The Boss (Chateau 3)

He moved to the cushion beside me and took a seat, his eyes on my face like I was in full makeup and a beautiful dress.

“You could have just brought her back like we agreed on. That’s all you had to do.” My words were muffled by the hard tears. “If you think you can kill her and still have me, you’re wrong. She’s all I have…”

“I didn’t kill her.”

The breath died in my throat and never reached my lungs. My face turned to look at him head on, to see those dark eyes regarding me with his eternal affection, like he still saw beauty in my plain face and sorrow. “Did you… Is she here?” My voice cracked with happiness, imagining her downstairs, waiting for me. My hands reached for his, squeezing them in gratitude.

“We never found her.”

My hand immediately loosened on his, my dream shattered. “What…what do you mean?”

“We searched for four days. Never turned up.”

“So…so…she got away?”

His eyes turned sympathetic. “She’s dead. Her body went over a waterfall or she’s buried somewhere in the snow, and that’s why the hounds can’t find her.”

“Or…she escaped.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been out there before, chérie. There’s no chance of survival—”

“You don’t know my sister.” If anyone could find a way, it was her. If the guards hadn’t caught up to us, she might have made it to safety. She already tried to flee once, so she’d learned from her mistakes and perfected her getaway. “The only reason you couldn’t find her is because she outsmarted your men and your hounds.” I couldn’t dim the pride that burned brightly inside me. The storm almost killed us, but Fender didn’t understand that my sister was the storm. They were at her mercy—not the other way around.

A subtle look of irritation came over his visage. “If that makes you feel better, chérie.”

I wasn’t blindly holding on to hope.

I knew she was alive.

I knew Magnus helped her in some way.

More days had passed, so I wondered if she was in Paris. Or maybe she took off elsewhere so Fender would never find her again.

But I knew she would never leave me behind.

Fender and I had returned to our previous relationship in the cabin, where he came to me for sex, but I refused. He would never make me. He would never threaten me. He would just sit there and stare.

I read my book in front of the fire in my bedroom, and Fender joined me, sitting in the armchair, entertained by my face. I did my makeup once again, wore the clothes Gilbert provided for me because the misery had passed.

She was out there…somewhere.

Like Fender wasn’t there, I read my book and listened to the sound of the fire. Hours passed, and nothing was said. I turned the page, now halfway done with the book. I’d stopped reading when he was gone, too grief-stricken to do anything but cry.

His deep voice broke the silence. “Chérie.” The command in his voice was impossible to ignore. It rang with an inherent power, like the blood of kings ran through his veins.

It forced me to meet his gaze.

He was shirtless in his sweatpants, and his eyes intensified when I met his look, like simple eye contact was enough to fulfill the intimacy he craved. “If you believe she escaped—”

“I do.” I believed it with my whole heart.

“Then nothing has changed between us.” The flames illuminated the side of his body, making his muscles glisten with power. But no amount of light could ever brighten those midnight-sky eyes.

I dropped my gaze.

He moved from his armchair to the seat right beside me, the pressure of the cushion completely changing when his weight was added. His hand moved to my thigh, and he came closer to me, close enough to kiss me if I would allow it. “Je t’aime, chérie.” His hand cupped my face, and he pressed his forehead to mine. “Tu es mon amour. Pour toujours…”

Now that I knew the meaning of his words, listening to them was a different experience. He loved me. He would always love me. Forever. But I pretended not to understand, like he was just begging for forgiveness.

Last time, he’d looked into my gaze in the hope I understood his words. This time, he didn’t, as if he just said them because they were words sitting on his tongue. He moved my hair back and pressed kisses to my neck, slowly moving down to my shoulder, tugging the strap of my nightgown down so he could kiss me there. His kisses turned harder, and his hand cupped my bare tit when the fabric slid down farther.

My eyes closed, and I enjoyed every single touch, every single kiss, all of his romantic affection that no other man could ever reproduce with the same quality. My head tilted back, and I almost got swept up in his current.