Page 50 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

THEO

I stopped answering my phone. Not just my father’s calls—though those were the first I silenced—but everything that came through.

Board members. My assistant. Random people I hadn’t spoken to in years.

Journalists sniffing at the edges like vultures circling something wounded.

It was like the whole world had picked up on my absence and decided now was the time to start demanding answers.

I gave them none. Nor would I. I’d chosen to walk away from the gilded circus and leave its chains behind. There was no way I was getting dragged back.

Even my mother had tried once. Just once.

Her name lit up my screen while I sat on the edge of the bed in a room that didn’t belong to me anymore.

I stared at it until the screen dimmed. She’d stood up for Rosalie .

Not me. Claimed she hadn’t known the real reason my father sent me away.

But I couldn’t tell if I believed her—or if those were just carefully arranged crocodile tears meant to save her own neck.

Whatever that connection had been, it was gone now. Burned through, the smoke of it long vanished. I wasn’t naive; it wasn’t like she was going to turn up on my doorstep and bleed her heart dry just to keep me in her life.

I hadn’t stepped foot in the office in over a week. No headlines had hit the news. No public statements were made. Just silence, stretching longer by the day. At first, it felt like tension. Now it felt like permission. I wondered how much it had cost my father to pay them all off.

The SUV was gone. Sold it two days ago, and didn’t even hesitate.

I hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t asked. No permission.

No apology. I walked into the dealership, handed over the keys, and took the cash.

It felt like breathing clean air for the first time in years.

Like cutting a chain off my ankle, I hadn’t even noticed until it was gone.

Just me, a deed of sale, and a wad of cash in my pocket that felt more like freedom than money.

And I waited. Waited for a call about the fifth-floor walk-up where Sin and the girls lived. A building with creaky stairs, crooked mailboxes, a slapdash paint job, and scuffed walls that didn’t pretend to be anything they weren’t.

It was honest. And I hoped it would be mine. When the call finally came, I didn’t hesitate. “It’s yours if you want to see it,” the super said. “Few other calls, but you were first.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Sin grinned the second he saw me—eyes bright, cigarette tucked behind his ear, posture loose but buzzing underneath. Winston curled around his legs as he stepped through my front door, trying to drag him deeper into the house. He’d become almost as obsessed with Sin as I was.

Head canted to the side, his eyes roamed over me like a physical caress before they settled on mine.

Stars sparked in his as he took in my smile.

I gave him a tentative nod and crossed my fingers.

Before I could say a word, he fist pumped then turned on his heel and sauntered back to his beast of a car with me following in his wake.

His black Dodge Charger was sleek and dangerous-looking, shining like obsidian in the afternoon sun. The engine snarled to life with a throaty rev that made the topiary shudder and my bones vibrate as I settled in the passenger seat.

I shook my head, unable to keep a straight face. “Did you get this thing tuned?” I asked, eyes narrowing as the engine snarled again.

He blinked at me, all fake innocence. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Not even a little,” I muttered, but I was smiling. He stomped on the gas, gravel spraying behind us like machine-gun fire as we peeled out.

I glanced over my shoulder. Half-expecting—half-fearing—I’d see my father charging down the driveway after us like some corporate god-king reclaiming his prodigal son. But there was nothing. Just manicured lawns. Sculpted hedges. Perfection that never felt like mine .

The trip across town passed in a blur of late afternoon sunlight, lengthening shadows and suppressed longing.

The silence between us wasn’t just comfortable—it was loaded.

Every breath felt like a dare. Every glance like a challenge.

Being in a car with Sin wasn’t just distracting—it was torturous.

A masterclass in self-restraint. A slow unraveling.

He looked like sin incarnate behind the wheel—loose-limbed, unbothered, entirely in control.

Black curls stirred in the wind from the open window, revealing the cigarette tucked behind his ear like an afterthought.

A rebellion half-finished. His tattoos crawled along his skin every time his knuckles flexed against the steering wheel, shifting like shadows that told stories no one else had ever been allowed to hear.

And then his hand slid from the gear shift to my thigh. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… claiming. I forgot how to breathe. Forgot where we were. Forgot what the hell we were even doing.

