Chapter 6

Scarlett’s POV.

They said Leon Rosenthal was untouchable.

That he was married to his ambition, faithful only to power. That he didn’t sleep with anyone—man or woman. Some whispered he was secretly gay. But none of them really knew him.

And until tonight, neither did I.

I thought messing with him would be harmless—just another act in a place where everyone’s pretending anyway. I’d leaned in close, pressed my thigh to his—make fun of him. I thought he’d ignore me. Maybe sneer. Maybe get flustered and shove me away. But I’d seen the heat in his eyes after drinking the drugged wine, the fire he didn’t seem to expect. I thought I could flirt with danger and come away unburned.

I was so, so wrong.

Because the moment I called him “Uncle,” with just enough heat to get under his skin, he looked at me like a man who’d just remembered how to feel—and what it meant to want.

And then he took off his shirt.

There was no hesitation or shame in the action.

The crisp fabric fell from his shoulders, and I saw the body that lived hidden beneath the suit—scars branded across golden skin, carved muscle that moved with slow, deliberate power. 

He stepped forward, his glacial eyes smoldering beneath lashes that cast long shadows. “You asked for this,” he rasped, voice low and hoarse.

I barely had time to inhale before he pushed me onto the sofa, his body pinning mine down.

What followed wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t polished or practiced.

It was raw and consuming and far too real.

There were no pretenses, no careful seduction—just heat and hunger and the collision of two people who’d both lost too much and had nothing left to fear. His hands weren’t tentative. They were sure, claiming. Like he hadn’t touched anyone in years, and now that he had, he couldn’t stop.

And I—I unraveled.

The most terrifying part wasn’t how good it felt—it was how much I wanted it.

I told myself it meant nothing. That I was still in control. That sleeping with Leon Rosenthal was just one more act of rebellion.

But his mouth on my neck, the sound of his breath against my skin, the way he buried his face in my shoulder like he needed to forget the world—

It didn’t feel like war.

It felt like surrender.

When it was over, the air in the room had shifted. I sat on the edge of the couch, my dress rumpled, my hair a mess of tangled curls, my heartbeat still racing like it hadn’t accepted the ceasefire.

Leon rose and dressed with his usual rigor, though I saw the shake in his hands when he thought I wasn’t looking. He reached for his wallet, pulled out a sleek black card, and held it out to me. “Take it,” he said. “You can name your price.”

I stared at it for a long, quiet moment. The Rosenthal black card—limitless, prestigious, dipped in the kind of power most people would sell their souls to touch.

But I wasn’t most people.

I didn’t take it.

“I’m not one of your arrangements,” I spoke softly. “I didn’t come here to make you straight.”

He blinked at that—just once—but didn’t argue.

I stood, smoothed my dress, and grabbed my bag. “Let’s just pretend it never happened,” I added, walking toward the door.

Leon caught my wrist before I reached it.

His grip was firm but not cruel, the kind of hold that asked more questions than it answered. His brows were drawn together slightly, that unreadable look returning to his face. “Where are you planning to go?” he asked. “You said you cut ties with your family.” 

I met his eyes. “Don’t worry about me,” I sighed, my voice cool but not unkind. “I’ve survived worse.”

I slipped free, the warmth of his hand lingering on my skin. And as I stepped into the corridor, I realized something that made my chest ache—

Leon Rosenthal was still as kind as I remembered. The type of kindness and gentleness that would ruin him if I let it.

The sky outside was dark, stretched wide and cold across the city skyline. I took a taxi to the house I used to call home, though it never really felt like one—not with Dahlia’s perfume clinging to the curtains and my stepmother’s voice echoing off the walls like an old curse.

I walked up the steps without looking back.

Inside, I moved quickly, pulling clothes from drawers and stuffing them into a suitcase. I didn’t want to linger—desperate to vanish before the memory of what it felt like to die, could grab me again.

But fate wasn’t finished with me yet.

I zipped the case shut just as the front door opened.

Caden.

He stepped inside like he owned the world, like the hallway still bowed to his shoes. Dahlia slinked in behind him, her lips painted a cheap red, her eyes glittering with manufactured innocence.

I didn’t have to ask where they’d been or what they’d been doing. His hair was mussed. Her blouse was buttoned wrong. They reeked of each other.

How the hell did I miss all the signs?

Caden’s smile was a venomous twist. “Going somewhere, sweetheart?”

“Anywhere but here,” I snipped, standing tall.

“You really think being with him is going to get you anything?” he sneered. “Leon’s gay. He won’t marry you. He won’t give you a penny. He doesn’t even have an heir.”

I smiled then. Slow. Cold. Intentional. “He seemed very heterosexual a few hours ago,” I replied, savoring the flicker of shock that broke across his face.

Dahlia gasped, like a snake trying to play victim. “Scarlett, don’t be like this. We’re worried about you. You embarrassed everyone—can’t you just apologize?”

I stared at her, at her fake concern, and wanted to laugh. She still thought she could manipulate me like the half-sister I once trusted.

“I’m not apologizing for anything,” I bit out, grabbing my bag. 

Caden headed toward me, his body shaking with sudden rage as his voice drops to a growl. “You’ve made your little scene,” he said, each syllable crisp and venomous. “Now come back. Be a good girl… and I might consider forgiving you.”

I turned to face him slowly, letting silence drag between us to prove a point. The weight of what comes next. 

My smile was ice. “Oh? You’ll—forgive me? That’s rich.” 

Caden—the ever-typical narcissist that he was, couldn’t handle it when things didn’t go his way. With a jaw tight, fingers curling like he was resisting the urge to lash out, he hissed, “I gave you everything. And you throw it away to slut around with a man who’s never wanted a woman in his life?”

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, you little bitch. You think you’re winning by walking out of here, but all you’ve done is sign your own death sentence.”

Enough was enough!

I drifted forward, the edges of my smile swallowed by something far more lethal.“You think you’re dangerous,” I snapped. “You think you’re untouchable because you’ve been handed everything your entire life. But listen to me, and listen very carefully.”

I prowled, circling him, daring him to flinch—making sure I was near enough for him to smell the remnants of Leon on my skin. Based on the change on his expression, he did. 

“As long as I’m alive, you will never get what you want. Not the inheritance. Not the company. Not the legacy. And certainly not me.”

Caden blinked, visibly shaken.

“You wanted a pawn? A little puppet to play to your whim?” I whispered. “Congratulations. You’ve made an enemy instead.”

Then I turned, suitcase in hand, peering over my shoulder one last time. “Don’t get too comfortable, Caden.” I smiled, slow and purposeful. “This was just the opening move.”