Page 86 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

Thirty-Four

THE WATCHER

T he black sedan glided smoothly into the Cosmopolitan Hotel’s underground parking. The forty-eighth floor offered the perfect vantage point of the Maxwell, a fact he’d spent considerable time and resources securing.

As he rode the private elevator to his suite, memories of the gala swirled through his mind like expensive whiskey.

Matt had been magnificent, commanding the room in his perfectly tailored suit.

The Watcher’s breath caught, remembering how close they’d stood during one heated exchange about market shares, Matt’s cologne making his head spin even as they traded barbed comments about hostile takeovers.

Those MIT years had given him insight into Matt’s brilliance, watching him dominate every classroom discussion, seeing that raw potential even then. The Watcher had studied him, learned him, understood him in ways that little shit never could.

His private sanctuary awaited—a luxurious suite that rivaled even the Maxwell’s finest rooms. But more importantly, it provided an unobstructed view into Matt’s office.

Tonight, though, the lights were dim. The Watcher’s jaw clenched, knowing Matt would be in his penthouse with that little shit, sharing moments that should have been his.

Settling into his favorite armchair, he pulled out his smartphone, fingers trembling slightly as he opened his private photo collection.

Matt’s image filled the screen—candid shots taken over weeks of careful observation.

Matt stepping out of his car, the morning sun catching his profile.

Matt in the hotel lobby, power radiating from his commanding stance.

Matt by the pool, water droplets glistening on his bare chest after his morning swim.

The Watcher’s breath quickened as he swiped through the images.

His thumb hesitated over a folder labeled “interference.” That little shit appeared in these photos, unknowingly captured as the Watcher had stalked his movements.

By the fountain in the Maxwell’s courtyard, where the boy had nervously glanced around, sensing eyes on him.

Through the restaurant’s window, where he’d huddled closer to Matt, seeking protection from an unseen threat.

In the lobby, where he’d practically jumped at shadows.

Good. Let him be afraid. Let him feel the weight of observation, the constant pressure of being watched.

The gala’s events continued to play through his mind as he poured himself a glass of the same whiskey he’d noticed Matt drinking earlier.

The way those broad shoulders filled out the jacket, how the deep-blue tie had brought out the steel in his eyes…

Even now, safely ensconced in his lair, the memory made his pulse quicken.

Those eyes had found him more than once during the evening, sharp and suspicious.

The intensity of those glances had sent delicious shivers down his spine.

They’d sparred verbally throughout the night, each exchange charged with something more than mere business rivalry.

The Watcher had savored every moment, every subtle shift in Matt’s expression, every slight tightening of his jaw.

His head fell back against the chair, eyes glazing over as fantasy overtook reality.

Matt’s powerful hands would grip his hips, possessive and demanding.

Those stormy eyes would darken with desire as they claimed what was rightfully his.

The Watcher’s breath came in short gasps as he imagined Matt’s weight pressing him into silk sheets, that commanding presence focused entirely on him.

“Mine,” he whispered to the empty room, the word a prayer and a promise.

The Maxwell’s facade glittered before him, a kingdom worthy of its king. Somewhere up in that penthouse, that little shit was probably pawing at perfection, desecrating what should have been his sanctuary. Their sanctuary.

A low growl escaped his throat as he stalked to the window.

His reflection showed a man barely containing his rage—tall and imposing, emerald eyes wild with obsession.

He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration as he watched the penthouse.

He’d watched them tonight—Matt’s hand sliding possessively around that boy’s waist, fingers trailing up his spine, lingering on his shoulder.

Each casual touch had been a knife in his gut.

But worse were the looks—the way Matt’s storm-gray eyes would soften when they fell on that little shit, that tender expression that should have been directed at him.

His fingers tightened around the glass as jealousy coursed through him like poison.

The memory of them by the bar made his vision blur with rage—Matt backing that boy against the counter, unable to keep his hands to himself, stealing a kiss that had been far too intimate for public display.

The way that little shit had melted into Matt’s embrace, so undeserving of such passion.

Such wasted potential. That little shit couldn’t possibly understand the power Matt wielded, the complexity of his mind, the depth of his soul.

The Watcher had studied Matt for so long, from those brilliant college days through his rise to power, had seen firsthand how he commanded respect with nothing more than a glance.

They were the same, cut from the same cloth of power and ambition.

The fantasy overtook him again. Matt would understand eventually. Would see how perfectly they matched, how deeply the Watcher comprehended his every need. Matt would pin him against these very windows, marking him, claiming him, while all of Vegas spread out beneath them like a carpet of stars.

His hand pressed against the cool glass as the vision consumed him. Matt’s lips on his neck, those powerful hands everywhere at once. The Watcher would surrender completely, give everything to his king. They would rule this city together, united in power and passion.

The penthouse lights flickered on, shattering his reverie. Reality crashed back—that little shit up there, touching what was his, tainting what should have been sacred. The Watcher’s reflection showed a twisted smile, something dark and dangerous lurking behind his eyes.

He’d positioned himself perfectly all evening, observing, waiting. Each time Matt’s gaze had swept the room with that predator’s instinct, something hungry had coiled in the Watcher’s chest. Such incredible instincts, even if Matt didn’t yet understand what he was sensing.

The smartphone buzzed with a notification—tomorrow’s schedule appearing on-screen. Another day of careful observation, of maintaining his perfect facade. Another day of seeing that little shit where he shouldn’t be.

But patience was a virtue, and he’d learned from the best. Learned from watching Matt himself that real power lay in knowing exactly when to strike.

He touched the cool glass one final time, his gaze fixed on the Maxwell’s penthouse.

Soon he’d be there, in that tower of glass and steel, looking out over their kingdom together.

Soon those intense, wary glances would transform into understanding.

Soon Matt would realize who truly belonged at his side.

Soon.