"Did Lev get my flowers?"

"He did. He's recovering well. He said he has been trying to reach out to you, but you haven't been responding to his calls or texts either," Shukura sighs, inclining in her seat and slurping the remnants of her iced latte loudly.

"I do not intend to either. Keep telling him I've been occupied." I continue going through the document on my iPad.

The night I returned from Morocco was the only time I talked to him. I feel bad for what he went through and is going through, but this time, for once, I cannot fake my emotions and pretend everything's fine when it's not. 

I do not care what he did to drive a wedge between Zayd and me. We were doomed from the beginning, and I'd have done it myself without his help. What matters to me is that he broke my trust, even if it was for the only time. He knew how it affected me at that time, but he said nothing. I understand it was petty jealousy, but still. He not only invaded my privacy by deleting Zayd's call and text history on my phone, but he mentioned nothing about it even after all this time despite knowing I am the most forgiving kind and I do not hold onto grudges. This one time is an exception.

"Right. By the way, your husband left for London early in the morning. He'll return tomorrow."

Areston is being... Areston. He hurled me over his shoulder and carried me out of The Rothschild Mansion three days ago. Before I could give him a silent treatment, he slammed me with one instead. We didn't speak throughout the ride, after reaching home, and through all the days and nights that have followed since. He yanked me out of the car when I refused to climb out, carried me bridal style from the -5 level private lower level parking all the way to our home on the top floor in the elevator, dumped me in our bedroom, and left me there. I was way past my boiling point, and whenever that happens, which is a rare occurrence and something only my husband is capable of enticing, instead of having a hysterical breakdown, I slip into an absolute silent mode, so that's what I did.

He did not return that morning. I found out later in the day that he had not followed my demand—just like he hadn't followed any of the rest either—and gave me our bedroom while he moved to the one attached to his home office. I was informed by Mackenzie yesterday that he has been leaving for work early before I wake up at 6:30 AM and has been returning home late at night after 10 PM. He has been carefully avoiding running into me like I'd asked him to, but he's making his presence in my life known every hour.

I am getting my favorite flowers every hour. The cards have no message except a handwritten My lighthouse. Our chef ensures I'm not leaving for work without breakfast, his equally bitch of an assistant ensures I'm not skipping lunch, and my dinner arrives at the hospital at the same time every day because that's where I am, being next to Selene around dinner time. She finally got discharged yesterday. He's still having my lip glosses and lipsticks that are not red discarded every day, and I've been having them restocked every day. There is always a fresh box of my favorite Mariebelle chocolates on my desk every day, which Shukura keeps teasing me about. And every morning when I wake up, I find a subtle trace of his cologne. However, I don't need it to know that he hasn't been maintaining the boundaries I drew for him—he wouldn't be Areston De L'Aquila if he knew what boundaries are.

I pretend to sleep when he comes to the bedroom every night, thinking I've fallen asleep. He sleeps on the couch opposite to me and is gone before I wake up. I want to yell at him, but I don't. That would mean talking to him, and that's what he wants—me to break down. But that doesn't mean I don't sneak in a look. I love him, and I cry to sleep every night, my heart melting at the sight of him. I itch to hug him and tell him how much I love him, but again, I don't. That would only make things happen just the way he wants.

I don't know how long we can continue like this. At this point, it feels ridiculous because none of it is going according to my plan. He's seeing me every day—all he isn't doing is touching or talking to me, which are the two most important things to him. I keep wondering what good it'd do to help our current situation.

He's going to snap soon. I know it.

But what would I do when he does? Am I going to let him in? I have to because I can't survive longer without touching or talking to him either. But would I be okay with the fact that he perhaps might never be able to trust me? I don't think so.

Mama's sea, trainer, and swimming pool keep coming to my mind. Maybe he will with time if I keep helping him as I always have.

I drop the iPad on the tray table and sag into my seat. Suddenly, I feel like crying. "So, he won't be home today?"

"That's what it appears like unless he has developed a clone of himself and left it to give you nightmares."

"I should perhaps get a new assistant for myself. One that's not so snarky."

