AGE THIRTY-FIVE
I’ve never liked weddings.
But this one is different.
This one is my daughter’s.
I’m sitting with a stiff posture in a seat in the back corner so that I don’t make her uncomfortable on her big day.
It’s a poolside wedding at the house I wish to never enter—her father’s.
I honestly thought the slimy man would close the gate in my face, but thankfully, he respected her wishes for once and let me attend. Though I haven’t seen him since I arrived, so the chance of him putting on the devil’s horns and actually throwing me out is close to one hundred percent.
The land surrounding the pool is bigger than any other potential wedding venue. Not to mention the two-story mansion sitting majestically in the middle of it. Although the property is old, it’s worth every inch in gold, considering its close proximity to Manhattan.
Due to the numerous legal battles regarding its ownership, its value has been calculated to be over sixty million. A price tag that’s made it a meaty subject for the press and real estate moguls.
It has a history of blood and deceit, and its current owner conveniently holds the title of “Savage Devil.”
The air is chilly, but the sun shines between the tree leaves that frame the garden as if the weather itself is celebrating this day. Countless guests occupy the rows of chairs decorated with vanilla orchids—the flowers that produce my daughter’s favorite flavor.
Only a few of the people present are her friends; the rest are here to kiss her father’s or her husband’s ass, either for their wealth, their names, or their positions in the legal circuit.
Nathaniel Weaver—or Nate—stands at the end of the aisle in a dashing black tuxedo with his hands crossed in front of him.
He’s the co-owner of Weaver & Shaw’s law firm and technically my boss, since I’m a senior partner, my only friend, and the man I trust to make my daughter happy.
He actually legally married her a few months ago for convenience reasons when her father was in a coma. At the time, I didn’t know she was my daughter and even suggested he use her for the firm’s sake, but he vehemently refused.
Nate is like that. Responsible to a fault. Completely and utterly methodical with no sneaky, backhanded personality.
What started as a marriage of convenience obviously turned into more, and they’re now finally having their official wedding ceremony.
The press had a field day when the news first broke. They were utterly nasty about how a thirty-eight-year-old man is marrying his partner and best friend’s daughter who’s only twenty years old.
They began their disgusting speculations about his predatory tendencies. But I know for a fact that Nate didn’t see her as a woman or touch her until they were married. I also know that they love each other in a way I only thought was possible in fiction.
The press has always been hungry for anything “Nathaniel,” partly because of his position at Weaver & Shaw but mainly because he’s the only son of a senator.
Said senator and his wife are in the front row, pretending to show their support for their son, when they’re practically estranged.
My heart aches as I stare at them acting like doting parents and smiling. I wish I could sit there, even for a moment, and be recognized as my baby girl’s mother, but if I attempt that, I’ll probably be chased out by the dogs.
But it’s okay. Watching from afar is better than not watching at all.
The orchestra switches to an instrumental of “House of Gold” by Twenty One Pilots—my daughter’s favorite band. All eyes turn back to where she walks down the aisle, her arm interlinked with her father’s.
Gwyneth Shaw.
That’s my baby’s name. The baby I couldn’t name when I thought I lost her twenty years ago.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought she’d grow into such a beautiful, impossibly compassionate, and irrevocably headstrong young lady.
Her long white dress skims the grass and her auburn hair, a shade darker than mine, is pulled into a neat twist. Her makeup is simple, but her smile is contagious, turning her face the most radiant I’ve ever witnessed.
To see her as a bride squeezes the heart I thought died with her twenty years ago.
The heart that’s been gradually reviving ever since I learned she’s alive and mine.
I first met Gwyneth seven years ago when I started at Weaver & Shaw. She clung to her father’s side like a shadow and looked up at him with the same wonder children hold for their superheroes.
The fact that I never suspected she was my daughter has been killing me slowly. What’s worse is that I associated her with her devil of a father and, therefore, kept as much distance from her as possible.
As a result, we already had a strained relationship. We still do.
She barely let me help with the wedding preparations.
The reason that I was able to help at all is the man escorting her down the aisle with a smile that could blind the photographers’ lenses and start an unintentional riot among the single ladies.
His name is Kingsley Shaw.
The co-owner of Weaver & Shaw. With Nate married, he’s now the most eligible bachelor in the States. The heir of the notorious Benjamin Shaw’s countless billion-dollar Wall Street portfolios. And most importantly, a devil who’s campaigning for Lucifer’s position in hell.
He has the type of beauty that matches his reputation. Savage, cold, with a discreet touch of danger.
