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I don’t crave anything so badly that it rattles me.

Ophelia will pay for that too.

When she’s mine.

11

JAMES

“Sold to Mrs. Johnson,” Camden announces when I return to the room, ten steps behind Griffith.

The server rushes inside. He rubs his arms. Good to know the unnerving effect I had on him hasn’t waned.

“Please.” A weeping Baylor is being escorted off to the back of the stage.

Just in time for Griffith to lean into Starlee’s ear.

“An anonymous—I—What? Are you out of your mind?” Her forehead scrunches. Green eyes furious. Her hair is pulled into a low twist, exposing her reddening nape. Griffith is pale white. “Who the hell do you think you are to fucking?—”

I move to stand on her other side. “Starlee.”

“Mr. Hawthorne.” Her gaze snaps up to me. “Please, ignore us. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No misunderstanding.” A sigh of relief rushes out of Griffith. He’s about to have a coronary. “An acquaintance of mine placed the call. Griffith ran it by me. It’s fine.”

“Hello, everyone,” Topher speaks with calm confidence. His shoulders are relaxed. Chin up. A true Hawthorne man. I would’ve been proud had I not been furious about how thrilled his eyes are. Had I not been drawn like a goddamn magnet tothe woman he’s guiding to the front of the stage. “This is Ophelia Louise Monroe. She is…”

“Are you sure?” Starlee whispers over Topher’s introduction.

I don’t care that I can’t hear him. Whatever he’s telling the crowd about her, it’s lacking.

There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe her. An innocent seductress. A filthy angel. An infuriating distraction.

Or maybe there is a word.

Demise.

Mydemise.

Topher won’t use any of those words anyway. He was brought up to not care about anyone. To not need. Way before Oliver talked to him about the initiation. About the other things.

You’re not supposed to give a shit, either.

Too bad I noticed Ophelia. I’ll make her belly swell with a baby, then it’ll go away. I’ll be myself again, then I’ll send her off somewhere safe. Somewhere far enough so her presence won’t fuck with my head.

I’ll forget she ever existed.

It’ll be just me and our child. Whether Topher is a part of my new life or not, it’s entirely up to him.

“Positive.”

“…she’s an orphan if you’re into women with Daddy issues.” A smirk curves on my son’s lips.

My nostrils flare at his cruel joke. My muscles strain against my thousand-dollar tux.

He’s turning our ceremony into a circus. A stand-up comedy show. That’s why I’m seconds away from launching at the stage and throttling my only child.

This has nothing to do with how he’s talking about her. About what’s mine.