Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

SALEM

A s the opening credits rolled on the screen, Cohen settled into the couch beside me, his presence warming in the otherwise cool home theatre He placed a bowl of popcorn between us and threw a blanket over my lap just as the movie started. Within minutes, Cohen's commentary began, his sharp critiques slicing through the suspense of the film.

"Seriously?" he scoffed, gesturing toward the screen where a character effortlessly hacked into a high-security system. "That's not even remotely accurate."

I chuckled at his disdain for Hollywood's portrayal of computer coding. "I guess they have to make it look glamorous for the audience," I remarked, leaning back into the plush cushions.

Cohen shook his head, his eyes fixed on the screen. "But it's so unrealistic. Hacking is a meticulous process, not just a few clicks and voilà."

As the movie progressed, Cohen continued to point out the flaws in the computer skills of the main character. Each critique was accompanied by a shake of his head or a muttered comment. Despite his nitpicking, I found myself enjoying the film more because of his company. There was something comforting about sharing these moments with him, even if it meant enduring his incessant complaints.

At one point, Cohen leaned closer to the screen, scrutinizing the protagonist's technique with narrowed eyes. "That's not how you bypass a firewall," he muttered under his breath, frustration evident in his voice.

I smiled at his intensity, his passion for technology shining through even in the midst of a cheesy action flick. "You should write a movie about computer science," I teased, nudging him playfully.

Cohen shot me a sideways glance, a smirk teasing his lips. "Maybe I will. At least then it would be accurate."

As the movie neared its climax, I found myself growing increasingly engrossed in the storyline despite Cohen's constant critique. His presence beside me and his occasional comments added an unexpected layer of enjoyment to the experience. It felt like we were a team, dissecting the film together and sharing our thoughts as the plot unfolded.

When the credits finally rolled, Cohen let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back into the couch with a contented expression. "Well, that was entertaining, even if it wasn't entirely accurate," he remarked, turning to me with a grin.

I laughed, a feeling of warmth washing over me. "Thanks for enduring my movie choice and providing your expert commentary," I said, nudging him playfully.

Cohen chuckled, his eyes meeting mine. "Anytime."

As the credits began to roll, the door creaked open, and Lennox entered the room, Loki following close behind him. Lennox's presence immediately shifted the atmosphere in the room, his seriousness palpable.

"Hey," I greeted him, meeting his blue eyes. "What's up?"

Lennox's expression was unreadable as he stepped closer, his eyes meeting mine.

"I have something for you, Salem," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

I furrowed my brow, confusion flickering in my eyes. "Like a present?" I asked, uncertain of what he could possibly have for me.

Lennox's lips quirked into a small smile, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Something like that," he replied cryptically, gesturing for us to follow him out of the movie room, up the stairs and into the living room. I picked up Loki as we went, carrying him with me.

My heart pounded as we entered the spacious living area, anticipation gnawing at my insides. My gaze fell upon two boxes resting on the bench, their nondescript packaging giving me no indication of what was inside.

Lennox's words echoed in my mind as he spoke, his voice a steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of my emotions. "I promised you I'd bring you their heads," he said, his tone firm and resolute. "You never gave me their names, so it took some time to vet each of your father's men and find them."

I handed Loki to Cohen and moved to open the lids. Encased within each box rested the grisly remains of two severed heads, their lifeless eyes frozen in a haunting stare that seemed to pierce through the room.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized the significance of what lay before me. Two of my father's men. The men who had beaten me months ago. The men who had left me broken and bruised on his command countless times before that. It was a powerful moment, a cathartic release of pent-up anger and frustration, and I stared at their lifeless eyes in content.

For years, I had harbored a burning desire for retribution, a longing to see justice served for the pain and suffering inflicted upon me by these men. And now, here it was, laid out for me on a platter.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. "Thank you for keeping your promise."

Lennox nodded, a solemn expression crossing his features. "You don't have to thank me, Salem. Nobody touches my family."

Family . The word hung between us, a reminder of the bond that bound us together, stronger than blood.

Mateo waltzed into the room and offered me a smirk. "Want me to have those pickled for you, sweetheart?" he remarked casually, his eyes glinting mischievously. I chuckled at his suggestion, shaking my head in amusement. "As tempting as that sounds, we don't need any incriminating evidence lying around," I replied, my tone light but firm.

