CHAPTER 4 JAXON

The violins were overkill.

I'd barely stepped into the bloody tower before a string quartet greeted me with some rendition of Vivaldi, glasses tinkling and muffled whispers wafting through the air like perfume.

"Remind me why we do this?" I asked the bartender, Louis, who was a friend of mine, as he slid a whiskey down the bar.

A grin spread across his face. "Because your brother likes theatrics."

Yeah. That was true.

I leaned back against the bar, sipping from my glass slowly while taking in the sea of bespoke suits and surgically-engineered grins. All glass. All gloss. The perfect cage for corporate wolves.

And then I saw her.

Irene.

She was standing beneath one of the chandeliers, the light washing over her like liquid gold. She wore this midnight-black dress that wasn't particularly attention seeking, but hell—it got mine. Every one of her curves was accentuated by the dress and her smiles were enough to make a man drown. But her eyes?

They looked far away. And angry.

Kieran stood at her side, of course. Laughing and whispering in her ear like she belonged to him. Like he wasn't planning on getting married to Lyana.

My God! I still don't know how the Luis sisters ever fell for his charm but Iridina was always the better one.

Well… before she passed that is. Shaking the uncomfortable thoughts from my mind, I returned my focus to them.

My brother's hand drifted to the small of her back and something inside me boiled.

"That hand," I muttered into my glass. "Always the same gesture."

I watched her smile graciously, nodding as though she hadn't noticed the way Kieran's thumb was circling patterns into her spine.

She had noticed though. She flinched. It was slight. Not enough for someone who wasn't watching closely to catch it.

Like me.

I couldn't help it but watch her though.

Kieran toasted her with a glass. "You're really full of surprises, Irene."

"Only the good kind, I hope," she replied, her voice silky smooth.

"Depends," he smirked. "You always this charming in events like this, or am I just that special?"

"You're something," she said off handedly.

I saw the twitch of her jaw. A micro-expression, but it was there. She was suppressing something.

And I wanted to know what it was.

I picked up my glass and moved toward them.

"Kieran," I said.

He turned, eyebrows climbing. "Look who finally decided to join the party."

I eyed Irene. "Irene. Wow, that's a dress."

She returned a flat smile. "Is this a compliment or a warning?" she asked.

"Would you believe me if I said both?"

She didn't blink. "Probably not."

Kieran chuckled. "Don't mind him. Jaxon gets creepy in front of stunning women with bigger brains than he's used to."

"Good thing I'm accustomed to men getting intimidated by me," she said, twirling her wine.

I inspected her. The deflection was smooth. But too smooth.

"So, Irene," I said, lifting my glass, "what's the ultimate objective of KnightTech?"

She tilted her head. "World domination. You in?"

"That would depend. Hostile takeover or monopoly?"

She laughed at that, and something flickered in her eyes. Challenge? Acknowledgement?

Kieran interrupted with another toast, some trite about rebuilding empires and I let my attention drift while Irene waited until he spun around before taking a sip of her wine.

There was something fractured there. Or buried.

And I had to know what.

An hour had passed, and I'd had enough. Enough of the champagne, fake smiles, of watching my brother paw a woman like a dog pissing on his territory.

I slipped out, and grabbed my coat placing it under my arm. I unfastened my collar as I emerged into the fresh lobby.

The rain had started again. It's always raining.

Then—

"Oof!"

Something or rather someone had hit my legs.

I looked down.

Big eyes stared back up at me. Startled, wide, familiar eyes.

The little boy had brown curls and a stubborn chin that began wobbling like he wanted to cry.

Or maybe not cry. He just seemed… annoyed.

But it was his eyes that brought me up short.

They reminded me of someone but I couldn't place who the person was.

"Hey there," I knelt. "You okay, buddy?"

He stood, a small toy clutched in one hand. "Sorry sir,” he said. “Didn't see you."

"No harm done,” I said gently. “What's your name?"

He hesitated. As if waiting for something. Then: "Charlie."

Charlie.

Cute.

"You here with someone, Charlie?" I asked.

"Yeah,” he replied. “My mommy's inside."

Of course she was. But who would leave a kid out here all alone?

Dammit.

"Do you think she knows you're outside?" I asked again.

He looked away. "I just wanted to leave the room cause I was bored,” he whined. “Too many people in there smell like… like old people."

I laughed. "You’re not wrong."

Charlie smiled in return.

Then she appeared.

"Charles," Irene called, her voice soft but sharp.

I turned around, not expecting her to be here.

Charlie or Charles, whatever turned to face his mother. "I was just talking to this guy."

She stopped short when she saw me. But only for a second. Then she smiled. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you, baby."

She scooped him up as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But her gaze never left mine.

"You have a beautiful son," I said, not knowing what to say apart from that.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "We were just leaving, anyway."

“And my brother?” I asked wanting to know if he was aware she was leaving already.

She stopped heading toward the exit.

“He's aware,” she said briefly. “Also, thank you for looking out for my son, okay? I really appreciate it.”

She turned to leave but I stopped her once more.

"Irene," I called.

"I know this is none of my business," I began. “But is the father in the picture?”

“Like you rightly said, Jaxon,” she replied. “It's none of your business.”

She didn't flinch or say anything after that. She just walked away, her heels ringing like gunshots down the marble floor.

I stood there, the rain running down the glass, as she disappeared into the dark with the boy in her arms.

Charlie.

Her son.

And that face—those eyes. I swear I've seen them somewhere.

My phone was out before I had time to think.

I called James.

"James," I said. "I need everything you've got on Irene Nowell. Immediately."

The line crackled.

And then James spoke: "I was waiting for you to ask."