sick. Some nights I can’t even sleep. Keeping you safe is all I think about.”

Her eyes softened, though her chin stayed stubborn. “Scotty, when you spoke with Bianca, what did you talk about?”

I reached across the table and took her hand, thumb brushing her knuckles. A sigh escaped before I answered. “Bianca’s got an investigative journalist digging into Holly and the woman who hurt you. It might be Saira. But I need proof before I throw accusations. I want evidence, and it has to come straight from the source.”

“Meaning, Holly?”

“Yes.”

“I wish this nightmare were over,” Vera murmured, rubbing her temple. “But it won’t be until I know who did this to me. I barely sleep.”

“I know. I’m right there with you.”

She pushed her food aside, reached for my hand, and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “Do you think Erin or Oliver could be behind this?”

Interesting.

“Oliver can be vindictive, but he’s my brother. And everything points to a woman. Besides, he and Erin are in Australia, tied up with that property in Sydney.”

“I still wouldn’t rule out Erin,” Vera said flatly. “She hates me, and Oliver would do anything for her.”

I shook my head. “Erin wouldn’t know her left from her right. And she can’t keep her mouth shut. She’s reckless, not calculated.” I leaned closer. “This feels like Holly, and behind her? Someone with precision. Someone like Saira.”

Vera’s lips tightened. “Erin is vicious, Scotty. She wants my blood.”

“This has Saira written all over it, sweetheart. She lives to wound the people she hates, and you and I are at the top of her list.”

Her shoulders slumped, sadness flickering through her eyes. “I’m sorry you didn’t get full custody of Damian. The judge was biased. Damian deserves better. He told me he doesn’t want to live with his mother.”

“I haven’t given up,” I muttered. “I swear, the moment Saira fucks up, I will appeal for full custody of my son.”

“You’re a fighter, and you don’t give up easily,” she said, getting up from the chair.

I stood up and brought her body into my hips, securing her tightly. “There’s something else on your mind. Tell me.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Vera dismissed, pushing away from my hips.

“Your eyes tell me it’s probably something,” I said. “Speak to me, sweetheart.”

“Is there something going on between you and Bianca?”

“No.”

“It’s just that Erin said⁠—”

“Erin’s a liar,” I bit out. “Here’s the truth. Bianca and I hooked up in high school and again in college. Then Erin came along.”

“Did you sleep with Bianca in the past few years?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t she married?”

“Yes.”

“Have you slept with her while we’ve been together?”

“No.”

Her eyes hardened. “How would you feel if I had sex with someone else behind your back?”

“Vera, don’t you dare,” I warned, heat spiking through my chest. A knot of jealousy and rage twisted in my gut.

She stroked over my clenched fists, prying my fingers open until the tension bled out. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, working her thumbs into my palms. “I haven’t been with anyone else. I needed you to understand it’s not okay to sleep with other people’s partners unless they have an open relationship.”

Her lips brushed my neck as I exhaled. “Bianca and her husband had an open arrangement,” I said. “For years, it worked. But now? Dominic spends more time with his mistress than with his wife or kids. It’s messy.”

“You care about Bianca,” she said quietly.

“She’s my friend.”

“Oh. Then I’m sorry for assuming otherwise.”

“You made an ass of you and me,” I whispered, my teeth grazing her ear before I held her tight. “I had a quiet word with your brother at the Christmas party last year.”

“What did you talk about?”

“He told me something about you I already knew.” I brushed my thumb along her jaw. “Some men see you as a challenge, others mistake you for reckless. But the truth? You want the opposite. A real relationship. Respect. Honesty. Consent. You hate the lies and sneaking around that come with cheaters.”

“Julian told you that?”

“Yes. You’re an angel.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.” I held her gaze, even as hers darkened in defiance. “Vera, move in with me.”

“Scotty, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her brows pinched, hesitation flashing across her face.

“Why not?” I wasn’t about to take no without a reason.

“Because I’m a slob,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her wild hair.

“That’s it?” I barked a laugh. “I can handle a slob. I’ve got a cleaner three days a week. Try harder, sweetheart.”

“I like to sleep in. You’re up before dawn.”

“Not an excuse,” I shot back. “We’ve been sleeping together long enough. You’re stuck with me.”

She crossed her arms. “I like my space. My privacy.”

“You’ll have it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll move in on one condition.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“I want time with Damian, too. He’s a great kid. I feel like the goofy aunt when he’s around. He and I have a bond.”

