Page 88

“Yeah,” Anya muttered, her voice distant, as if her mind was far away. Then she shifted, locking eyes with him. “Dad… I want to move out. I want to live in an apartment by myself for a while.”
The words hit him like a blow. His face fell, and he immediately recoiled. “No,” he replied, his voice quick and sharp, almost defensive. “Anya, you’re living here. What’s wrong with that? Do you need anything?”
“Dad, it’s not that—”
“Tell me what you’re lacking,” he pressed, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “I’ll arrange it for you. Whatever you need. Why do you want to live alone?”
Anya’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Dad, I just need a little space for myself. I feel so exhausted... I need to breathe. Just for a while. To be alone. To sort through everything... my head is just too full.”
Charles’s expression faltered. The deep worry in his eyes gave way to a silent sadness, and for a moment, he looked like a man who had been punched in the gut. “Anya, I’ve only just found you again. How am I supposed to bear losing you all over again?”
Her heart twisted. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she needed this. For herself.
“Let’s make a deal,” she said, reaching for his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as they closed around his. “Dad, I’ll see you every day—no matter when, no matter how. I’ll spend at least two hours with you, drop by whenever I can. Maybe I’ll live just ten minutes away, maybe even next door—I’m not sure yet. But I’ve grown up now. I just… need a little space to be myself.”
His eyes softened, but the hurt lingered beneath the surface. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as though he was willing himself to be strong for her. “Alright then. If you want it that badly, I’ll let you be.”
Anya smiled and leaned in to hug him again. But even as she did, Charles noticed—that smile never reached her eyes.
***
At Blue Orchid Bar – Manhattan, VIP Room 203
“You went to get an explanation, but without even hearing her, you just walked out?” Triston’s voice rose over the low thrum of the music, pure disbelief twisting his features. “Andtwice?! First when you were about to get married, and then again when she tried to explain?”
The table was a mess of half-empty whiskey bottles, crystal tumblers, and untouched cigars. The private lounge was dimly lit, shadows dancing off the walls and low chandeliers. Theheavy bass from the bar outside thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat.
Four men lounged on sleek leather couches—each one a billionaire, each carrying their own reputation, power, and arrogance. Raiden, Adrian, and Triston all sat with glasses in hand, eyes fixed on the fourth man: Dante Kinsley.
Dante leaned forward, elbows on knees, head low. He shrugged, expression cold and detached. “It was just a court marriage.”
“Is that really any different?” Raiden asked, narrowing his eyes as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “You left herright beforeshe signed her name next to yours. Doesn’t matter if there were guests or not. Wasn’t it still a marriage?”
Dante’s jaw ticked. He grabbed his scotch and knocked it back in one rough gulp, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache in his chest.
“It’s not the same thing,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. “I asked her what was going on with Luca. She kept insisting they are just friends. And I know—for a fucking fact—that man isn’t just a friend. He’s got a crush on her.”
“Butshedoesn’t see him that way,” Adrian cut in, rough and blunt, as always. “She told you that. Isn’t that what matters?”
Dante turned to him sharply, his temper beginning to bubble. “Is that any different? She took a ring from him. A fucking ring!”
“You talk like she married him, wore his ring, and then came running back to marry you for fun,” Triston muttered, shaking his head as he lifted his glass.
Dante didn’t respond. He just reached for the bottle again, eyes dark.
Raiden leaned forward, his fingers steepled together. “So… what are you going to do now? No marriage?”
“If she won’t explain what’s going on in her life or with Luca, then I won’t wait around either,” Dante growled, his voice tight with wounded pride. “I’ll marry another fucking woman. I’m not going to die single because of that little annoying thing!”
The room went dead silent.
No one responded. Triston looked away, his brow creased. Adrian stared into his drink. Raiden’s expression didn’t change, but the air had shifted.
It wasn’t the words—but the bitterness behind them.
The men exchanged looks, each one quietly sipping their drink.
Raiden finally sighed, sliding an untouched glass of whiskey toward Dante. “You’ve probably made a huge mistake, brother,” he said quietly. “And knowing women, that girl’s probably never coming back to you again.”