"I'd like to see you try," she laughs. "Seriously, woman. How long are you going to punish yourselves? That's not how you deal with trust issues. That's how you trigger trust issues, that's for sure. If I had a man as devoted to me and loves me bordering downright psychotic as your Mr. Testosterone-On-Legs does, fuck trust issues, I'd happily continue with those. I mean, why should trust issues even matter when you know that he'll always have your back and continue loving you unconditionally? No one is perfect. He might think he's almighty, but he's not. He's just a human, even if he happens to be the most powerful one. Humans err and have drawbacks. His is that he struggles to trust you, given how you left him. I would do too if I were in love with you the way he is."

"I hate it when he's not around. It suffocates me." I drag out a black slims and light it.

I don't even smoke anymore. Not that I was an excessive smoker, to begin with. Areston made me give up on the habit somehow without me even realizing it. I'm the only addiction you're supposed to have. He'd arrogantly tossed at me once.

"Maybe consider a couple's therapy," Oliver offers from the front.

"And spill my guts to those charlatans? No thanks," I sigh, opening the window and staring out of it as the smoke I blow out disappears into the air. "You know what? I don't want to be alone tonight. Can you please drop me at Chase's after this meeting, Oliver?"

I don't want to be here.

Hell, I don't want to be anywhere except wrapped in the warm cocoon of the stubborn man I'm in love with. But since that option isn't available because of our ongoing issues and also because he isn't available in the country, here I am—at my brother's private sanctuary.

I couldn't bring myself to stay home—not when my husband is across the pond.

It's ridiculous how much I need him for my basic survival. We haven't spoken in days, haven't touched each other, and yet, even the idea of going there makes me feel like something is ripping me from the inside out.

I can really understand why he didn't let me spend a couple of hours at The Rothschild Mansion the other night. It's haunting.

At least when he's around, even if it's only in the dead of night while I pretend to sleep, I can feel him. Even if he's silent and there's a space between us, his presence remains my anchor.

The way the intoxicating scent of his cologne fills the space when he enters the bedroom, the quiet rustle when he crouches in front of me to have his fill of me by watching me up close as I sleep, the warm breath that caresses my skin when he bends to kiss my forehead tenderly, the peace visible on his face when he sleeps on the couch across from me—it's something. None of it is enough, but it's something—and it's a huge relief that he's there, and it means the world to me.

I hate that he's unwilling to give me space, and I am still hurting every day that it has more to do with his lack of trust in me. But I've also come to realize that he does all of it regardless of suffering the consequences because he's madly in love with me—not that there was any doubt before.

However, now, in his absence from home, nothing is keeping me there. The gaping emptiness in the lack of his presence is not something I can bear. Although running away from home today to escape that gnawing feeling in his absence that has been consuming me is useless because I feel it everywhere, no matter where I go these days.

Ever since Areston left me in our bedroom in the wee hours, I've been feeling homeless.

I've been feeling furious at myself for putting so much distance between us. At how much I want to crawl back to him, beg him to touch me—even if it's just a brush of his hand against mine, and how much I need him. I'm doing this for us—this distance, this silence—to fix us, and yet three days apart, and I've been unraveling.

Call me petty, but I hope he's feeling the same way because it would kill me if he isn't.

My brother's all-glass, ultra-swanky, and modern waterfront mansion surrounded by estuaries on three sides greets me with its usual serenity. The quiet beauty of this Meadow Lane estate has always provided me with a sense of peace—even if momentarily. I've always loved it here. It's the reason why I have a history of using this place to escape my mental demons temporarily. But deep down, I know it's not the house but my brother's protective aura that makes me feel safe whenever I'm here, just like my husband's mere existence makes every place home.

I run a hand through my hair, walking inside as the cool breeze from the open glass walls of the house settles over my skin, but it does nothing to dull the ache from longing for him that has been twisting in my chest since Shukura announced that my husband has left for London. I was hurt thinking that he didn't leave that message directly with me. However, when I opened my phone—the one he had given me to use since I blocked him on mine, which felt like eons ago- there was his text resting since the morning that I hadn't checked.

I'm leaving for London. Emergency.

Will be home tomorrow.

Behave while I'm not around and do nothing to piss me off.

I love you, tesoro.