“Deal.” I pulled her close. “You’re my family.”

Vera

Iwoke up in a thick haze of anesthesia, my body heavy and senses dulled, yet aware. Disinfectant and artificial lemon flooded my nose, sharp and chemical. My tongue felt like dry chalk, stuck to the roof of my mouth. A heart monitor ticked out a steady rhythm beside me, each beep syncing with the dull throb in my abdomen. With every pulse, the truth pressed in harder: Saint John’s Hospital. Post-surgery. Reality coming into sharper focus.

I swallowed hard, recalling my tubal ligation reversal: the cold operating room, glaring lights, and the whisper of hope. A chance to have children—nothing promised, but still a chance. Blinking away from the sunlit window, I scanned the room, my gaze drifting to two familiar faces waiting at my bedside.

Emerald eyes.

Two pairs, nearly identical, yet set apart by age and experience. Alistair’s expression softened, warmth and relief written across his handsome face, framed by soft curls that gleamed golden brown in the clinical brightness. Damian stood beside him, his young face showing a mix of awkwardness and quiet concern. His sandy hair was messy, stubborn strands refusing to behave.

“I, um…got these for you,” Damian mumbled, stepping forward with a shy smile. He held out a bouquet of tiger lilies, stems slightly bent from his nervous grip. “Dad said they’re your favorite.”

I smiled, gratitude filling my heart. “Your dad’s right. They’re perfect,” I replied, shooting Alistair a knowing look.

Alistair came closer, taking my hand. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles against my skin. “Doctor Cohen said everything went smoothly. You need to rest. I’ve already notified your HR rep that you’ll get time off. Your recovery is non-negotiable.”

I fidgeted with the plastic band around my wrist. My hospital gown did nothing to ward off the frigid air. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Wait a sec,” Damian responded, moving toward the wardrobe. He rummaged through and took out a knitted cardigan, handing it to his father.

“Can you sit up just a bit?” Alistair’s voice was gentle, coaxing.

I nodded and pushed myself upright, wincing at the sharp sting of stitches pulling tight. Warmth enveloped me as Alistair draped the cardigan around my shoulders, his strong hands lingering to rub reassuringly. “Better?”

“Mmm,” I murmured. “Much better.”

Damian shifted in the seat beside me, blowing stray hair from his eyes. He wore a look I recognized instantly. The quiet intensity meant he had something important he needed to get off his chest.

Catching Alistair’s eye, I asked, “Sweetie, could you grab me a mocha and one of those chocolate croissants from the café downstairs?”

“Of course.” Alistair turned toward Damian. “Anything for you. Son?”

Damian shook his head, mouthing, “No.”

Alistair slipped out, leaving me and the kid to talk. The air thickened with silence, anticipation swirling between us.

“All right,” I said, giving Damian a playful, conspiratorial look. “Spill. What’s on your mind?”

He showed off his dimpled smile. “Now that you’re living with Dad, are you officially my stepmom now?”

A gentle warmth settled around my heart. “Yeah. I like the sound of that. Don’t you?”

Damian nodded, his fingers interlaced as he pondered deeply.

My thoughts drifted to how Alistair had insisted I move in with him, and how he’d made his luxurious penthouse my home. It had been a few months now, but it wasn’t the infinity pool, butler service, or walk-in wardrobe of branded clothing that mattered. It was this. Moments like now, building something real and meaningful with Damian, becoming family in all the ways that mattered most. It was this boy in front of me, looking as if he carried a burden too heavy for his age.

His brows knitted together, his young face drawn into solemn lines. “I don’t want to live with Mother. Can you help me?”

Alarm bells rang in my mind. I took Damian’s hand, stroking his warm palm. “Hey, of course. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Damian’s voice lowered to a whisper, vulnerability creeping into every word. “I don’t feel safe with her. The things she does disgust me.”

My breath snagged in my throat, dread pooling in my stomach. “Damian, is Saira touching you, or making others⁠—”

“No.” He cut me off, shaking his head. “It’s not me. I can defend myself. But the girls and boys Mother brings to her parties. Things happen to them. And then they disappear.”

My pulse raced. “Disappear? Damian, what exactly do you mean?”

He averted his gaze. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No. No, I’m glad you trust me with this. Have you told your dad? Or the police?”

“Mother has friends who are the police. Some are her clients.” His voice was weary, much older than his years. “She’s working with ‘Mad’ Mike Marino. The Piranha. Heard of him?”

