FAMILY SECRET: CLAIMING MY FATHER'S TOY

"You shouldn't be in here."

The voice came from directly behind me—so close I felt his breath against the back of my neck, raising every hair on my body.

I whirled around, and my stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Julian Kingston. Jesus Christ. He was taller than I'd realized when I'd caught glimpses of him earlier tonight—broader too, filling the doorway like he owned not just the space but the air in it. And those eyes. Dark, unreadable, tracking my every micro-movement like I was prey that had just made a fatal mistake.

Which, let's be honest, I probably had.

"I was just—" My voice came out wrong. Too high. Too guilty. "The door was open, I thought—"

"Shh." He pressed one finger to my lips, and the casual intimacy of it made my breath stop. "Let's not start this by lying to each other, Elena."

Before I could move, his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. Not bruising, not violent, but absolutely unbreakable. When I tried to step around him — because what else was I supposed to do? —his  grip tightened just enough to remind me that leaving wasn't my decision anymore.

"You saw something you shouldn't have," he said quietly, his gaze sliding past me to the monitors still glowing behind us. The ones showing warehouses. Blood. A man on his knees with a gun to his head. "That's a problem for both of us."

"I won't tell anyone." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I swear, I didn't mean to see anything, I'll just—"

"Won't you?" He pulled me closer, and I stumbled forward until my palms hit his chest. Solid. Warm through his shirt. And when his free hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb dragged across my bottom lip in a way that shouldn't have sent heat straight between my legs. But it did. God help me, it did. "Because you look like the type who remembers everything. Who notices details other people miss."

"Please—" My voice cracked.

"You know what those screens show?" His thumb pressed harder against my mouth. "That's the real Kingston empire. Not the boardrooms and the press releases. That's where the actual money comes from. The money that pays for your mother's salary. This house. That pretty dress you're wearing."

I tried to jerk away. His fingers threaded through my hair instead, holding me in place.

"People disappear in this world, Elena. People who see things they're not supposed to see. People who ask the wrong questions." His voice dropped so low I had to strain to hear it. "But I don't think you need to disappear. I think you need something else entirely."

"I don't understand—"

"You will."

Then he kissed me.

And oh my God.

It wasn't tentative or gentle or any of the bullshit from romance novels. His mouth crashed against mine like he was claiming territory, his tongue forcing past my lips before my brain could catch up with what was happening. I made some kind of sound — shock, fear, something darker I didn't want to examine —b and he swallowed it whole, his hand fisting tighter in my hair until my scalp stung.

I should have bitten him. Should have screamed bloody murder.

Instead, my hands fisted in his shirt, and I kissed him back like I was dying and he was the only source of oxygen in the room.

He groaned — actually groaned — and started walking me backward. My spine hit the edge of the desk, and papers went flying. The ledger I'd been reading hit the floor with a dull thud that should have snapped me back to reality.

It didn't.

"That's it," he murmured against my mouth, his lips moving to my jaw, my throat. "You're not scared of me at all, are you? You're scared of how much you want this."

"No—" But my voice was breathy, unconvincing even to my own ears.

"Liar." His hands found the hem of my dress and shoved it up my thighs in one rough motion. "Your body doesn't know how to lie, Elena. I can feel you shaking."

He was right. I was shaking — but not from terror.

His fingers hooked into the elastic of my panties, and I gasped so hard I nearly choked on air. He took advantage, his mouth sealing over mine again while his other hand palmed my breast through the thin fabric of my dress. Not gentle. Possessive. Like he had every right to touch me wherever he wanted.

"Julian—"

"Say it again." His hand slid beneath my panties, and when his fingers found how wet I already was, he made a sound that was almost pained. "Say my name like you're begging me."

"Please—" It came out as a whimper.

"Please what?" Two fingers pushed inside me without warning, and my vision actually blurred at the edges. "Please stop? Please fuck you right here on my father's desk where he counts his blood money?"

The crude words should have disgusted me. Should have reminded me exactly how fucked up this situation was.

