I fall into a black fucking hole.
No. That’s not supposed to happen.
Yes. I was doing perfectly well pretending that the world wasn’t burning down around me.
For seven years, I’ve managed so well to stay away. Although I had a nasty habit of googling her name at the beginning.
Of pestering Lucy, Naomi’s friend from college, to find out where she was.
I spent sleepless nights going through every portal and profile with the name Naomi or Naomi Sato because I sure as shit couldn’t find her with her old surname. Her social media accounts were gone as if they never existed.
She never paid much attention to those, anyway, so I didn’t hold up much hope in finding her through them.
For months, I searched.
For months, I fucking obsessed.
My violent tendencies took the front seat and drove my life up the wall. I lost count of the number of times Nate had to stop me from punching someone to death and then got them to settle before they sued me.
After months in that state, I realized I was slowly killing myself and I needed to stop or I’d end up giving my grandparents the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so.’
And in order to move past the asshole I was at the time, I deleted my search history and let the bloody knife fester inside me with its blood.
I didn’t search for her again. Didn’t google her name. Didn’t even talk to Lucy except on the rare occasion when we bumped into each other for the games we attend for Owen’s sake—who’s now a hotshot NFL player.
So why the fuck am I staring at a thousand tabs with her name on them again?
Why the fuck can’t I step on the brakes?
Maybe because I saw her face again and I sure as fuck know her last name now.
Naomi Mori. The wife of Akira Mori.
I want to jam my fist through my laptop screen and somehow yank his last name from hers.
The more I read about them, the thicker the red mist that covers my vision gets, and I can feel myself relapsing into old fucking habits.
The Mori couple is known to be private, classy, and have a general regal presence that rivals my grandparents.
She’s smiling with her hand on his arm in all the pictures of them together. There’s a shot of them at a temple in the New Year’s festivities in Japan. She’s wearing a white kimono with dark blue flower motifs and he’s in a yukata that matches the color of her motifs.
Her favorite fucking color.
Naomi laughs, tipping her head back as he whispers something in her ear with a smirk. I jam my laptop shut so I don’t throw it against the wall.
I run a hand over my face and take a few deep breaths. But nothing I do is able to chase away the haze.
Nothing is able to dispel the fucking curse. Except for maybe beating Akira Mori to death and bathing in his blood.
There’s a knock on the door and I grunt, “Come in.”
Candice appears in the doorway and jams a hand on her hip. “You need to see this.”
I stand because I’m ready to indulge in any type of distraction.
My assistant walks beside me as we head to the open office area that’s designated for interns and junior associates.
Daniel and Knox are gathering all the interns and standing on a small pedestal. The females look at them with awe and the males regard them as if they’re role models and they want to follow in their footsteps.
“Beautiful ladies and honored gents.” Daniel grabs an imaginary microphone. “We’re gathered here today to pay tribute to my legendary looks. And, ladies, I know my accent is irresistible, but don’t faint just yet. Because, unfortunately, my Adonis appearance and killer dimples are not, in fact, why we’re here. Disappointing, I know.”
Many interns giggle and the others smile, playing straight into his manwhorish hands. Some would call that charming.
I was that once. Charming.
Now, interns are just as scared of me as they are of Nate.
Knox places an arm around Daniel’s shoulder. “What’s more disappointing is that it’s time we split you guys up. Those who want to be on Dan’s side, raise a hand. Those who prefer me, raise two. No pushing, please. As much as I want to, I can’t accept everyone.”
Chaos ensues as interns split themselves up between Daniel and Knox.
“Do something,” Candice chastises in her stern voice. “They’ll leave you scraps again.”
I check my watch since it’s close to my lunch appointment with a judge. “And we care because…?”
“The load of work on your desk, maybe? My going home to my family at a reasonable hour, maybe? Also, maybe not settling for the choices those two make anymore. They gloat about it in front of the other partners and make a drama out of it.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Well, I care about my reasonable working hours and you promised to get me some help. It’s perfect timing for that.”
“Fine. Who are the best interns?”
She points at a tall girl and a lean guy who aren’t making as much of a fuss as the others but are veering more toward Knox. His twisted obsession with high-profile criminal cases makes many interns flock to him.
“Kate Bukowski and Omar Taylor, Jr. Both top of their class,” Candice tells me.
“Grades only mean they spent all-nighters studying or cheating. I need them to be smart.”
“They’re the best interns we have. Now, do something.”
Sighing, I approach the scene. The chaos halts for a bit and the interns watch me with eyes wide and mouths agape.
They aren’t used to me getting involved in things like this.
“What are you doing here?” Daniel jumps down from his pedestal.
“Aren’t we picking interns?” I ask, casually running my gaze over the interns, who’ve suddenly grown silent.
“We’ll send yours later.” Knox waves me away. “No need to waste your time.”
“I’m going to personally pick mine.” I stare at the two interns Candice pointed out to me. “Kate and Omar. Follow me.”
They both startle, but it’s not in a bad way. More like their eyes get wider and they stare at each other in an ‘is this happening?’ type of way.
I might not hunt down high-profile cases like Knox, but I get a lot of work that will look good on their resumes.
“What? No.” Daniel slides in front of me with the grace of a panther. “That’s not how it works!”
“It is now.” I turn around and leave. The two interns hesitate for a second before they follow without a word.
“This is called preferential treatment, because you’re Nate’s prince,” Knox whispers as I pass him by.
“Take it up with him then.”
“Why the hell are you even here?” Daniel calls after me.
“Take that up with Candice,” I motion at her and she gives him a gloating smile as she guides the interns to my office.
I tell them what’s expected of them, efficiency without headaches, then grab my briefcase and leave.
Daniel and Knox are still making a show out of dividing the interns and I ignore them as I head to the exit.