"Damn, they would have looked great in my collection," Mateo muttered under his breath, a wistful tone coloring his words. I brushed off the thought of where he even kept that, deciding it was a conversation for another time. Instead, I shifted my focus, turning to Lennox with a raised eyebrow. "So this is where you snuck off to last night?" I inquired, eager to steer the conversation away from pickling the severed heads.

"I'm a Triad leader; I don't sneak," he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes. "But yes, I wanted to collect them myself." His words were laced with pride, and I gave him a smile in response.

Cohen chimed in, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "So, what's the plan for tomorrow then?" he asked intently. I rolled my eyes, knowing it would be another day stuck inside the estate.

Lennox flashed us a knowing grin before reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, retrieving an envelope with a flourish. "That brings us to the second part of your present," he declared, handing it over to me with a smirk.

My heart quickened with excitement as I tore open the envelope, revealing its contents—a private cooking lesson with one of Manhattan's most renowned Michelin-star chefs. My eyes widened in disbelief, and an uncharacteristic squeal of delight escaped my lips.

"What, how did you…?" I began, my voice trailing off as I searched for words to express my gratitude. But he simply waved off my question with a nonchalant shrug, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I called in a favor or two."

My heart swelled with gratitude at the gift, and I felt touched by his thoughtfulness. "Lennox, this is incredible," I exclaimed, my voice filled with genuine awe and appreciation. "I can't believe you did this."

Lennox's smile widened, his gaze warm with affection. "You deserve it, and so much more, Salem," he replied simply, his words resonating deep within me.

My excitement blossomed as I imagined the prospect of spending a day honing my culinary skills with a master chef. Cooking had always been my passion, and the opportunity to learn from one of the best was nothing short of a dream come true.

As the evening waned and the conversation shifted, I found myself unable to contain my enthusiasm, bombarding Lennox with questions about the upcoming cooking lesson. He indulged me with patient answers, his eyes twinkling with amusement at my eagerness.

Lennox assured me that the chef had been thoroughly vetted and would be arriving at the estate tomorrow for a full day with me. I couldn't wait to dive into the world of gourmet cuisine, eager to soak up every bit of knowledge and skill that the day had to offer.

I woke with a flutter of excitement. Today was the day. Chef Cecil Pulis, a culinary maestro with a coveted Michelin star, was coming to the house for my private cooking lesson. With a surge of energy, I bounded out of bed, the anticipation bubbling within me like an effervescent stream.

As I made my way to the kitchen, the heart of our sprawling estate, I was met with warm smiles and cheery greetings from the guys.

"Morning!" Cohen called out, flashing me a grin from where he stood by the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. I had to make sure I wasn't drooling because, damn. A guy standing at the stove in nothing but black briefs with a tea towel hanging over his shoulder? That was pure temptation. I turned away from Cohen before I could embarrass myself.

"Good morning, Salem," Lennox chimed in, his voice amused as he glanced up from his morning paper.

And then there was Cole with a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me. He handed it to me with a tender kiss to my forehead, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Coffee's ready, Butterfly," he said, his voice soft.

The warmth of his gesture sent a shiver of delight coursing through me, and I returned his affection with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Cole," I murmured, taking a sip of the rich, aromatic brew.

With each passing moment, my excitement mounted, and I found myself practically buzzing with anticipation. The thought of spending the day in the kitchen, refining my skills under the guidance of a master, filled me with indescribable joy.

As I settled into the kitchen, the familiar sights and sounds of our bustling household filled me with comfort. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the tantalizing scent of breakfast cooking on the stove, an enticing preview of the culinary delights that awaited me.

With eager anticipation, I watched as Cohen and Mateo bustled about, their movements purposeful and efficient as they prepared for the day ahead.

"Everything smells amazing, Cohen," I remarked, my mouth watering at the sight of the pancakes sizzling on the griddle.

Cohen grinned, flipping a pancake with a deft flick of his wrist. "Thanks. Although it's nothing compared to what you'll be making today. I can't wait for dinner," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

As the minutes ticked by, the anticipation reached a fever pitch, and I found myself practically bouncing with excitement.

"Excited princess?" Lennox asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

I nodded eagerly, unable to contain my enthusiasm. "Fuck yes! I can't wait to get started," I exclaimed, my heart racing.

To my surprise, Lennox's eyes lit up with genuine interest. "I'm glad," he said simply, his tone sincere.

