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She huffs dramatically but drops to her knees nonetheless. The sight sends heat coursing through me—Aurelia kneeling before me.

I really enjoy her in this position.

I spread my legs slightly so she can move closer, making no attempt to hide my growing arousal. Her fingers fumble briefly at the buckle; when she notices my erection straining against the fabric just inches from her face, I hear the sharp intake of breath.

Her composure is admirable under these circumstances, but I’ve learned to read even what she doesn’t say aloud: this affects her.

She finishes unbuckling my belt and pulls it free, flinging it onto the floor before scrambling to her feet and retreating to her chair.

“Happy now?” she asks quickly .

“Immensely.” I lean back in my seat, savoring this unexpected turn of events.

“You’re annoying.”

“You were always fond of challenges,” I remind her, watching as she reclaims her earlier defiant posture: arms crossed over bare skin, emerald necklace glinting against porcelain flesh.

Her entire face is flushed. I smile like a maniac, reveling in my small victory.

“Let’s go again,” she says, gathering the cards. “I won’t lose this time.”

I feign annoyance that barely conceals my pleasure as she wins the next hand—I let her win, of course.

She’s so happy that she abandons her chair entirely, doing what can only be described as a decidedly un-Aurelia-like dance around the table.

It warms me in unexpected ways to see her so goofy and free—a side I know I stifled when we were together. But no more.

“So what’s my dare?” I ask, watching as she tries to contain her glee.

“Take off your pants.”

“That’s it? How boring.”

The words provoke exactly the reaction I anticipate. She growls at me, rolling her eyes with irritation before blurting out, “Fine, take off mine.”

Her cheeks are pink again as I rise from the chair and stalk toward her.

“As you wish,” I say, reaching her in two long strides.

She stands her ground until I’m close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. My fingers run lightly under the waistband of her panties .

“You’re not wearing pants,” I say against her ear. “So I’ll have to remove these.”

Her breath hitches as I begin to slide them down slowly, savoring every inch of newly exposed flesh. She doesn’t stop me and there’s a thrill in knowing that despite everything between us, she wants this.

The lace slips to the floor, and she’s breathtakingly bare. My cock twitches.

Without warning, I scoop her up and lay her back across the poker table. I’ve had enough of Aurelia driving me wild.

I spread her legs to see how wet she is for me.

“Adrian, what—” she starts to say, but it’s too late; my face is already buried between her legs.

I feast on her with a hunger I denied for over a decade, tasting her for the first time.

Truly, the first time I’ve been in this position with her.

It pains me to think I never once did this to her before, that I held myself back from enjoying her this way, held myself back from giving her this intense pleasure because I stubbornly thought it would keep her safe.

Instead, it only led her deeper into the lion’s den.

No more holding back. I eat her pussy with aggression and abandon, making her moan and squirm in ways I’ve never heard.

She cries out my name, and it encourages me, so I stuff two fingers inside her, then a third, testing how much she’ll open.

Her pussy is tight; it doesn’t want to take all three, but she must if I’m going to fuck her—and I will fuck her later.

The taste of her makes me unbearably hard as I eat her out and finger-fuck her until she comes with a shuddering orgasm that shakes the table beneath us.

I don’t stop until every aftershock rips through her, until she’s gripping the edge of the table with white-knuckled desperation. Only then do I lift my head, wiping my mouth as I savor the rawness of this moment.

“You’ve never done that,” she gasps between ragged breaths.

“A lot has changed.”

“So I’ve noticed.” There’s a new vulnerability in her voice—a crack in the armor she’s worn for so long.

She stays on the table while she catches her breath, the rise and fall of her chest mesmerizing. Her eyes find mine again, still hazy with desire but sharpening quickly. “I’m tired of playing games, Adrian. And I don’t mean poker.”

The shift is abrupt—from her moans to something far more dangerous. Something unpredictable. I remain still, assessing potential responses.

I move back to my chair as she sits on the edge of the table.

“This isn’t a game,” I eventually say, my voice carefully modulated.

“Then what do you call this?” She gestures between us. “What are we doing? Are you using me for your vendetta against the Consortium? Am I just a convenient ally because I have my own revenge list?”

“No. Of course not.”

She stands abruptly, grabbing her clothes and pulling them on with quick, agitated movements. “Then explain it. Now. ”

Her frustration manifests physically—rapid movements, elevated respiration, heightened color across her cheekbones. She’s close to her breaking point. A response is required, yet the appropriate words are hard to find.

How do I explain a decade of calculated decisions and missed opportunities? How do I articulate the complex, contradictory impulses that have defined our relationship?

She waits, green eyes searching mine for answers.

“I don’t know where to begin,” I finally admit.

“Try the beginning.” She returns to the edge of the poker table, arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Why did you ask me out ten years ago? The real reason.”

The question cuts to the heart of everything. I stand, unable to remain seated for this conversation. Three steps take me to the far wall, where I can organize my thoughts without the distraction of her closeness.

“It was to protect you,” I say, turning to face her. “From my father.”

Her posture stiffens. “Explain.”

“You and Julian were close as children. Always together, always… connected.” A memory surfaces—Aurelia and Julian as teenagers, laughing together on the patio while I watched from the window, that familiar ache spreading through my chest. “He was drawn to you from the beginning. And my father noticed.”

“Lucian wanted me even back then?”

“Yes.” The confirmation feels like releasing a weight I’ve carried for too many years.