There’s a mysterious way in which his strong jaw, straight nose, and slightly narrowed eyes harmonize, as if they’re an epic symphony brought together by a masterful composer. Each feature on his face is godlike in its perfection. He has a large physique, muscular and tall, which makes him look like a model in suits. Too bad the owner chose the devil’s fruit, route, and throne as his asylum.
He walks our daughter—whom he considers only his—down the aisle, snatching everyone’s attention on the way.
This is Gwyneth’s big day, but people are more mesmerized by her father, who can’t just keep a low profile. But then again, he’s always attracted everyone’s eyes, ears, and total existence like a powerful magnet.
He stops in front of Nate, who’s been spellbound the entire time Gwen has been walking toward him. Kingsley kisses her forehead, then leans forward and whispers something in his friend’s ear—most likely a threat, because he was against this whole thing not too long ago.
Then both he and Nate share a fake smile before he steps to his side to play the role of best man.
I dig my nails into my palms for the duration of the ceremony, barely holding on to reality by a thread.
If only I could have a drink or something to calm my nerves—obviously the one I had in the car before I walked in here wasn’t enough.
By the time Nate kisses Gwen, my state of mind is about to break on the ground like fragile china.
People rise, clapping and throwing out congratulations to the happy couple. I try to join, but my shaking legs fail me.
I massage them once, twice, then suck in a deep breath and stand up right when they reach my row.
Since I’m in the back corner, I don’t expect Gwen to see me, but she does. My daughter pauses for a second, and her unique heterochromia eyes, which are a mixture of my hazel irises and her father’s blue-gray ones, fill with tears.
My lips tremble and it takes everything in me to smile instead of running to her and holding her in my arms.
Once. Just once.
That’s all I pray for and I’m not even the praying type.
Actually acting on my wish would be awkward, embarrassing, and would definitely attract unwanted attention.
She offers me a small, demure smile before Nate whisks her away to the reception area that’s set up around the back pool. Because, of course, this place has two pools.
Everyone follows suit, some youngsters dancing to the music and having fun.
A sudden chill grabs hold of me as my legs fail me and I drop back to my chair. After I make sure no one is looking, I retrieve the flask I keep in my handbag and take a sip.
The burning taste of the tequila slowly snaps me to my senses. I inhale a calming breath as I’m about to stand up, congratulate the couple, then leave.
There’s no point in staying longer if I’m going to make her uncomfortable.
A shadow falls over me like doom from an apocalyptic movie. I smell him before I see him.
His cologne has strong notes of cedarwood, pepper, and musk. As loud as he is, but not gutting.
It’s subtle enough to announce his presence without him having to speak a word.
“You’re done here. Get off my property.”
I grind my teeth, but I fake a smile when I stare up at him.
Okay, I should’ve really taken another sip of my drink. I’m never drunk enough to deal with this bastard.
Men don’t unnerve me. In fact, I’ve learned to play their game, to climb in their ranks and snatch their positions until some have argued I have a manly personality myself.
However, Kingsley is on the small list of those who drain me whenever I think of or, worse, deal with them.
Sharing space with him is similar to being thrust underwater for minutes at a time.
We’ve always clashed. Fucking always. I’m the angel on Nate’s shoulder—the one who’s as diplomatic as he is when it comes to dealing with the firm’s delicate matters and futuristic vision. A fact that pisses this bastard off because he’s the offensive type.
The hit first, file charges later type.
The punch them when they’re down type.
In short, violence is his middle name and diplomacy has left the building of his egotistical, hellbound brain.
“The wedding isn’t over,” I say in the sweet tone that gets on his last nerve. “I think that means I’m staying.”
His eyes gleam and that highlights the tones of dark blue and stormy gray in them. They share the intensity of a sea hurricane, one that even pirates wouldn’t be able to survive. And when he glares down at me with his stupid god complex, it’s like he’s directing that destructive energy toward me with the sole purpose of destroying me. “Tell you what, witch. How about you leave and save us all the unpleasant sight of you?”
“I decline.”
“Either leave or I’ll report you for trespassing.”
I stand, no longer weak in the knees and definitely charged up for a challenge. “I was invited. I have the invitation to prove it.”
“As the owner of the property, I can revoke my hospitality at any time.”
“If that word and you met in an alley, they’d shoot themselves and splash your precious Italian shoes with blood.”
His face remains the same—timeless, emotionless, and utterly merciless. With the sun at his back, he appears as ominous as an old gothic chapel. “That’s two minutes since I rescinded my invitation, which should’ve been used to walk off my property.”