He didn’t look at me. Just kept driving like nothing had changed, like the world wasn’t tilting dangerously on its axis. His thumb circled slow and deliberate over my jeans, the warmth of his palm bleeding into my skin like a fever I couldn’t shake.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” I muttered, breathlessly.

“What?” His voice was smoke and gravel, but it was the smirk curling his lips that did me in.

“Touching me like…this,” I groaned as his thumb ran over the zipper of my pants, applying just the right amount of pressure.

He rolled his bottom lip against his teeth, looking every inch the depraved deviant he was, eyes never leaving mine. “You are mine… aren’t you?”

“T-that I am,” I gasped as he increased the pressure. “T-that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” he asked, eyes now locked on the road. Like if he didn’t, he might crash the car because he was as close to the edge as I was.

“We have an apartment to go and look at…” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at me. “A-and I can’t go in there like this,” I hissed.

He didn’t answer right away. Just squeezed my thigh a little tighter, making me groan. “Oh baby, I could stop right now and make you feel so good,” he purred.

“God. Fucking. Dammit. You’re evil.” My fingers wrapped around his hand, slowly pulling it off where he was stroking it up and down my erection.

“Don’t you want to play?” he asked seductively. “I can make you come so quickly you’ll be all relaxed by the time we get there.”

“No.” I clung onto the last threads of my self-control. “Not this time. But once we’re done…”

“Spoilsport,” Sin huffed, wriggling in his seat to adjust himself.

At least we were both in the same predicament when we pulled up into Sin’s usual parking spot, tucked beneath a leaning streetlight and sandwiched between a beat-up hatchback and a Vespa missing one mirror. Sin killed the engine, and the silence left behind buzzed louder than the city around us.

My stomach twisted like someone had dropped a beehive into it. Wasps swarmed beneath my ribs, jittery with nerves that had crept up on me like shadows. I tried to play it cool, resting my palm on my knee like I wasn’t vibrating out of my skin.

The building across from us wasn’t much, not compared to what I was used to.

Weathered brick, faded paintwork that flaked off in the wind.

A few crooked flower boxes—half wilted, half thriving—clung to windows on the first floor.

A slightly tattered Pride flag fluttered off a third-floor balcony, bold and unbothered, like it didn’t care what anyone thought.

It felt like a challenge. Or maybe a promise.

Sin nudged me with his shoulder, the small gesture grounding me. “You sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice light but his eyes careful.

I stared at the building. My potential future.

The doorway to a life I was about to claim as mine for the first time ever.

I could still feel the burn of the cold marble floors of my house on my bare feet.

The echo of my father’s voice in every room, even when he wasn’t there.

I remembered how the walls felt like eyes, how every piece of furniture had been chosen by someone else.

Everything was curated. Controlled. Cold.

My fingers clenched on my thigh. “It’s not what I want,” I said, my voice lower than I intended. “It’s what I need . I need…something real. Something that’s mine.”

Sin didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded once, firm and understanding. Then, in typical Sin fashion, he threw the car door open and jogged around to the front entrance like he was about to walk a red carpet.

“Welcome to your future, Mr. Astor,” he called dramatically, swinging the building’s front door open with a flourish, like he was the concierge of some five-star hotel.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I hadn’t set foot in the club in a week—neither of us had. I wasn’t going back. Sin had to, at least for now. But me? I was rewriting my script entirely.

And it was blank…

The realtor, Corryn, was already waiting in the narrow hallway. She had a clipboard, glossy nails, and a professional smile that faltered just slightly when she clocked me. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Astor,” she said, extending her hand with just a bit too much formality.

I winced. There it was. “That’s what people call my father,” I said, shaking her hand anyway. “Just Theo.”

Her smile softened. “Right. Of course. I’ll give you both some space. Holler if you have any questions.”

Sin led the way, stepping inside like he owned the place—or at least like he knew how to test-drive an apartment. I followed, but each footstep felt heavy, weighted with significance. Every creak of the hardwood was a declaration. Every white wall whispered possibility.

I took a breath. You’re allowed to want this.