And then, without thinking, I blurted out the question that had been nagging at the back of my mind. "Do you want to join?" I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Lennox looked taken aback, his brows furrowing in surprise. But then, to my astonishment, he folded his newspaper with a decisive motion and nodded. "Sure, why not? Let me just cancel a few things first," he replied casually.

I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at his unexpected acceptance. The idea of spending the day with Lennox, learning and cooking together, filled me with domestic bliss unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

As we sat down to breakfast with the others, the atmosphere was alive with eagerness. Cohen and Mateo were deep in conversation, their voices animated as they discussed the day ahead, while Cole exchanged playful banter across the table with Fallon, who had just woken up.

I allowed myself to bask in the warmth of it all, savoring the sense of family that was getting harder and harder to deny.

The clinking of dishes and the murmur of conversation filled the kitchen as we finished breakfast.

Lennox glanced at the clock on the wall and turned to me with a grin. "Better get ready, Chef Pulis will be here in an hour," he said, his tone uncharacteristically light.

"I'm on it," I replied, my voice brimming with thrill as I pushed back my chair and rose from the table.

I made my way upstairs to get ready, my thoughts racing ahead to what possible dishes we might get to make. I quickly showered and dressed, choosing a comfortable yet stylish outfit that would be suitable for cooking.

Once I was organized, I descended the stairs and made my way back to the kitchen, where Lennox was already waiting for me. The familiar warmth of the room enveloped me in its comforting embrace, filling me with a feeling of belonging that I was starting to treasure.

Lennox glanced up as I entered, a smile edging his lips. "Right on time," he said.

I returned his smile with one of my own. "As if I'd be late for this," I replied, my tone light and teasing.

Despite the tension that often hung like a heavy cloud between Lennox and me, there was something different about today—an ease that was heightening all our unresolved sexual chemistry.

Lennox's voice broke through the silence, drawing me out of my thoughts. "It's nice to see you smile, Salem," he said, his tone soft and gravely as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear.

I felt my cheeks flush with heat at his words, a rush of embarrassment flooding through me at the unexpected compliment. Bloody hell. Control yourself, Salem , I scolded.

I forced myself to look down, unable to meet Lennox's gaze as I muttered a barely audible response. "Thanks," I managed to choke out as I struggled to regain my composure.

Before I could dwell on my awkwardness any further, the sound of the doorbell ringing cut through the air. With a sigh of relief, I quickly turned away from Lennox and made my way to the front door, eager for the distraction it offered.

I swung the door open and was met with the sight of Chef Pulis standing on the doorstep, a warm smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Thanks for coming, Chef," Lennox greeted warmly as he stepped up behind me.

The chef nodded and smiled, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "It's my pleasure, Sir. Good morning, you must be Salem," he said, his voice warm and inviting as he turned to me.

I returned his greeting with a smile of my own. "So lovely to meet you," I replied, stepping aside to allow him entry.

We gathered around the kitchen island, ready to begin our lesson, and despite the awkwardness I had felt at Lennox's compliment, there was something undeniably exhilarating about the prospect of spending the day together.

As Chef Pulis began to lay out the ingredients for our first dish, I found myself caught up in the excitement of the moment, the tension of the past week melting away as we lost ourselves in the joy of cooking. For a brief moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just the three of us, coming together to create something beautiful out of nothing but a handful of ingredients and a dash of imagination.

As the day wore on, we laughed and joked together, sharing stories and secrets as we worked side by side in perfect harmony. As the final dish was plated and served, I felt satisfaction wash over me, a feeling of contentment that I hadn't felt in a long time.

I looked around the kitchen at the smiling faces of my friends and the delicious feast Lennox and I had created with Chef Pulis. It was perfect. The entire day had been perfect. And as I caught Lennox's eye across the table, I smiled, warmth flooding through me at the sight of his wide grin.

Lennox had orchestrated a day that surpassed perfection. Throughout our lesson, I had the chance to glimpse a side of him that was both familiar yet unexpectedly different—a side that exuded the same aura of authority but with a subtle softness that was impossible to ignore. As we had laughed and cooked together, I found myself slowly unraveling, my defenses crumbling in the face of his genuine warmth and sincerity. It was in those moments, as I watched him move effortlessly around the kitchen, that I couldn't refute the undeniable truth: he was slowly but surely carving out a space in my heart, his presence becoming an integral part of my life whether I wanted to admit it or not.