Chapter 13 - Cohen

Rage tastes like blood in my mouth and feels like fire in my veins.

It's a living thing inside me, clawing at my insides, demanding to be set free as I slam my fist into the heavy bag, imagining Madeline's face where my knuckles connect. The impact reverberates through my bones, but the pain does nothing to stop the inferno inside me.

Every tear Emerald shed in her room last night is a debt I intend to collect from her mother. Every cruel word Madeline hurled at her is a promise that I'll repay her ten-fold. A hundred times over. A thousand. I'll tear her down to nothing, strip everything away, and leave her a hollow, broken shell of her former self.

Madeline thinks she can force my little bird back into her cage. Thinks she can bend her to her will. Thinks she can mold her into the docile, submissive daughter who will marry the man of her mother’s choosing and carry on the Delacroix legacy.

She's wrong. So very wrong. She has no idea what she's unleashed.

Because I will never, ever, let that happen. Emerald will never belong to anyone but me. I'll burn down the entire fucking town before I allow that woman to take her from me.

I'm not usually prone to outbursts of emotion, but something about Emerald brings out the worst in me.

The best in me.

My fists fly in a flurry of strikes, sweat beading on my forehead as I throw everything I have at the bag. It's not enough.

The home gym is empty, the sun barely risen, but it's all I've wanted to do since I left Emerald's room. But no matter how hard I strike, how much weight I bench, how many miles I run on the treadmill, it never lessens.

Sweat drips down my bare chest, and my muscles burn, but I don't stop. Can't stop. Not when I don’t know what I’ll do if I stop. Not when I can still hear Madeline's voice in my head, cutting into Emerald like a fucking knife, making her bleed.

"Everything you are belongs to me."

The heavy bag swings wildly, and I keep punching until my knuckles are bruised and raw. Until there's blood spattering the black leather, leaving tiny red constellations across its surface. Until my lungs ache, and my vision blurs.

The physical outlet is the only thing keeping me from storming upstairs and showing Madeline exactly how wrong she is about who owns what in this house.

Because Emerald doesn't belong to her mother. She belongs to me. Has since that first night when I saw her crying on a balcony, face lifted to the stars as tears tracked down her cheeks. Her pain mirrored my own, a kindred spirit that called to something deep in my soul.

It was like the universe had reached out and slapped me in the face, waking me from a long, dark dream.

I didn't know her then, didn't know why she was crying, or what she was running from, but none of that mattered. In that moment, I saw her. Saw the loneliness that matched mine, the aching emptiness, the need for someone to hold on to. And I knew I had to make her mine. No matter what it took. No matter the cost.

Her soul has been mine since that moment.

Of course, I had no idea then just how bad things were for her. No idea of the hell she lived in, of the nightmare her mother created. And knowing it now makes me want to murder someone.

Preferably Madeline.

Everything since then—marrying Madeline, moving into this mansion, playing the dutiful husband—has been leading to this moment. This opportunity to take what's mine and make it permanent. Irrevocable.

My father would be proud of this cold calculation, this careful restraint. Harrison Astor built the Astor legacy on control—ruthless, unrelenting control that crushed everything in its path, including his own son. But I learned from his mistakes. Where he used control to destroy, I use it to protect. Where he broke things, I save them. The iron grip I keep on my darkness isn't just about power—it's about making sure I never become him. Making sure I use this poison in my blood to shield rather than shatter.

The heavy bag shudders as I unleash a series of brutal kicks, the chain creaking above. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging them, and I wipe it away with the back of one hand.

But Madeline's words found their mark. I saw it in Emerald's eyes last night, the way doubt crept in like poison. The way she looked at me after Madeline mentioned Charlotte, fear warring with trust as she tried to reconcile the monster her mother painted me as with the man who held her while she cried.

"You're here early."

I don't pause my assault on the bag as Kendra's voice floats across the gym. Madeline's assistant hovers in the doorway, her usually impeccable appearance slightly disheveled. There are shadows under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide.

Madeline’s work, no doubt.

"What do you want?" I ask, landing another combination of punches and sending the bag swinging again.

"Mrs. Delacroix asked me to remind you about the menu tasting this afternoon." Kendra's normally uptight voice wavers slightly. "She wants to make sure you'll be there this time."

I catch the bag, steadying it as I turn to fix Kendra with a look that makes her take an instinctive step back. "Tell my wife I'll be wherever the fuck I want to be whenever the fuck I want to be there."

Kendra swallows hard but stands her ground. "She also wanted me to tell you that she's arranged for Daniel Montgomery Jr. to escort Emerald to the Christmas party. She says it's not up for discussion."

