Chapter 1 - Cohen

The first time I saw Emerald Delacroix, I knew I was fucked.

All it took was one glance, and I knew I'd ruin everything to have her—including myself.

Destroy her entire life until all she has is me.

All she wants is me.

The first time I saw her cry, something inside me shattered. She stood on that balcony at the Mitchell Gala, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the stars like they held answers, and I was seven years old again—watching my mother sob in our kitchen while that bastard she was dating towered over her.

But unlike that night, when I was too small, too weak to do anything but watch, this time I could do something. This time, I had the power to protect someone. To save her. The need to possess her, to shield her from everything that could hurt her, became an obsession that night. A mission.

I watch her now, my pretty little stepdaughter, as she stands by the window, painted in the soft golden glow of twinkling Christmas lights watching the snow fall.

She’s beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair, like some divine hand crafted her to torment me. Fragile, yet resilient. Innocent, yet with something quietly defiant simmering beneath the surface. I see it all, even if she doesn’t. That’s the thing about her. She doesn’t even know what she is. But I do.

I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in my veins as I keep my eyes fixed on her. I’m incapable of tearing my eyes away. Madeline’s voice drifts in from the other room, shrill and demanding, as she barks orders at the household staff about some holiday bullshit only she cares about. I learned to tune that shit out a week ago when the decorations went up the day after Thanksgiving.

My wife is nothing if not an opportunist, and her flawless family is her favorite thing to exploit. The perfect Christmas. The perfect fucking lie.

I smirk into my glass. Her obsession with appearances has been useful to me, but it’s also becoming… tiresome. She’s served her purpose. She got me here, into this house, into Emerald’s world. But now, she’s more of an obstacle than anything else. And obstacles, well, they don’t last long in my world.

The glass makes a soft clink as I set it down, my eyes never leaving Emerald. She’s wearing a simple white oversized sweater with sleeves that fall past her wrists. It swallows her small frame, hiding her from me and making her look even more delicate than she already is. Her dark hair tumbles over her shoulders, messy in the way I imagine it’ll be when she’s spent the night in my bed, and I can just make out the way she bites her lower lip as her eyes follow the falling snow.

That lip—full, pink, and soft. I’ve dreamed of biting it myself, of pulling it between my teeth until I leave marks. Until she bleeds for me.

A small, satisfied hum escapes me at the thought. She has no idea I watch her like I do. No idea I’ve been staring at her for countless minutes, uncaring who sees.

Seems I’m all out of fucks to give.

I run my thumb along my bottom lip, trying to imagine the way she’ll taste on my tongue. I should take a step back, put some distance between us tonight. My need to own her—bone-deep, soul-deep, until there's nothing left untouched by my hand—is too close to the surface and I’m not sure I can hide it away.

I’ve waited too long, played this game too carefully to ruin my plans on a whim.

Still…

I push myself off the leather armchair and move with deliberate slowness across the room. The pull is too strong. She’s still unaware of my approach, her gaze fixed on the virginal snow outside, her breath leaving a faint fog on the glass. I wonder what she’s thinking and nearly open my mouth to ask. To demand her thoughts be of me and only me.

My teeth grind together as I attempt to keep the words inside. Now that I’ve decided to let my plan unfold, holding back is damn near impossible.

I’m only a handful of steps away from her now, a hint of my frame towering over hers in the reflection of the glass. Even now, she’s so lost in her head she doesn’t notice me.

A flicker of annoyance sparks under my skin as I draw closer, my jaw tightening. How can she not feel me? How can she stand there, untouched, unaffected, when I'm right behind her, my gaze burning a path across her skin? My patience is slipping. Each step I take closer should make the air between us crackle, should force her to turn, to acknowledge that I’m here, wanting her.

That she’s wanting me just as desperately.

I take another step, my body nearly brushing against hers, close enough that I can almost feel the heat of her body radiating through the fabric of my clothes. We’re shielded behind the towering Christmas tree, a silver-and-gold monstrosity that I’ve never been more grateful for.

We’re caught in a bubble of soft light and silence, and if she leans back into me or tilts her head to the side so I can run my mouth up the side of her long neck, I could live here forever. Just when I think I might have to reach out and force her to acknowledge my presence, I see it—a slight shift. Her body sways backward, just a little, unconsciously leaning in my direction as I take one last step forward.

A dark, satisfied smile curves across my lips. She doesn’t even know it yet, but her body already knows what she needs. Already knows it’s mine.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” My voice is low, but still cuts through the quiet like a blade.

She startles, just a little. Her shoulders tense before she turns her head to glance at me over her shoulder. I don’t miss the shiver that runs down her spine when she sees it’s me. When she notices how close we are. The way her nipples harden behind her dress. Her green eyes—those deep, fucking endless eyes that haunt my dreams—go wide in surprise.

