Page 108 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

The meeting starts at the top of the hour, and Brennan has timed it so that we will be fifteen or twenty minutes early, like always.“Arrive first. See who shows up late. Who lingers. Who scans the room like they’ve got something to hide. People always reveal more than they think—if you’re watching.”

He doesn’t just believe in arriving early—he believes in choosing the terrain.“Don’t just take a seat. Take the right seat.”That’s another of Brennan’s favorite mantras.“Face theentrance. Watch the door. Never let someone else control the line of sight or the conversation flow. Table dynamics tell you who’s posturing, who’s pretending, and who’s planning something.”

Brennan ushers us out and locks the door behind us. Then he jogs down the stairs to the waiting, oversize golf cart.

Since she’s wearing ridiculously high and sexy sandals, I offer my arm, which I would have done even if she’d been in athletic shoes. Any excuse to have her touch me.

Without hesitation, she accepts, curling her fingers around my wrist.

Her legs look so sexy, calves on display, that I decide I may burn every pair of her shoes that aren’t this tall.

I help her into the cart as Brennan climbs into the front passenger seat next to the driver. Classic Brennan. Positioned for maximum visibility, minimal vulnerability. He’s not here to socialize—he’s here to ensure our safety, despite the fact we’re in one of the most secluded, security-rich places on the planet.

The vehicle takes off silently and with surprising speed, forcing Isla to put her hand on my thigh to steady herself. Quickly she pulls back.

One day, perhaps she’ll touch me simply because she wants to.

In the distance, the Grand House rises like a vision of Southern grandeur, its ten Grecian pillars draped in climbing jasmine that perfumes the warm summer morning.

Our driver pulls to a stop beneath the porte cochère.

Before I have a chance to exit, Brennan is there to help Isla alight.

Wisely he steps away when I join them, and I take her hand.

Once we’re inside, a massive crystal chandelier castsprisms across the walls, where oil paintings of old Louisiana oaks whisper of timeless wealth.

We pass the staircase and approach the dining room.

As we grow closer, I see Titans meeting with others over cups of chicory coffee, the air all but vibrating with their power as agreements are reached, sealed with handshakes and nods.

A maître d’ greets us by name and checks Isla’s identification before leading us toward the far corner.

As we walk, I rest my fingers lightly on the base of Isla’s spine. Brennan flanks her other side, his tailored navy suit sharp, eyes scanning the room like he’s mapping every angle, every escape.

When our table comes into view, I set my jaw, and Brennan shoots me an annoyed glance.

Despite my attempt to control the space, Celeste and Everett are already here, seated. Judging by the fact there’s a porcelain pot near her teacup and a half-empty coffee cooling near Everett’s hand, they’ve been here for some time.

A thick manila folder sits heavy between them like a declaration of war, its edges frayed, as if it’s been opened and slammed shut dozens of times.

Only one thing is inside. Leverage.

The pair have been scheming. Talking about my life. Brennan’s.

And maybe Isla’s.

My temper flares, even though it shouldn’t.

After all, isn’t this what I’m paying her a small fortune for?

Celeste rises with the kind of grace that’s been bred, honed, and weaponized across centuries. “Dorian.” Her voice slices through the quiet with the precision of a honed blade. Then she spares a nod for Brennan. Only then does she greet my bride. “And you must be Isla.”

Her eyes scrape over my wife, as if measuring, assessing.

Isla stiffens, but she lifts her chin, meeting Celeste’s gaze with a quiet fire that makes my chest ache. “A pleasure to meet you.” Then she adds, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?”