MasukI shove Killian against the wall hard enough that the air leaves his lungs. My mouth crashes onto his rough, open, claiming. He twists and shoves, but I pin one wrist above his head and shove my other hand down his trousers. I stroke him firm and relentless. “You pathetic idiot,” I growl. “Still pretending you don’t want this.” “Stop it—” His voice cracks, but his body responds. I stroke him harder. “Married. With a little girl. And still hard for the man you walked away from ten years ago.” The past floods back. We were eighteen. Best friends. I hid how badly I wanted him; he never saw it. Last night of high school I took him home, kissed him, touched him, made him come. The next morning he called me disgusting, cut me out, and stayed in New York while I left for South Korea. I spent ten years building an empire and watching him. Now I’m back. I took over the company. I watched him with his daughter from my car. I bought his painting for more than the original price. I forced a dinner he couldn’t refuse. He still has a wife. He still pushes me away. But when forgery accusations destroy his career and his daughter falls ill, he has nowhere left to turn. He comes to me. He begs. I press my forehead to his. Nothing will make me leave. I am back. This time, Killian is mine.
Lihat lebih banyakBRANDON POV The lunch meeting ended at 2:17 p.m. I closed the folder in front of me and stood. The three men across the private dining table rose with me. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Hale,” the senior partner said, extending his hand. “The pleasure was mutual,” I replied, shaking it once. The second man nodded. “We look forward to the final contracts.” “They’ll be with you by the end of the week.” The third offered a brief smile. “Thank you for your time.” I gave each of them a short, firm handshake and nothing more. Then I turned and walked toward the doors. Remington was already waiting just outside the private dining room. He was thirty-four, tall, and always precisely dressed in a dark suit that never showed a wrinkle. He had been my personal assistant since the second year I spent in Seoul. He spoke only when necessary, anticipated what I needed before I asked for it, and had never once offered an opinion I had not requested. In the years we had wor
BRANDON POV I arrived at the Hale Tower at 8:35 a.m. My father was already standing in the private lobby, checking his watch. He looked up when the car stopped and gave a short nod of approval at my punctuality. He wore a dark charcoal suit, the same cut he had preferred for as long as I could remember. I stepped out, adjusted my own jacket, and walked toward him. “You’re on time,” he said. “Good. The board and the division heads are already assembled. This is your formal introduction. Don’t waste it.” “I won’t.” We walked side by side through the quiet private entrance. Two security officers straightened and greeted us. My father acknowledged them with the smallest tilt of his head. I did the same. As we moved toward the executive elevator, four assistants fell into place behind us without being told two from my father’s long-time staff and two who had already been assigned to me. They carried slim folders, tablets, and the quiet tension of people who understood that every seco
BRANDON POV The private jet touched down at Teterboro under a sky the color of bruised steel. The moment the cabin door opened and the stairs lowered, two men in tailored black uniforms were already waiting on the tarmac. They straightened the second they saw him. “Welcome home, Mr. Hale,” the taller one said, voice clear and respectful. “Welcome back, Mr. Hale,” the second echoed, eyes lowered just enough to show deference. I stepped down without acknowledging them beyond a brief nod. The black Maybach idled a few feet away, engine purring, rear door already held open by the driver. I slid inside. The door shut with a heavy, expensive sound. Only then did the car pull away from the jet. Manhattan rose ahead of us like it had been waiting. The city looked the same and completely different at the same time. I watched the skyline slide past the tinted windows and felt the old, familiar pull settle deeper under my ribs. The car did not take me to my penthouse. It headed straight f
BRANDON POV DREAM “You took advantage of me.” Killian stands in the middle of my old bedroom, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess from sleep, eyes burning with something that looks a lot like betrayal. Morning light spills through the tall windows of the mansion, cold and unforgiving. He looks wrecked. Beautiful. Ruined. “You fucking touched me while I was drunk,” he spits, voice shaking. “You kissed me. You put your hand on me and kept going even when you should have stopped—” He cuts himself off, face twisting like the memory alone is enough to make him sick. “I was wasted, Brandon. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. And you still… you still made me—” I try to speak, but my throat locks. I am eighteen again—raw, stupid, desperate. I take a step toward him and he recoils like I am the last person he wants near him. “Stay the fuck away from me,” he snarls. “Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t come near me at school. Don’t even look at me. You took advantage of me when I could
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