“Cohen,” she breathes out my name on a sigh before catching herself a fraction of a second too late. There’s a hint of something in it. Relief, maybe. Longing. But also weariness. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that.”

I close the distance between us, leaving a sliver of space between her back and my chest, barely enough for a breath to pass between. I ignore her chastising because when it comes to her, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.

“The snow,” I clarify, gesturing with a slight nod toward the window, though I think we both know that’s not what I’m talking about. “It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

She hesitates, her gaze flicking back to the window as if she needs to remind herself not to look at me too long. Not to let her curiosity show. “It is,” she replies after a moment. “It’s… quiet.”

I move to stand beside her, my shoulder brushing against hers, the contact deliberate. If I don’t steal these little moments, push the boundaries between us, I’m afraid I’ll snap before she’s ready.

Emerald stiffens, her gaze still on the snow-covered grounds stretching out beyond the window. The estate is a winter wonderland, covered in untouched white, framed by towering evergreens heavy with snow. It’s picturesque. I’m surprised Madeline doesn’t have her photographers out there already, forcing me into a holiday-themed suit and dragging me out onto the lawn.

I’m all too happy to be here now, though.

Forgotten for the moment and hidden away with her daughter.

The tension between us is a living thing, buzzing in the tiny space where we’re connected, where her shoulder leans against my arm. She sucks in a breath like if she moves even to exhale, it’ll push us closer together or further apart and she’s not ready to face either.

The silence sits heavy, almost vibrating against my skin, something that pushes and pulls between us like a current. It’s always been this way, even if she won’t acknowledge it. From the first time she turned those big, innocent eyes on me and changed the entire course of my life with a single look.

This feeling… It makes my skin prickle, my fingers curl into fists against the urge to reach for her, to close the distance until nothing stands between us. Not even air. Her body pressed against mine, skin to skin. Even my cock gives an enthusiastic twitch.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to peel her clothes off and unwrap her like the gift she is.

We’re even here beside the Christmas tree. It could be perfect.

“You seem distracted, Emerald.” I let her name roll off my tongue slowly, savoring the sound of it. The feel of it. She finally blows out the breath she sucked in a dozen seconds ago, and out of my peripheral vision, I look down and notice her dress with the wide collar gives me an exquisite view of her perky little tits in a lacy white bra.

Fuck. Me.

That enthusiastic twitch from before explodes into a raging hard on in less than the blink of an eye. Goddamnit. I shift to the side to try to adjust so I don’t scare her away. “Like you’re daydreaming of something.”

“I’m not,” she lies, her voice too high, her words too quick to be convincing.

I chuckle, low in my throat, and shift my gaze back up to her face. “Liar.”

Her eyes snap up to mine, wide and startled, and for a moment, I see it. The fire. That spark of defiance she tries so hard to keep buried. It’s there, just beneath the surface, begging to be set free.

I love it.

I fucking crave it.

She presses her lips together, biting down on that bottom lip again, and I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to it. I wonder if she knows what she’s doing to me. What she’s been doing to me for two fucking years. I wonder if she has any idea how much I want to ruin the image she’s been forced to maintain her whole life.

She hesitates, like she’s weighing her words carefully. “I was just thinking…” she trails off, her eyes flicking back to the snow outside, her voice softening. “About how I used to love the snow when I was a kid.”

I raise an eyebrow, not expecting her to share anything so personal. Usually, she does everything she can to shut me out. To keep distance between us. Maybe she thinks if she pretends I don’t exist, she can pretend she’s not attracted to me, too. "Used to?"

She gives a small shrug, her gaze still distant. “It used to mean freedom. Snow days, getting to escape the rules for a little while. Now, it just feels… like I’m trapped.” She bites her lip, as if regretting the admission, and I watch as her eyes shutter, the wistfulness there quickly replaced by the practiced composure she always wears.

It’s too much like her mother and I fucking hate it.

I lean in closer, close enough that she must feel my breath on her neck, and I lower my voice, letting it brush against her ear. “Trapped by who?” I feel her shiver more than I see it. “By your mother?” Tension ripples through her, her posture stiffening. She’s always been too afraid to admit the truth out loud.

That she hates Madeline as much as I do. Maybe more.

She swallows hard, the vulnerability plain on her face before she glances at me, her expression hardening, a glimmer of resistance flickering in those green eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

A smile tugs at my lips. There it is—that spark I crave, the fire that hides beneath her fragile exterior. I can’t help myself. I reach out, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face, my thumb grazing her cheek. Her skin is unbelievably soft, and I never want to stop touching her. “Oh, but it does, little one,” I murmur. “It matters more than you think.”

She flinches, her eyes locking on mine, and I watch as her breath catches, that same restless energy burning up the oxygen between us. Consuming it. I lean in, my lips just a whisper away from her ear, and she tilts her head closer. I’m not sure she knows she’s doing it. “One day,” I promise, “you’ll be free.”