“He had a pattern with young women he found… appealing. By the time you were fo urteen, you’d caught his attention.

The way he looked at you during family functions made me sick.

It was clear you wanted Julian, but he was volatile, already rebelling against our father’s control. If you had begun dating him?—”

“Lucian would have taken me,” she finishes, “just to hurt Julian.”

“Precisely. So I devised an alternative approach. As the favored son, I had certain immunities. My possessions were generally respected.”

Her eyes widen. “So you dated me to mark me as yours. To keep me off-limits to your father.”

“It seemed the most practical solution. Julian hated it, but?—”

“Julian knew about this?” Her voice rises sharply.

“Yes. We agreed that he would distance himself, and appear disinterested. I would publicly claim you as mine. The combination would remove you from my father’s immediate consideration.”

She slides off the table, moving closer. “So our entire relationship, a decade of my life, was just… a tactical maneuver?”

The question demands absolute honesty, however uncomfortable. “That was how it began,” I say. “Until it became more. At least for me.”

“More how?”

I clench my jaw. This is harder than I anticipated, but it’s best to get it all out in the open.

“I developed genuine feelings.” The truth scrapes against my throat. “I had always admired you, even before our arrangement. Your resilience. Your intelligence. Your refusal to be diminished by the darkness surrounding you.”

Aurelia stares at her feet, clearly processing my revelations. She shakes her head slowly. “All those years I thought you were just using me as arm candy.”

“Lucian had to see it that way, but I found myself… compromised by my feelings for you.”

“Compromised,” she repeats, a bitter edge to her voice. “So clinical.”

I can understand her irritation, but what I don’t understand is how she’s acting so innocent, as if she had no role in our demise. “You broke up with me because you loved Julian,” I say finally.

Her head snaps up. “That’s not true. I broke up with you because I learned about all the shady things you were involved in with the Consortium. Because you kept cheating on me.”

Cheating.

If only she knew what I was really doing those nights I was away from her. But one truth at a time.

She shakes her head, continuing, “I couldn’t stand being part of that world anymore.” She hesitates. “But I cared about you.”

“More than Julian?”

Her gaze drops, and in her silence, I have my answer. The confirmation of what I’ve always known settles like a cold weight in my chest.

Even after everything he’s done, might she still care for him more than she could ever care for me?

That fear is the reason I never spoke up sooner about my feelings. Rejection is easier when it’s not dealt directly.

“It’s alright,” I say, moving toward the door. “I understood the dynamics from the beginning. I just wanted to see you happy and safe. That was always the priority.”

“Adrian.” Her voice stops me before I can exit. “If that was true—if all you wanted was for me to be happy—why did you keep watching me after we broke up? Lorenzo mentioned you had men checking on me.”

I turn back, deciding there’s no point in hiding the truth. “I’ve always had a problem staying away from you.”

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Julian managed to stay away from me for ten years.”

“That’s the one area he’s always had greater self-discipline. I, however, found myself… unable to maintain my distance. After we separated, I still needed to ensure your safety.”

“Why?” she demands, stepping closer. “Why care so much about my safety when I clearly wasn’t a priority to you during our relationship? You were cold, distant, controlling?—”

“Because I couldn’t allow myself to show what I truly felt. Every moment of genuine emotion risked exposing the entire arrangement. If my father had suspected I actually cared for you, you would have immediately become a target. A weakness to exploit.”

“So you held back. For ten years.”

“Yes. ”

She studies me, her gaze penetrating. “And now? What’s holding you back now?”

The question strips away my remaining defenses. What is holding me back? Pride? Fear? The ingrained habits of a lifetime spent controlling every outward expression of vulnerability?

“I don’t know how to be different,” I confess. “I’m not certain I can simply discard those patterns.”

“Try,” she says, moving close enough to place a hand on my chest. “For once in your life, Adrian Harrow, just try being honest about what you want.”

Her closeness disrupts my ability to maintain emotional distance. The wall I’ve constructed over decades begins to fracture.

I rest my hands on her waist, my heart thundering. This is uncharted territory and, for once, I’m not entirely sure what to do about it. But I’ll try.

“I want you.” The words emerge with unexpected force. “I have always wanted you. Even knowing you preferred my brother. Even knowing I would never be your first choice.”

She flinches at that, but I continue.

“I watched you with Julian and saw how alive you were in his presence. How your entire being seemed to vibrate at a different frequency when he entered a room. You never looked at me that way. I knew you never would, regardless of how deeply I felt for you.”

“Adrian—”

“You asked for honesty,” I remind her. “This is it. I love you, Aurelia. I’ve loved you since before I can remember.

I loved you throughout our entire relationship, even while maintaining the necessary distance to keep you safe.

I loved you after you left me. And I love you now, despite knowing that part of your heart will always belong to my brother. ”

The confession leaves me hollow and exposed, more vulnerable than I’ve allowed myself to be since early childhood. I wait, bracing for the inevitable rejection, the gentle let-down, the pitying smile.

Instead, she reaches for me, her hand coming to rest against my cheek. The unexpected contact sends electricity through my system, short-circuiting everything.

“You idiot,” she says softly. “All this time, and you never once thought that maybe I needed to see that side of you? That I might have responded differently if you’d shown me even a tiny bit of what you felt?”

Her words create a cascade of alternate possibilities—timelines where I made different choices, where I risked more, where I trusted her with the truth.

Suddenly, the remaining distance between us is too great. I lean down to press our mouths together, closing the gap I left open for too many years.