Page 33 of Intrigue

“Good.”

“Sir...” My legal aid hesitates. In all the years he has been working for me, he’s never hesitated. “Are you certain about this approach?”

I turn, fixing him with a look that makes him step back. “Problem?”

“No, sir. Just... unprecedented.”

He’s right. This is different. Personal. The usual satisfaction of crushing an opponent feels hollow. I watch Selene comfort Cassian, her hand on his shoulder, and something burns in my chest.

“Leave,” I tell Victor. Once alone, I pull up the gallery’s original purchase documents. Every shell company, every false trail, every piece of leverage, perfect in its execution.

A few minutes later, rain is pelting against windows forty-seven floors up. Thunder cracks again as my office door opens.

I stand, grabbing a drink from the bar, waiting for her to say something. It isn’t long before Selene speaks up, cheeks flushed with fury. Her eyes lock on mine, my gaze moving over her soaked form and for a moment, I almost wish I felt nothing at all.

“You’re despicable.” Her voice shakes with rage as she closes the distance between us.

I take a slow sip. “I prefer practical.”

Her fingers dig into her palms, her shoulders rigid. “You broke my heart, Sandro. You made damn sure I knew I meant nothing to you. So why? Why the hell are you doing all of this to a man who has done nothing but pick up the trash you dumped? Why the hell are you doing this to him?”

I set my glass down. “Because I can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I turn fully toward her, letting her see just how little I care about her outrage. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself.”

“Then let me make it simple.” Her breath is uneven, her chest rising fast. “What do you want?”

I take my time. Let her stew in the silence. Then, finally— “He keeps his gallery. His reputation stays intact. But I get something in return.”

She swallows hard. “What?”

I step closer. “You.”

The word lands like a strike. Her whole body locks up, disbelief flashing in her eyes before something deeper creeps in.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” I let my voice dip, just enough to remind her exactly how serious I was two weeks ago in her kitchen with her back against the counter, my hand around her throat, and Cassian just upstairs. As I fucked her in her own kitchen.

The moment hits her too and I see it in the way her lips part, in the sharp inhale she tries to smother.

Finally, she lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you even hear yourself? I’m engaged. You talk like Cassian and I are nothing. Like I can just—”

“Yet you let me fuck you while he was upstairs.”

She exhales sharply. “Stop that.”

“No.”

“For Chrissakes. Why now, Sandro?” Her voice is quieter, but it cuts just as deep. “You never wanted to claim me out loud before. You hid what we were. You threw me away like I was nothing. So why the hell are you suddenly bold enough to do this now? What if my father hears about this?”

I let the silence stretch.

Then, finally— “Because I’m not answering to your father anymore.”

Her breath hitches.