Instead, I felt myself getting wetter.

His thumb found my clit and started circling — slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to take me apart. "Jesus, you're tight. Tell me something — has anyone ever touched you like this before?"

I couldn't answer. Couldn't form words past the pleasure building at the base of my spine.

"Answer me." He added a third finger, stretching me wider, and the burn of it mixed with pleasure until I couldn't tell one from the other. "Has anyone?"

"No," I gasped out.

His laugh was low and dark and triumphant. "Good. That means I get to be the first one to ruin you."

He worked me faster, his free hand yanking down the front of my dress until my breasts spilled out. When his mouth closed around my nipple — teeth scraping, tongue soothing — I cried out before I could stop myself.

"Quiet," he warned, but he didn't sound angry. He sounded hungry. "Unless you want your mother to hear what a good little slut her daughter turned into the second she got in over her head."

The words should have shamed me. Should have made me push him away.

Instead, they shoved me closer to the edge.

I was right there. So close I could taste it, my thighs trembling, my fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks—

"Well, well."

The voice came from the doorway, and we both froze.

Silas Kingston stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, looking like he'd just stepped out of a boardroom instead of catching his son with his fingers buried inside a girl on his desk. His eyes — the exact same shade as Julian's but colder, calculating — slid from his son to me to the monitors still playing their silent horror show behind us.

"This is unexpected," he said mildly.

Julian's fingers curled inside me, deliberate, and I couldn't stop the whimper that escaped.

"She saw," Julian said flatly. No shame. No fear. "Everything."

Silas stepped into the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Then he locked it.

The sound might as well have been a gunshot.

Three hours earlier...

The Kingston estate looked like something out of a fever dream.

I stood at my new bedroom window watching rain hammer the glass, trying to convince my lungs to work properly. Downstairs, my mother's laugh echoed through the marble halls — too bright, too performative. She was drinking Silas Kingston's wine, wearing the designer outfit he'd bought her, playing her role of "grateful employee" like her life depended on it.

Which, knowing my mother, it probably did.

My phone buzzed against my palm. Text from Jess, my roommate back at school: Girl, you ok? You've been MIA since the move.

I stared at the message. How the hell was I supposed to answer that? What could I possibly say? Hey Jess, yeah I'm great! My mom finally landed a job that doesn't involve sleeping with her married boss. The catch? We're living in a mansion that feels like a horror movie set, owned by a man who looks at me like I'm an acquisition he's considering.

Yeah. That would go over well.

A sound made me turn.

My door was open. I knew — knew — I'd closed it.

"Hello?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted, swallowed by the massive room.

Nothing. Just the faint scent of cologne drifting through the crack. Expensive. Masculine. Woodsy with an edge of something darker.

I should have stayed put. Should have called down to Mom.

But I'm an idiot, apparently, because I stepped into the hallway instead

The mansion was all shadows and strategic lighting, the kind designed to make you feel small. I followed the scent like a bloodhound, my bare feet silent on cold marble, until I found myself standing in front of a door I definitely hadn't noticed during the house tour.

It was cracked open. Just enough to show blue light bleeding out — the glow of computer monitors.

My hand was on the door before my brain registered I was moving.

The office inside made my stomach turn to ice.

Three huge monitors mounted on the wall, each showing a different live feed. Warehouses, maybe. Dark spaces where shapes moved in and out of frame like ghosts. On the center screen, a man knelt on concrete, blood streaming from his mouth while someone just out of view held a gun to his skull.

I couldn't breathe.

Papers everywhere — the desk was covered in them. Shipping manifests with Russian characters. Chinese. Codes I didn't understand. Photos of cargo containers with dates and locations scrawled in margins. And there, half-buried under a leather folder, a ledger.

My hands shook when I picked it up.

Product acquired - Route 7 - $2.3M

Disposal confirmed - Witness liability eliminated

Collection complete - 12 units transferred

Units.

They were talking about people like they were fucking inventory.

"You shouldn't be in here."