Only my husband can be so full of himself and unapologetic about it even when he knows I'm mad at him—and that's what makes me fall in love with him even more every passing day. He never pretends to be something he's not, even for the sake of it. The fact that he's not used to writing I love you in text messages or saying it even after all this time because he feels it doesn't do justice enough to describe what he feels for me, and yet he did it because he wanted to was cute.

I miss his voice, the weight of his dark, enchanting gaze, and the way he makes me feel both utterly seen—even at the time when he's being a jerk on purpose—and consumed all at once. I miss him. Period. So profoundly it aches in my bones.

I find my brother standing in the center of the living room, which offers an unfettered view of Shinnecock Bay like the rest of the house. A chessboard, inspired by the Wizard's chess game played by Ron in Harry Potter, is spread out beneath his feet. He's engrossed in the game, his gaze fixed on the pawn before him.

"E4," he says, his voice a sharp command.

The AI-controlled black pawn that's almost 3 feet long responds instantly, sliding across the board. Chase is a chess maestro, and like a true psychopath, he prefers playing it against himself over some real opponent. His two useless best friends and my husband are exceptions. Playing a lifesize version of chess has been my brother's obsession since he was a kid. Back then, he would have our servants maneuver the pieces upon his commands. Now, it's him and AI. Sometimes, the game goes on for months. There was a time it went on for two years. He never rushes—never makes a move without having calculated every possible outcome. No wonder he bonds so well with Areston.

In a white shirt with two buttons unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, flaunting his ripped forearms, his dark hair damp from a recent shower, and undeniable beauty, he may look like a supermodel ready to pose for some high-end fashion magazine, but inside he's a fiercely ruthless war general ready for war—always.

Unlike me, my brother doesn't prefer city life. He comes to work, hops back on his helicopter, and leaves to be here. The world outside is plain noise to him—something to be kept at a distance far away. It's why he prefers his all-glass heaven, surrounded by the vast expanse of the ocean stretched past the glass walls of this house that is an embodiment of him—isolated, detached, and untouchable. It's who he is at his core. Breathtaking to see from afar, but absolutely impenetrable and inaccessible. No one but the ones he permits can reach him here or touch him.

"Was that Inessa's helicopter I saw leaving?"

"Seems like."

"I am glad I didn't interrupt you two with my surprise visit. I forgot you might have company. I should've rang before coming here."

"You're my sister. You can come by anytime without having to inform first."

"I won't. I am just being courteous. What's going on between you two, by the way?" I dump my Chanel sling on his couch and head towards him.

"Dirty stuff."

"Ew. I am serious."

"Why do you suppose I am not? It's all dirty stuff, really," he chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and kissing my head. "Just blowing off some steam."

"Just that?"

He guides me to the wet bar in the corner. "Are you probing?"

"I suppose?"

"Very well. She wants to be used, and I'm using her." The way he says it so casually feels as if he's telling whether it's going to rain today or not.

"Gross."

"Knew you were too prude to handle that," he says while drawing out a chilled glass from the freezer.

I give him a walkthrough of the miserable day I had dealing with a few annoying assholes to keep myself distracted from thinking about my husband while he makes me a dirty martini.

"Still no truce with Res, huh?"

"Nope. He's in London, and I don't feel good, so I came here."

"Good. Not to make you feel like I'm crowding you with an opinion, but I think you should cut him some slack."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's suffering enough."

My heart clenches at his statement. "What would you know about suffering? It'd be right in front of you, and you'd take sadistic pleasure in its existence. Does he look like it?"

"Are you being petty on purpose?"

"Does he?"

"Do you know your husband at all?" He asks, peeling a small slice of orange skin for garnish.

"Tell me."

"What's there to tell?"

"How do you know he's suffering? Goodness, Chase! I am tired of both of you, the most important men in my life, always giving me half-baked, lousy responses and leaving me to figure out the rest. Tell me."

"I do not appreciate Jen's dramatics rubbing off on you."

"Shut up."

He passes me the dirty martini, stretches his arms over the marble island, and gently leans forward, fixing me with an intimidating stare. "Alright. To answer your question, no, he doesn't show it. You should know better. The way he's spending his time between and after work in the boxing ring with Zayd instead of playing Black Ops Cold War with his brothers or coming for golf or polo with me says enough."

