Ruthless Rival

He respected her fear. He worried about her.

But he didn't understand the depth of the danger.

He believed he could save her with love.

I tried to convince him otherwise. But not because I thought this would happen. Because I thought she would stay with her husband and he'd be miserable and heartbroken.

I didn't understand either.

"Did he know?" If he were here; if he knew he had a son—

He'd never take that back.

"No," she says. "It was early. I didn't realize until a few weeks after…"

Fuck.

"At first, I believed it was an accident," she says. "And Cole believed Seb was his. Then he didn't and I left. Your brother gave me Vanessa's name. He trusted her."

He did?

He knew it was that dangerous.

He knew Cole might hurt her.

Hurt him.

"She's a good woman," Celine says.

"She is."

"You two are together?"

"We were."

"What happened?" she asks.

"I scared her."

Celine nods with understanding. For Vanessa? For me? I don't know.

She keeps talking, but I don't hear her.

My ears ring.

Bash's son is in my house.

His son.

And Vanessa is gone.

Maybe forever.

I don't stop and sink into my feelings.

I take action.

But right now?

It's nearly impossible to keep my thoughts here, in the apartment.

I help Celine set up in the spare room. I talk to Xavier about keeping the place secure.

I think about calling Vanessa for hours.

Celine and Seb are leaving tomorrow. They're going to another city. I'm never going to see them again.

Unless—

Unless I do what Cole did.

There are two choices here.

Both are horrible.

Which can I survive?

Chapter Forty

SIMON

When I first discovered the truth, I was sure of my path.

I investigated my options.

I assessed the risks.

I considered the alternatives.

Only one course of action made sense—Justice.

The end of Cole's life.

Exactly what he did to Bash.

But that isn't justice.

It's revenge.

That's why Vanessa is afraid. Because she sees this side of me.

Because she knows these are the thoughts in my head.

She sees me as a monster.

How can I argue?

The vision of Cole's death still sends relief through my limbs.

I want to end him.

I want to hurt him.

I want to savor his pain.

My thoughts are awful.

But they're only thoughts. There's still a chance for me.

If I take action—

Then I'll truly be a monster.

As bad as he is.

As despicable as he is.

And Vanessa will never love a monster.

Who would?

All night, I toss and turn.

I sleep in fits. Dreams of princes who slay dragons. Visions of a future without Vanessa. Without the warmth of anyone with a hint of principle.

Memories of Bash.

The brightness in his eyes. The passion in his voice. The joy in his smile.

He wouldn't approve.

Opal wouldn't approve.

Liam either.

Even Adam—

He knows what I know. He took his own path to revenge. Tortured himself over deceiving a woman he paid handsomely.

My family is many things.

But we aren't monsters.

The sky lightens.

I rise. Clean. Find Celine on the couch with a mug of tea, her son in a bassinet in front of her.

"He's asleep," she whispers. "For now."

"I didn't hear him."

"He's quiet. He screamed as an infant. I didn't rest for a month. But since I… he sleeps soundly now. Most nights." She looks to him. "He'll be up soon. Sooner, if we don't whisper."

"I can leave."

"No." She stands and motions to the kitchen island. "As long as you don't grind beans."

What can I possibly say to her?

How could you let this happen to my brother?

How could I let this happen to the two of you?

I'm sorry I failed him.

I don't say anything about Bash or his son or the danger lurking outside the apartment. I offer to fix another mug of tea.

She accepts.

We move to the kitchen island.

I suggest breakfast.

Celine asks for nothing.

Accepts every offer with gratitude.

Except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the hiss of the kettle, the space is silent.

I toast bread, fry eggs, find jam, knives, plates.

Celine sits on a stool, sips English Breakfast mixed with coconut milk.

She's graceful.

Even more than Bash described.

"This is strange," she says. "For me too."

I spread marmalade on my toast, take a bite, try to taste the orange zest. For a second, the flavor is bright. Vivid. Then it's gone. The world is grey again.

"He talked about you a lot." She takes a dainty sip. "He hated that you didn't approve. He looked up to you."

"I know."

"Because you were competent and smart. And because you were principled."

No one's ever called me that.

"He wanted you to deem his actions moral. He wanted you to see things his way, to see love was more important than anything. I told him most people don't approve of adultery, but he…"

"He didn't let anything stand in the way of love."

"He didn't."

"It wasn't about your status as a married woman," I say.

"You approved?"

"No. But I worried too. Worried you'd break his heart." I escaped most of my father's old-fashioned views but not that one. Marriage is sacred. "He believed you'd leave. I knew better."

"I told him I wouldn't."