Before I can make any more promises she’s not ready for, Madeline’s voice snaps through the room like a whip. “Emerald! Cohen! Dinner is ready.”

Emerald’s shoulders drop and she blows out a breath, as if she’s been given a reprieve from whatever thoughts were consuming her. But I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.

“Shall we?” I offer her my arm with a slight smile. She hesitates, glancing at me as if unsure whether she should accept, but in the end, she does. Of course she does.

Her hand is soft and warm against my arm as we walk together toward the dining room. This is the first time I’ve gotten this close and I can feel every inch of her, every step she takes beside me. My jaw clenches as the hunger for her I’ve been fighting for two years ignites deep inside me—bone deep and impossible to ignore any longer.

This is how it should always be between us, with her by my side, pressed against me, looking to me to give her what she needs.

My wife is waiting for us, seated at the head of the long, ridiculous table, her icy blue eyes flicking between me and her daughter. If she’s surprised to see us arrive together, she doesn’t show it.

Madeline’s always watching. Always calculating.

Pulling off my plan is going to take every ounce of my cunning and strategy. There are many things I dislike about my wife, but I have to admit that she’s a worthy adversary.

She may be good, but I like to think I’m better.

I guess time will tell.

“Darling,” she greets me with a smile that doesn’t reach her frosty eyes. “I hope Emerald hasn’t been boring you.”

I smile back at her even as I bristle at her words, the perfect picture of a doting husband as I pull the chair out for my stepdaughter and reluctantly move away from her touch. I bury my reaction to her shitty passive aggressive comment about her daughter, unwilling to show just how much it pisses me off. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let it slide, though. “Never. She has a remarkable way of seeing the world.”

Madeline’s smile tightens, and there’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes. She doesn’t like it when I pay too much attention to Emerald. Not that she’s ever said it outright, but I can see it in the way she watches us, the way her jaw clenches whenever I speak to her daughter.

Which isn’t even close to often enough.

But that’s the thing about Madeline. She’s too proud, too arrogant to believe that anything could ever slip out of her control. She thinks she has me wrapped around her finger, just like everyone else in her life.

But she’s wrong.

Because this isn’t her story.

It’s mine.

And Emerald?

She’s mine too.

The dinner passes in an endless slog of forced smiles and meaningless conversation. Madeline blathers on about the upcoming Delacroix Christmas party, which, according to her, is the ‘event of the year’, her plans for the new year, and all the ways she’s going to expand her empire. Emerald listens quietly, nodding in all the right places, but I can see the way her fingers fidget in her lap, the way her eyes glaze over as her mother drones on about things that don’t matter.

She’s suffocating. Drowning in the shallow little world Madeline has built around her.

And I’m going to be the one to pull her out of it. Give her the oxygen from my lungs if I need to. I’ll peel back the layers of Madeline’s control, one at a time. Even if it means my stepdaughter gets a glimpse of the darkness inside me.

By the time dessert is served, Madeline has finally shut the fuck up, and the room falls into uncomfortable silence. Emerald glances at me from across the table, her eyes flicking between me and her mother as if she’s trying to figure something out. I meet her gaze, holding it just a little too long, and there’s confusion there. Hesitation.

Good.

Let her wonder. Let her question. Because the more she does, the closer she’ll come to realizing the truth. That she doesn’t belong in her mother’s world. She belongs in mine.

After dinner, Madeline disappears into her office, the faint scent of sulfur lingering in the air. Emerald and I are finally alone.

Emerald pushes away from the table, standing up, her gaze darting to me before dropping to the floor. I follow suit, but she steps back, putting distance between us. I fucking hate distance. She fidgets with her sleeves, her expression tense, her voice quieter than before.

“Tonight… it was nice. Talking, you know?” A faint pink blooms on her cheeks, and she refuses to make eye contact. “But I think I should go to bed," she says, glancing toward the hallway as she chews on that lip that drives me to madness.

I nod, tucking my hands into the pockets of my pants to keep from reaching for her and dragging her against me. "If that’s what you need."

Her eyes meet mine again for a heartbeat, and as always, she holds me hostage until she blinks and looks away. She swallows before taking a step back, her voice barely above a whisper. "Goodnight, Cohen."

For tonight, I’ll allow her the space she wants, though my gaze lingers on her. "Goodnight, little one."

She turns and walks away, her footsteps soft against the floor, and I watch her go, my satisfaction growing. She thinks she’s creating distance, but I won’t allow it. The illusion, maybe. For now.

My pulse speeds up, that familiar hunger gnawing at the edges of my control as I watch her climb the stairs, her untouched little body just waiting for me to own it.

It’s been more than a year of this torture and I’m not sure how much more I can take.

She’s close. So close.

And soon, she’ll be mine.

As the door to her bedroom clicks shut, I head toward my own room, a slow ghost of a smile on my face.

This will be the Christmas everything changes.

This Christmas I give her everything… by taking it all away.

And I can’t fucking wait.