I blew out a low whistle, dread sinking deeper into my bones. Mike Marino was a name that carried weight in the courtrooms—always spoken in low voices, never far from a rumor. He was the mobster who trafficked the worst narcotics, and, if the whispers were true, human lives. No one had ever proved it.

“Holy shit. He’s partnering with your mother? Does your dad know?”

“Yeah. He’s onto it, quietly. He’s got cop friends too, and Angelo Lucciano—the mafia boss. Mike and Mother don’t like Angelo because he’s their competition in the mob world. I overheard him and Dad talking once. Angelo hates Mom using people.”

“Wow,” I whispered, squeezing Damian’s hand. “You know way too much.”

A sly, secretive smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and he pressed one finger to them. “That’s why I keep quiet. For now. Someday I’ll tell you everything. I want to stop it all. Be a super hero.”

For a brief moment, a shadow flickered across his face—darkness, too deep for a boy his age—but I blinked, and it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

I steadied myself, lowering my voice. “You shouldn’t be dealing with this alone. You’re a hero already, Damian.”

“Then why can’t I be with you and Dad all the time? Not just half the time.”

“Your mother travels a lot, doesn’t she?” I pressed. “Stay with us until she calls you back. You belong here, Damian. With us.”

A genuine smile broke across his face. “Yes, Mom.”

The word made my heart swell.

Mom.

I’d do anything to keep him safe. If I could, I’d claim him as my own in every way that counted, including adoption, no hesitation. Saira didn’t deserve a son like Damian. I’d talk to Alistair. Whatever it took, we’d fight harder to gain full custody of him. We’ll appeal the judge’s decision for joint custody. Damian belonged with us.

I gave his hand another squeeze. “So, how’s school?”

He shrugged with exaggerated teenage resignation. “Dad’s got me learning Mandarin now. Wants me ‘worldly’ enough for his empire.”

I grinned knowingly. “Want me to tell him to ease up?”

“Nah,” Damian smirked. “It’s fine. I like languages. I prefer math, though.”

“Sure about that?” I teased.

He ran a restless hand through his hair, grinning. “Yeah. Hey, Mom? Will you come to my volleyball game? It’s in a few weeks.”

I tapped his wrist, grinning. “When the team captain personally invites me? Wouldn’t miss it. Anyone special you’re trying to impress lately?”

Damian scoffed, eyes rolling. “When would I have time for dating? Volleyball, math club, student council, martial arts?”

I laughed, a rich burst that pulled at my stitches, making me wince. “I almost pity you. But trust me, someday you’ll thank your dad. He loves you.”

He tried not to smile, but it snuck out anyway. “Maybe. I met a girl once. Really pretty. Saw her and… I don’t know, my brain just kinda glitched.”

“Like you couldn’t catch your breath?”

Damian groaned, cheeks flushed scarlet. “Geez, Mom. Yeah. Awkward.”

I squeezed his hand. “Feelings are awkward. They make us stupid, but sometimes in a nice way. You might see her again someday.”

He stared down at our joined hands, then nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“And when you do find someone special, bring her home. I want to meet her. Maybe when you’re in college. It’s a good time to fall in love.”

He lifted his eyes to mine. “You love Dad.”

“You and your dad are the best things that’ve ever happened to me.”

“Erm, erm.” Alistair fake coughed from the doorway, mocha in one hand, chocolate croissant in the other. “Hungry, Vera?”

I bit back a grin. This man, once a notorious playboy, was now a devoted partner and father.

Miracles really did happen.

Living with Alistair wasn’t just about changing addresses or swapping my old espresso machine for the one his butler swore by. It was learning to share air with a man who could buy a private island but still insisted on reading the business section at the kitchen counter in his pajamas. We didn’t fight over closet space, but I did veto the gold-foil wallpaper his decorator tried to sneak into my office. Alistair’s idea of “making space” was to hand me the keys to the largest guest suite and say, “Do whatever you want. Knock down a wall if you need to.”

He meant it, too. The suite became my sanctuary—white shelves lined with law books, windows wide open to the city below. He installed a soundproof door after he caught me working late and realized I took client calls at all hours. Sometimes, I’d wake to the scent of coffee and find he’d left a fresh mug on my desk with a note:

Thought you might need this. Love, A.

Privacy was never a problem. When I needed space, he gave it. When I needed him, he was there, sometimes with chocolate, sometimes just holding my hand, wordless. Living with someone wasn’t perfect. There were late-night negotiations about merging our routines, and more than one argument over which side of the bed belonged to whom. But the truth was, we were building something real. Not just sharing a penthouse, but making a home.

