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And the only thing he ever asks for in return is the respect he gives me without thinking.

Aside from Silas and Victor, he’s one of the few people I trust unconditionally. More than my parents. Damn near more than myself.

Before I get started, I pull up the security cameras planted around the house.

One by one, I go through the grid and expand each frame to full screen, letting my eyes sweep every corner of my property.

When Victor left, he secured all exits and did a final walk through, but double checking is a ritual at this point. And after last night, I don’t see myself shaking the habit anytime soon.

As always, I pause longer than necessary on Delilah’s room.

She’s changed out of her dress and is modeling a bright pink bikini for Titus.

I click the audio feed to catch a glimpse of her voice because it’s always honeyed when she’s talking to Titus. But I can’t hear anything over the R&B filtering through her speakers.

We never got to talk about her doctor’s appointment, but Silas must have given her something for the pain if she’s hosting a solo concert instead of wincing at every noise.

Hands on her waist, she angles her torso before popping out her hip.

I don’t need to hear her ask Titus how she looks to know she says it.

“Lucky fucking dog,” I grumble before cutting away from her feed to focus on the task in front of me.

Clicking the folder labeled “June 2024,” I recline in my chair and start from the beginning.

Chapter 20

Fire Starter

DELILAH

“How much Clive Christian cologne does one man need?”

My fingers walk over the edge of the shelf the bottles are lined up on, taking in the slightly angled position of each one.

Every bottle is turned so the label is visible without needing to be picked up and I’m not surprised by the detail, considering everything else I’ve learned about Adonis Samson up until this point.

Red Tea Vetiver.

Amberwood.

Jump up and Kiss Me.

My eyes snag on their casual perusal, the last fragrance’s name making me disturb the eerie silence in the room when I suck my teeth.

“Nobody is jumping up and kissing that man.”

Moving on, I scan the assortment of Givenchyfragrances on the shelf right under it before walking a few steps deeper into his closet.

Adonis’ closet is cavernous, bigger than my studio apartment. But again, I’m not surprised.

As I pause in front of his watch display, I take inventory of the labels my father coveted once upon a time. Dupes lined the top of his dresser until the day he died.

But I know the Hublot, Rolex and Patek Philippe watches in Adonis’ possession are authentic.

My feet carry me forward, closer to his bathroom when his attire doesn’t catch my eye. There’s nothing but an endless sea of black, dark grey and navy garments draped over his wooden hangers.

The transition from hardwood to cold tile shocks the soles of my feet as I take a tentative step into his bathroom.