“They’re at it again.” Aspen, the only senior female partner at the firm, falls in step beside me and we get in the elevator.
She’s in her early thirties and one of the founders of Weaver & Shaw. They would never admit it, but Aspen is the line that kept Nate and Kingsley Shaw from killing each other and actually doing something productive with their destructive energy.
In a way, she’s Nate’s strategist and close friend, but she can turn into a fireball that matches her hair color in court.
“I know.” I release a sigh as I hit the button for the parking garage.
“How have you been?”
I raise a brow and she raises a perfect one back.
“Let me guess. Nate tattled and now, I have to deal with his enforcer arm and secret weapon of mass destruction.”
“I’m anything but a secret, Sebastian. And you forget that I was there when you hit rock bottom. I’m going to be the bearer of bad news and inform you that it won’t happen again, not only for the sake of Nate and the firm, but also for your sake.”
“I’m going to be fine.”
“You better be. I don’t want to start using what I know to keep you in line.”
The elevator pings open and we step into the parking garage, then stop. “What are you talking about, Aspen?”
“Everything isn’t what it seems in your family.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“It’s not supposed to. If I give you all the answers, how are you going to figure it out on your own? But here’s a hint, your grandparents and even Nate are hiding something from you.” She waves at me and strides to her car.
What the fuck was she getting at? I know for certain that Aspen wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t think it was of vital importance, but I’m also in no mood to play her mental games.
I’m not in the mood for anything. Fuck moods.
Shaking my head, I get into my own car and go to my meeting.
My mind isn’t focused on work or forming interpersonal relationships, though. Usually, I’m the best at this—using my grandparents’ name whenever I see fit.
Nate doesn’t, because he wants a clean break from them, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t. After all, we’ve put up with their snobby, stifling behavior for long enough and we should be able to reap the rewards.
But today, all I want is to leave.
And once I’m able to, I drive back to my apartment. It’s located in a quiet building on the outskirts of Brooklyn. Not only is it spacious and soundproof, with a great view of the city, but it’s also a place where I can be myself.
Not a lawyer, not a Weaver, and not Nate’s nephew.
Not even Sebastian sometimes.
Just…me.
The interior is vast and the wood flooring shines under the late afternoon sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The only furniture is a TV that I’ve only turned on a few times.
There’s no sofa or rugs. No decorative things or sacred belongings.
I have a bed in the bedroom, a desk and a library in my home office, some utensils in the kitchen, and that’s it.
It’s been a few years since I moved here, but I’ve never felt the need to make it a home.
Which is another reason why I don’t invite people over.
This is where I get to be alone with myself. Where I can drop whatever mask I wore for the day and just exist.
It’s my haven that I don’t want anyone else in.
But I invited someone over.
Naomi.
I stare back at the text I sent her a few days ago. She read it, but she sent no reply to either deny it or confirm.
When I made that offer in my office, I didn’t expect her to take it. She wouldn’t actually do whatever I want just so I’ll stay away from her husband.
Because if she did, that would be no different than agreeing to an affair.
However, she must realize that I won’t let it go with merely groping and licking her. Even after all this time, she has to know that putting my hand around her throat wasn’t enough.
The mere recollection of that day still gets me fucking hard.
Naomi must’ve seen the sadism and need for more in my eyes, which is why she bolted out while she was still able to.
She might not have told me her number, but she left it with Nate when she gave him her card.
Last night was the date I specified in the text.
She didn’t show up.
I don’t know why that made me fucking livid and drove me to googling her name.
Could be because if she did show up, I would get her, but she’s only doing it to keep her husband clueless about us.
Or maybe because her no-show means that she loves her husband enough not to cheat on him.
Fuck.
I’m backpedaling into the bitter asshole I was right after she left, and that jerk and I don’t get along. At all.
After I place my briefcase in my office, I get undressed and step in the shower.
I tip my head back, letting the scorching hot water cascade over me.
My mind is buzzing with strategies for Akira. I need to get close to him, which would force Naomi back into my vicinity.
She refused to come? Fine. I’ll make the choice for her. Or, more like, take it away so she realizes she should’ve never fucked with my newfound life.
Yes, it wasn’t perfect. Yes, it was all jaded and sometimes forced, but it was all mine. It was what I built for myself to escape her fucking ghost.
The doorbell rings and I roll my eyes. It must be Nate. Not only did he put Aspen on my case, but he keeps bugging me as well.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and head to the door.
I look through the peephole to make sure it’s not the talkative old lady from next door. While she’s friendly and gives me homemade food sometimes, she can chat for hours on end.
It’s not Nate or even the talkative lady.
It’s…her.
The fucking nightmare.
The twisted dream.
Naomi.
She’s wearing an elegant dark blue dress, her hair is styled, and her lips are painted the color of blood.
Her gaze shifts to the side and she gulps, which means she’s nervous and out of her depth.
Naomi is here. Even if it’s a day late.
Seeing her in front of my door all pretty and done up awakens something inside me.
The beast that’s been dormant since she left.
The beast that I thought would someday rip his way out of my chest.
That someday is today.
The longer I stand here not opening the door, the more she fidgets, watching her surroundings.
The new Naomi doesn’t get anxious or show her vulnerabilities. She doesn’t have her lips parted or allow her eyes to widen.
She’s a blank, respectable slate—like her husband.
Not this Naomi.
This is different. She’s different from the person at the charity event or even in my office.
That version was for the public, this one’s for me.
And because she came to me on her own accord, there’s no way in fuck I’m letting her slip between my fingers.
I don’t open the door right away, though. She needs to have to wait like I did for seven years.
By the end of tonight, she’ll remember why the fuck she’s mine.
She’s not Akira’s or anyone else’s.
She’s fucking mine. Always has been and always will be.