Yet, we never really talked about monogamy or if our relationship left space for bold, new adventures.

Thursday evening, November 15

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my colleague, Vera Richland,” Alistair introduced me to a group of men at an elaborate outdoor lounge in a luxury hotel in Dubai.

We arrived in Dubai after a week in Abu Dhabi for an oil and gas conference. After working at Orion for a year, I’d learned the oil industry was still a lonely place for a woman, no matter how many female leaders made the Forbes list. Evenings with business associates were often male-dominated social events.

“Alistair, when you said you were bringing a colleague with you, you never told us she would be a beautiful woman,” one of the men exclaimed. He grinned, shook my hand, and winked. “I would have worn a better suit. I’m Omar Khan, from Aventure Petroleum.”

Wow. Just wow. The man was strikingly tall and handsome, with gorgeous tawny skin, wavy dark hair, and chocolate eyes that would melt your heart. His designer shirt and slacks accentuated his athletic physique.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mister Khan,” I greeted, moving closer. Feeling confident, I tilted my head and revealed my signature smile of womanly mystery to Aventure Petroleum’s CEO. I already knew about the guy after researching his company, a client of ours. “I hear you want to expand Aventure’s exploration goals.”

“Please, call me Omar,” he said, gesturing amicably with open palms. “Please, I insist.”

“Shukran,” I replied in Arabic, thanking Omar. “You can call me Vera.” I glanced at Alistair, who was on the sofa discussing petroleum business politics with the group. He placed his hands on his knees, observing Omar with a sharp eye.

“Vera, take a seat,” he called out. “Have you tried smoking shisha?”

“What’s that?” I asked, sitting down to face the glittering lights decorating the old town of Dubai across the river.

“It’s a type of tobacco you smoke from a hookah, like the one my colleague, Khalid, has,” Omar explained. He pointed at a thin man puffing out white smoke after inhaling from a pipe connected to an intricately decorated instrument with an hourglass-shaped base.

Half an hour later, I enjoyed the relaxing effect of the shisha, flavored with mint, while discussing a possible merger between two dominant oil service companies, which would likely monopolize the industry’s service segment.

“It’s most unlikely to happen,” Alistair declared, but Omar shook his head.

“Scotty, anything is possible in this industry. It will be the year’s most striking oil merger bid⁠—”

“It will die a hostile death. The justice department is going to file a lawsuit to stop the deal. I’m telling you, Omar, this merger poses plenty of antitrust problems in many markets,” Alistair argued.

After a long pause, Omar turned to me with his charming grin. “Vera, do you think the merger will happen?”

“No, because it will stagnate competition and innovation,” I began. “You see, both companies have over ninety percent of their respective revenues from products and services in which they compete with one another. The competition in these product lines disappears if they merge, leaving only one major competitor to compete for the big contracts.”

Alistair nodded and took a sip of his Scotch. “The bottom line is our country’s president is objecting to the proposed merger,” he said. “The justice department is filing an antitrust lawsuit, and with the president’s support, the project faces an imminent cancellation.”

I smiled, knowing Senator Paul McGrath was an adamant supporter of both the president’s stance and the justice department’s lawsuit. Paul was a machine pumped with aggression and unafraid to bark and bite anyone who stood in his way. He and Alistair shared this trait. Alistair provided support to the political forces that stood against the merger.

It was nearly midnight when we walked into the hotel club. I’d spent the week in my usual tailored business suits and below-the-knee dresses, which Alistair had recommended for the UAE. I adjusted my silk YSL dress, the hem settling somewhere between my knees and ankles.

Inside the club was another universe—music pounding, the place packed with business executives and women who looked like they’d just stepped off a Paris runway. Gold jewelry flashed. Stilettos. Dresses that were little more than strips of fabric. I must’ve looked openly stunned with my mouth wide open and fluttering, wide eyes.

Omar leaned in, voice low. “It’s different here. Five-star hotels and private clubs are like international zones. What happens inside gets overlooked. Just don’t bring it out onto the street.”

Alistair’s mouth quirked. “Dubai loves its rules. But if you’re the right kind of guest, you get a different set.”

“You mean a guest with power and money,” I murmured, snapping my jaw shut.

A man in a dark Armani suit and gold rings strolled toward us, flanked by two women dressed like Bond girls. He glanced at me, then turned to Alistair and Omar.