"Zayd?"

"They've been sparring in the boxing ring since their Harvard days," he chuckles, delivering that piece of news. "He has been so fierce these past couple of days, he accidentally injured his trainer so that pity fuck Zayd volunteered to fill in for him. He has been feeling guilty about his state, so he has become his daily warring partner."

"Who wins?"

"No one. Their matches always end up with a draw. Yesterday, Zayd lost for the first time as an apology for whatever happened. However, I don't agree with his apology. He had nothing to apologize for. He didn't know you were, and even if he did, Res had already moved on. So, unless there's some fucked up code to not date your friend's ex, he did nothing wrong."

"Exactly. That jerk. Ugh. Did he... did Ares forgive him?"

"Well, your husband punched him for losing on purpose at first. Let's just say they're somewhat friends again. If you consider that as forgiveness."

I gulp some of the drink. "After beating the hell out of each other. I feel nauseous."

"How do we make you feel better?" He pours himself his usual choice of Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve bourbon whiskey with a king cube. "How about ordering your favorite comfort food items from Bella Napoli? Neapolitan pizza, Fettuccine all' Amatriciana, an antipasto salad with extra blue cheese and honey mustard dressing, and mozzarella sticks. Anything else you'd like to add to that?"

I smile at him, having memorized the menu. "Only you and Ares could suggest something as absurd as having food delivered from a place that's almost 94 miles away."

"That's what I have my helicopter always on standby for."

"You are a serious threat to fossil fuels, Chase Rothschild. I'll have whatever is available nearby."

"I wouldn't know what's available nearby. I don't eat from here. All my meals are flown in from The Gold Baron's Table or JG Melon. You know that."

I sigh, shaking my head, and head to the kitchen. "You're such high maintenance it's annoying, really. Is the kitchen stocked?"

"It should be. What do you want to eat? I'll have my assistant run errands."

"Let's see if we have burger supplies. We can learn how to make burgers from some YouTube tutorials."

"What a glorious waste of time and energy."

"Bet you don't say that to sex marathons."

"Those are the best kind of time and energy utilization, pumpkin," he deadpans.

"Ew."

My brother and I are sitting side by side on the wooden walkway, eating our burgers and fries and sipping beer straight from the bottles. The soft waves of the mighty Atlantic are rhythmically lapping at the shore in the distance. It's a serene evening—one I haven't had in a while—with the golden hue of the setting sun bathing everything in a warm light, producing long shadows over the seemingly endless expanse of the sand, small dunes, and dried grass dotting it. The world feels far away. All the chaotic noise in my head feels temporarily subdued by the soothing sound of the waves.

But it doesn't subdue the one fact—I miss my husband. Terribly so.

Somehow, my brother and I managed to prepare the stuffing from scratch, but it didn't taste very good, so we had his assistant pick up some from a nearby local restaurant. Chase is sitting beside me, having his burger and beer in silence. He has never been the one for small, unnecessary talks. It's the way he is, and he knows that's why I seek him—to need his quietude. There's a sense of comfort in the company of his kind of silence, which is why I end up coming to him whenever something is deeply troubling me. I don't need to fill the space with useless talks. I can sit beside him and not feel suffocated under the crushing weight of loneliness.

I don't know if it's the ocean or his presence, but for the first time in the past three days, I feel a little at ease.

"I can see why you don't like the city," I murmur, tearing off a bite of my burger and tilting my head to glance at him. "I could convince Areston to move to our Meadow Lane estate, but I don't see myself flying to and fro from here to Manhattan every damn day. Even the thought is nauseating."

He's staring at the horizon. The soft lights bouncing against his sharp profile do nothing to soften them. He looks as fierce as ever, even with the extreme calm painted on his face.

There's a reason Inessa describes him as Eclipse. I can see it now despite having always noticed the characteristics. He's like a creeping, unrelenting, and oppressive kind of force whose darkness can even swallow the sun. No wonder he thrives in inflicting a sense of inescapable doom. His modus operandi is to loom, wait for the right moment to blow out the light, and swallow as a whole. He's like our mama in more ways than one—especially when it comes to being like a sated cat that toys with its victims and relishes watching them writhe in pain until it's hungry. The person who's the most accessible to me, the most warm, and whom I consider the most adorable because he's my baby brother is an untouchable, inaccessible, cold, and utterly terrifying man for the rest.

