Chapter 5: The Stepfather's Counsel

MARCUS

I watch her from the doorway for a second before she knows I’m there; she’s standing on the terrace, rigid, like the wind might just pick her up and carry her off… and Christ, maybe it should, maybe she should run from this place and never look back, but then I’d lose my new favorite toy, wouldn’t I, and the game would be so dreadfully dull without her. She looks like someone who's actually seen the devil himself, or at least just his corporate ledgers, which tends to be roughly the same thing here. I can sniff the fear in her from here, a sharp, electric sting cutting through the city dirt.

I step out, the whiskey glasses cold in my hands, a prop, always a prop. "You look like you just fought off a particularly tenacious demon," I say, my voice low, a hum that I know gets beneath a person’s skin. "Or perhaps, met a ghost. Corporate, or the one that haunts family portraits?" I extend the glass; she does not take it. Good. She is still fighting. I like that.

Her voice breaks, slightly shattered. "Is there a difference? Sometimes I think they're one and the same in this building." She's gazing out at the lights, not really looking, and I know that look, the thousand-yard stare of a person who just had their whole world yanked right out from under them. Then she turns it on me, a direct hit, and fuck me if it doesn’t land. "Tell me, Marcus. in all seriousness, why did you marry my mother?

"I let the question linger there, let her squirm. She's not asking about Isabelle; she's asking about herself, about how much she's worth, about her standing in this den of snakes, and she's asking me, the court jester, because she knows I'm the only one who will possibly tell her the truth in a lie so pretty." I perch on the railing, closer to her, so that she can feel me, the solid weight of me alongside her trembling uncertainty.

"Isabelle is… light," I say to her, and it's the truest thing I've said all week. "Pure light in a world that is otherwise like endless twilight. She's a reminder that not all things are a trade, a conquest." I take a slow sip, letting the burn fix me. I lean in, my eyes locked on hers, and I catch her breath; yes, she feels this, this pull between us, this current I decided to switch on the moment I saw her "But you're not asking about your mother, are you, Ava? You're asking about you. You're asking if my brother employed you as a courtesy, a favor to me, the handsome, irresponsible stepfather."

She finally takes the whiskey, her fingers brushing mine, and a burst of pure, uncut heat shoots straight through me; Christ, she doesn't realize the effect she has, the raw power in that innocence. Her voice is a whisper. "Did he?"

I stare into her eyes, I drown in them; her eyes are a stormy sea and I want to sail directly into the heart of it. "Julian Sterling doesn't do favors, Ava. Not like that. Not for me. He lives and breathes and bleeds strategy." I flash a smile on my lips, the charming rogue making an appearance, a pretense she can pretend to buy. "What I may have done is ensure that your portfolio move from the 'maybe' stack to the 'definite interview' pile." A silent adjustment, you might say." I let my smirk fade away, let her see the real me, the calculating bastard underneath. "He recruited you because of that." I gesture my arm out at the city, at her, at the potential suspended between us. "Because you know what's possible, not just what's immediately profitably. You look beyond the ledger. And that, Ava, terrifies the hell out of him."

It freezes all of us who have built this empire upon cement and measurable risk."

I turn to face her entirely now, dropping the charade; the game is getting too enjoyable, too real. I allow her a glimpse of the predator inside me, the stillness before the strike. "I see how you look at them, Ava. Julian. Caleb. Every interaction, every subtle shift.". And I notice the way they look at you too, a recognition of something unique, something they cannot understand. It's a dangerous game you are playing. More dangerous than you imagine.”

She tries to deflect, a good attempt. "There is no game. I'm just trying to do my job. To be good at it. To leave a signature."

I close the distance between us; the air ignites, thick with the scent of her perfume and my whiskey and cold, unadulterated want. I can feel the heat emanating from her skin. "Liar." The word is a breath, a confession, an accusation. I reach out, my hand hovering near her cheek but not touching, though I long to; I long to feel the beat of her pulse under my thumb. "I know that look. I lived it for years until I met your mother. It is hunger." Not for a promotion, not for a project." I let my gaze drift down to her lips, full and gently parted, and I want to devour her, right here, right now. "You're not hungry for one of them, Ava. You're hungry for all of them. For their power, their secrets, the very essence of this monster they call Sterling. And that… that kind of ambition, that kind of hunger, will destroy you in this family."

I step in closer, invading all of her senses, making my voice low and intimate, a weapon. "Let me be your anchor in this storm, Ava." I will shield you." My thumb drifts along her jawline, a wisp of touch, and she shivers, a whole-body shiver that passes right through me. "From Julian's icy indifference, which can freeze even the warmest heart. From Caleb's stunning, reckless chaos, which threatens to drag everyone down with him

Even from Victoria's poison, which will taint everything it touches.”

She swallows hard; her throat is a functioning thing. I watch the movement, mesmerized. Her voice is raw, a hot little sound. "And what do you get out of it, Marcus? What's your fee for such. protection?"

That's my girl. Always on the right track with her questions. I smile then, a slow, devastating unfolding of all the evil plans I have. I finally touch my fingers to her skin, drawing back a strand of hair to slide behind her ear, my fingertips stroking, causing a shockwave that ripple through both of us. I can see it in her eyes, the gasp she doesn’t let out.

"The privilege, Ava, my darling," I breathe, my eyes locking onto hers, filling her with every shard of my lethal truth, "the sheer, unadulterated privilege of watching you become the woman who will bring great Julian Sterling low."

I take a step back then; the hardest thing I've ever done in a day. I leave her there, shaking on the edge, and I simply walk away without a backward glance m, the taste of whiskey and potential victory sour on my lips. Let her wonder. Let that consume her. The game is most definitely on.