“La-a,” Omar furtively dismissed, cutting the air with his flat palm.

Alistair instinctively placed his strong arm around me, glaring at the man in Armani.

“What did he ask?” I questioned.

“He asked if you were for sale,” he growled.

“Oh.” I burst out in laughter, stroking my man’s tense left shoulder. “It’s getting late. Shall we say goodnight to Omar and his colleagues?”

“I’ve organized a private show,” Alistair said. “They’re quite exotic. I think you’ll like them.”

“Hmm, I’m intrigued,” I hummed, glancing at four exquisite European escorts flirting with Omar and Khalid.

“The women will be joining us,” Alistair murmured hotly into my ear. I felt his lips tickle my earlobe, arousing my nipples, which hardened to the hot thoughts dancing in my head.

Moments later, we were in a private lounge watching an ornately embellished belly dancer, who entertained us with her figure-revealing costume and the hypnotic moves of her art.

“Look how she’s handling the swords,” I commented, clapping at her courage and coordination as the sharp blades whirled in the air. She juggled the weapons with finesse while she danced with fervor.

Alistair lounged back on the sofa, flanked by two love nymphs who pressed in close, their mouths scattering kisses across his skin, slick bodies sliding against his. At his request, they were naked and glistening with oil, perfect for his hands to roam. Tonight he wore the player’s mask, devilishly handsome and untouchable, letting them peel open his collar and rub their palms over the hard plane of his chest. He raised his glass and took a slow swallow of his favorite poison—whiskey, smooth and burning.

Khalid sat in a dark corner, lost in the passionate embrace of the other two women who planted kisses in more places on his body than a world map. The other men, except Omar, had left the club and gone home to their wives.

Omar was the youngest in his group, the only one unmarried. A dream of dominance, he leaned close as we shared a shisha, smoke curling between us in slow, easy rhythm. My gaze kept finding his, those dark, magnetic eyes holding me longer each time. Heat radiated off him, raw and forceful yet strangely tender at the core. His scent—musky, spiced, intoxicating—wrapped around me, pulling me deeper into the mystery of his dangerous charm.

The arousing feel of his thigh next to mine sent sparks and chills up my spine as my vaginal walls clenched, eliciting a familiar slickness between my legs. “I want you to touch me,” I whispered into Omar’s ear and placed my hand on his.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at Alistair. “What does he think? Your company is our best supplier, and Alistair is a man to be feared.”

“Feared?” I asked, running my fingers down Omar’s hard abs.

“He’s influential, well-connected, and quick to anger. A man like that is dangerous.”

I glanced at Alistair. His nod was subtle but sure when he noticed my fingers circling Omar’s wrist. One of the women had already unzipped his pants, her hand working his cock with slow strokes. The other pressed a bare breast to his mouth, and he drew her nipple between his lips while his fingers slid expertly over her slick folds. On the coffee table, a neat stack of condoms waited, like part of the performance.

“I think you’re safe. There won’t be any burning of bridges tonight,” I promised, admiring Omar’s sharp facial features. I kissed his cheek, then his pouty lips while guiding his long, nimble fingers to explore between my thighs.

Omar kissed me back with hungry urgency, his mouth devouring mine like a man tasting water after days in the desert. My hands roamed over the lines of his body, greedy for more, until I found the hard bulge straining against his pants.

“My sweet flower,” he breathed. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

“I want you too,” I panted, breath breaking against his as his mouth claimed mine in hungry, unrelenting kisses. Our bodies tangled closer, hands roaming, exploring, desperate to know more. In the background, the music throbbed while the dancer spun, her movements a slow, tantalizing blur.

“We’d better stop.” Omar’s tone hardened as he lifted me off his lap and set me back on the sofa. His face tightened, eyes darting toward Alistair.

Alistair had already shoved the women aside. He rose, adjusted his open shirt, and stalked toward us with a dangerous calm. The dancer froze mid-spin, sensing the shift in the room, and lowered the music to a faint hum.

“Vera, I’m going back to the apartment. Care to join me?” he asked tersely, his frame towering over me. His face held no trace of pleasure, just the tight strain of barely contained anxiety.

Omar rose and extended his hand to Alistair. “Forgive me. It’s time I head home. As always, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Your company’s technology never disappoints.”

“We’ll talk early next week,” Alistair replied. “Good night.”

“Good night, Omar,” I stood up with my handbag in tow. I took Alistair’s hand and walked away from our Arabian dream.