"It would be a terrible inconvenience for Jen too. How would she meddle in her precious daughter's life if you live so far away?" He says nonchalantly, making me laugh.

"Yep. That too." I shove a small fry in my mouth. "I need her in my close periphery these days as much as I need my sanity. She has been a... odd sense of grounding figure lately. Always happens to give me perspectives I wouldn't see otherwise. Didn't think she was capable of that."

"Could be all that time she has been dedicating on AI to learn about how to be a reliable mother to a daughter."

I gasp. "No way. Does she really do that?"

"She asked me to guide her that day when I went to see her after she broke down. I didn't know the answer, so I suggested she use it. I know Res uses it when it comes to finding tips on dealing with your emotions and coming up with ideas for all the cringe stuff you like."

I bump my shoulder against him, chuckling. "Hey, don't call it cringe. And it's the effort that counts. It has been working, by the way. Has worked in my husband's case, and it's working in mama's case."

"Is it in her case?" He cocks a brow.

"Yeah," I sigh, reverting my gaze to the ocean. "You know, there's one thing I always wonder about. I mean, I've been meaning to ask her this, but things have been so good between us lately that I don't wish to hurt or appall her by bringing it up from the past. Sometimes, out of nowhere, it often comes to my mind why she never came to see me at the rehab or even called me. I know you were in a remote part of Africa with no means of communication, and Bubbeh was unaware of it because Mama had kept it from her. I now know Papa tried to see me, but they drove him away by persuading him with an easily believable reason. But no one could've kept her from seeing me if she wanted to."

He remains silent for an awfully long period, and this time, it unnerves me. "She couldn't have even if she wanted to. Not that she wanted to."

"Why do you say so?"

"She told you about Zaide's death, didn't she?"

I listen with a parted mouth from utter surprise as my brother tells me about how his suicide shook her, and when she found out about me getting involved with drugs, even if it was for that one time, it triggered her badly. She went into a state of severe depression the day I was shipped off to that rehab. Chase tells me she turned into a recluse at our Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat estate otherwise, she'd have killed herself. Her depression and suicidal thoughts were already a part of the genetic structure she inherited from her ancestors, but according to him, from whatever he heard from her, our births helped her nullify those thoughts until I ended up getting involved in the accident that led to Lily's death.

You think you know a person until you realize you don't. "She suffered all that because of me." 

"Don't blame yourself," he snaps softly.

"How can't I? She could've almost killed herself because of me, Chase! She was suffering because of me, and I didn't even realize it. What kind of a daughter am I?"

"It's the other way round. You suffered because of her. She, however, suffered because of the exaggerated sense of expectations she had from you and thought you could do no wrong. When you did what was worse than blasphemy in her dictionary, she couldn't cope, and it ended up reminding her of Zaidee, who was also silently coping until he couldn't. She couldn't see you headed in that direction."

I drop the burger and beer and wrap my arm around his, needing something to feel grounded—a habit I've developed because of Areston. 

"I can't help feeling responsible. What if... what if she'd have done something to her? Did she—" I swallow as I try to form the words. "Did she try to... kill herself?"

"She tried—but she couldn't. Dad saved her."

"Oh, my goodness." 

"Stop blaming yourself for everything, or I'll start gatekeeping, and you wouldn't like that, pumpkin. You know I have zero tolerance when you try to be responsible for every damn thing. She didn't try to kill herself because she wanted to. She felt the compulsion and couldn't control it. Don't worry. She no longer has the urge. She's past it, and I can confirm it."

The thing about my brother is that he never sugarcoats. He puts things out as bluntly as he can. I can't believe Mama has suffered so much inside while maintaining a calm, impenetrable, and unshakeable facade. She used to feel compulsions to kill herself just like I used to before Areston came into my life. It's a relief that Chase says he can confirm it because he wouldn't be assuring me like that if he wasn't 100 percent certain about it himself. I am in such a position that I cannot even call Mama and talk to her about this, even when he has started discussing stuff. I don't want to trigger bad memories.