“I’m not leaving until I congratulate my daughter on her wedding.”
“You mean my daughter.”
“I’m the one who gave birth to her.”
“I’m the one who raised her during the twenty years you were out of the picture.”
“For the thousandth time, I thought she was dead!”
“For the thousandth time, I have zero fucks to give.”
We both breathe heavily. Or I do. Kingsley Asshole Shaw has no problem making someone feel smaller than a poor fly on his shoulder before brutally murdering it.
He’s the type of lawyer who advises his clients not to compromise, even when the other party abides by their demands.
“You’ll get more if you sue” is his famous line, the bane of the opposition’s existence, and the reason behind his ruthless devil-may-care reputation.
No wonder he’s the ace of criminal defense in the whole country—if not the world.
But if he thinks his assholish methods will work on me, he doesn’t really know me.
Or how far I’ll go to gain my daughter’s trust.
To be part of her life and make up for the twenty years I lost.
He retrieves an old gold Zippo and flicks it open, then closed. “Either you used your witch blood to summon a clone of yourself or you’re still here. Would you rather have the police drag you out?”
“And risk a commotion at your own daughter’s wedding?”
“Small sacrifices for the greater good.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re still here.”
“I’ll leave,” I say with a calm that doesn’t betray my need to stab him with the nearest sharp object. Because, unlike him, I don’t want any problems at my daughter’s wedding.
“You’re not walking.”
“I’ll only leave after I congratulate Gwen and Nate. Not a minute before.”
“Allow me to decline the offer. Get the fuck out before I have you arrested.”
“Then I’ll vandalize something on my way out.”
“Then I’ll sue you.”
“You have no grounds or witnesses, nor a strong case. Besides, it’s bad press to sue your own subordinate, not to mention it creates a hostile work environment.” I flip my hair. “You’re welcome for the reminder.”
“Bad press means jack shit to me. And you won’t be my subordinate for long.” He steps forward until he’s towering over me, stealing the air and replacing it with his stupid damn scent. “I’ll get you kicked out of my firm if it’s the last thing I do.”
If his eyes were lasers, I would be incinerated right now.
It’s no secret that Kingsley and I never got along before, but ever since he found out I’m Gwen’s mother, he’s been sprinkling my path with mines, trip wires, and an unhealthy dose of sabotage.
He hates me with a passion that resembles the way he loathes his stepmother. And I don’t understand it.
It’s not like we had any relationship prior to conceiving Gwen, and we definitely didn’t part with bad blood between us.
It was one night. Nothing more, nothing less, unlike what the young version of me tried to think.
The truth remains. Kingsley and I are the personifications of water and fire. Coexisting is impossible. A healthy relationship is mythical.
Nate told me Kingsley is acting this way because he’s overprotective of Gwen and doesn’t want me to take her away from him. But if the asshole had any logical brain cells, he’d know I would never attempt that.
He was her only parent for twenty years, and no one could take his place in her life, least of all, the mother who just came into the picture.
“Good luck trying, Kingsley. Curious to see how that works out for you.”
“You might want to sharpen that armor of yours, witch. You’ll need it when you job hunt at a second-rate law firm.”
“What’s that?” I cup my ear, pretending to strain. “I can’t hear bullshit.” I smile again, so sweetly that his eye twitches. It’s a cringe reaction, or an anger reaction—I don’t know and I don’t care as I turn around and leave.
My lungs fill with air after being suffocated by his smell for longer than should be considered healthy.
The asshole really needs to stop talking to me and using up eighty percent of my energy reserves.
And could he look less physically intimidating in the process? Though I think it’s about his presence and charisma more than anything else. I’ve never considered good-looking men intimidating.
Obviously, he’s the damn exception.
I’m about to mentally prepare myself for my brief meeting with Gwen when my phone vibrates in my bag.
I retrieve it with the intention of silencing it, but the name flashing on the screen makes me pause.
It’s from Attica Correctional Facility.
My pulse skyrockets as I answer, “Leblanc speaking.”
A long pause stretches between us and if it weren’t for the static, I would think we’d been disconnected.
The old male guard’s voice reaches me in a low tone. “I have unfortunate news, Ms. Leblanc. The court has decided to grant Mr. Locatelli a parole hearing. This time, your father will probably win it.”
My hand that’s grasping my phone drops to my side, and the tears I’ve been holding in the entire ceremony gather in my lids.
And just like that, the nightmare restarts.