And there's one thing I can't help. 

Suddenly, I feel jealous of my own brother in a way I never have—of his relationship with Mama. While she and I share the warmest relationship, and they don't even talk, it's in front of him that she shows her vulnerability, which I now realize. Something she has never done with me. It's him whom she has been confiding all this time while appearing in front of me like this Mount Everest one cannot shake. She's still that in front of me. However, ever since our talk, she has been showing me her human side. It somehow makes me envious that something so huge had to happen between us for her to start opening up to me while she has always been like that in front of her son. It could probably be because he's just like her when it comes to emotions. But still.

"She'd long kept Fletcher on her payroll as a bribe to keep quiet about your involvement with Lily until he disappeared almost a month ago. It's her biggest guilt not to have known about Nikolai and his involvement with the rehab. It's your fault, too, that you never mentioned before that Fletcher was involved. I'd have killed him too. That would have saved Selene that bullet. Lev should've died, though. The world would have one less burden with him gone if you ask me."

"Don't say that. He has a family, and he's a decent man."

"He's anything but decent. Had he not had a clean trail that never appeared anywhere in the periphery of the rehab or near the people who were involved, I'd have suspected he was the sixth person. He's one shady motherfucker."

"Stop it." I elbow him, and suddenly, I freeze when his one word catches up on me out of the blue. "Wait. You said you'd have killed him too. What do you mean, too?" My eyes grow wide, and I gasp, turning to him. "Did you kill Ronald and Martin?"

"Yes." It's as simple as that.

"You did?" My voice comes out as a shriek this time.

"That's what I said. Are you intending to burst my eardrums?" He regards me with that muted gaze of his that has a forever boredom etched in it, whether he intends to keep it like that or not.

"I can't believe you did."

"Why should it surprise you? I have always had a lust for blood. I killed them both, not before torturing them physically and psychologically. Didn't satisfy me. But, well, it was fun while it lasted. I kept Paul working as my snitch until I'd destroyed everything those guys held against you. He was of no use to me once I was done with them."

I am witnessing the kind of raw criminal brutality in him I've never seen before. "What did you do to him? He helped me escape, Chase! He used to take care of me. Did you kill him too?"

"I had him shipped off to the Russian mafia. Sergei said the Bratva had been looking for him. I only kept that filth alive because he'd helped you escape and, as you mentioned, took care of you. That didn't mean I'd forgiven him for having been involved in the first place. They killed him, by the way, in case you were wondering. Fed him to Sergei's dad—the Pakhan's favorite dogs. It was a good decision. Now more so considering he knew about Fletcher, Darina, and the other person but didn't mention it probably because he was possibly playing for the ring master... the sixth person."

I try to contain my nausea somehow. "How does Areston not know about it? Or anyone else?"

He scoffs, staring at the setting sun. "I am disappointed you're asking me such disgraceful questions, pumpkin. I don't do a sloppy job and leave a trail for anyone to figure out my involvement. No one ever stood a chance to figure it out, and exceptional minds think alike. I wiped out all the possibilities that could've led Res to consider my involvement a long time back. I do believe that Dad knows. He's used to knowing every mess Res, and I created, no matter how discreet when we were kids."

"He did?"

"Yeah. Of course, it would be to save the Alanis-Rothschild name from getting tarnished. He'd secretly have a thorough clean-up done even though we'd have taken care of it already."

I swig some beer to calm my churning stomach upon digesting this revelation. "Do you not regret doing any of it?"

"I don't do regrets. You know it. But I do have one regret. It's not having found out earlier that Ronald and Martin were mere pawns. Whoever this sixth person is did an exceptional job hiding their own, Nikolai's, and Darina's involvement in it. Or perhaps I should've dug deeper. That was my only mistake. Your husband made the same one by not having dug into the background of that whore Darina he was dipping his cock in. If he had, we'd have perhaps found out all this person a long time back—" he pauses when I slap my palm against my mouth. "What's wrong?"

"I think I'm going to throw up."

How was the chapter?

What was your favorite part? 

Thoughts on Chase's revelation?

How do you find Chase's character compared to the previous version?

How do you find Chase's and Belle's equation?

What do you think is going to happen next?