The rage that's been simmering in my blood reaches a boiling point. I stalk toward Kendra, satisfaction curling through me as she shrinks back against the doorframe. "Let me be very clear," I say, my voice soft and lethal. "Emerald isn't going anywhere with anyone except me. And if Madeline has a problem with that, she can take it up with me directly instead of hiding behind her messenger."

"I... I'll tell her," Kendra stammers, already backing away.

"Good." I turn back to the bag, dismissing her. "Oh, and Kendra? The next time my wife wants to threaten me, tell her to do it herself. I'd hate for something to happen to you just because you were following orders."

I wait until the door closes behind her before resuming my attack on the bag.

Let her run back to Madeline. Let her report every word. The game is changing, and it's time Madeline understood exactly who she's playing against.

I land one final punch, imagining Daniel Montgomery Jr.'s face this time. The thought of that entitled little prick anywhere near Emerald makes me want to rip him apart with my bare hands. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing, just like his father, and I'll be damned if I let him lay a finger her.

But I force the rage down, lock it away where it can't touch the plans I've spent two years perfecting.

Soon, I'll show Emerald the truth about her mother. About me. About everything.

But first, I need a shower. And then I need to make sure my little phoenix understands that no matter what Madeline says, no matter what she threatens, no matter what she does, she'll never take my girl from me.

The hot water runs red with my blood and sweat, the rainfall from the custom showerhead washing away the physical evidence of my workout. It does nothing to wash away the darkness coursing through my veins.

My knuckles sting under the water, and I examine them with clinical detachment. They're already bruising, but it's worth it.

I shut off the water and grab a towel, my mind already racing ahead to what needs to be done. Emerald will have questions about Charlotte—questions I need to answer before Madeline can poison her further against me. There’s also Emmitt, who appears to be licking his wounds, but I have no doubt he’ll crawl back out of his hole and become an issue at some point.

And then there's the matter of Daniel Montgomery Jr., that simpering little sociopath who thinks he has any right to touch what's mine.

One problem at a time.

I dress quickly in dark Kiton slacks and a white button-down, leaving the top buttons undone. No need for the full armor today—not when I'm planning to spend it with my girl.

I find her exactly where I knew she would be—in the living room, curled up in the window seat next to the Christmas tree like a cat seeking sunshine. She's wearing another one of her mother's approved outfits, an ice blue dress that makes her blend into the blue and silver flocked tree beside her.

She looks like an angel, and I can't wait to make her fall.

"Little one."

She startles at my voice, those big green eyes finding mine across the room. I can see the war being waged in them—the fear and longing and hope and doubt all swirling together and I fucking hate it.

"Cohen." My name on her lips is still the sweetest sound I've ever heard. "I... I didn't expect to see you this morning."

I cross the room, unable to resist the magnetic pull she has on me. "Where else would I be?"

She bites that bottom lip that drives me fucking insane, and I have to fist my hands at my sides to keep from reaching for her. "I thought maybe... after what my mother said..."

"Look at me." I wait until those evergreen eyes meet mine. "Nothing your mother says changes anything between us. Nothing."

"But what she said about your ex—"

Goddamn Madeline. Emerald’s trusting, but she’s also curious. It’s not fair of me to leave her in the dark when I can so easily put her fears to rest with the truth. It’s not really my secret to tell, but trust works both ways and Emerald deserves mine.

"Was manipulation," I cut in, settling beside her on the window seat. "Like everything else that comes out of her mouth."

Emerald's fingers stretch out and start playing with a button on my shirt and I don't even think she knows she's doing it. Her cheeks flush that gorgeous rose and I want to lick the color, taste it on her skin. "She said you were investigated. About the disappearance of your ex."

I take a deep breath. "It's true," I say, watching her carefully. "But not the way you think.

I study her face for a long moment, weighing how much truth to give her. But the fear lurking in her eyes makes the decision for me. I won't let Madeline's lies come between us.

"Charlotte was never my girlfriend," I say finally. "She was a friend of a client who needed help escaping an abusive marriage. Her husband, Gregory, was a powerful man who used that power to keep her trapped. To hurt her."

Understanding dawns in Emerald's eyes. "You helped her escape?"

"I did what needed to be done." I reach out, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I created a new identity for her, helped her disappear so completely that even Gregory couldn't find her."

"And Gregory?"

My lips curl into a cold smile. "Let's just say he won't be hurting anyone else ever again."

She shivers, but doesn't pull away from my touch. If anything, she leans into me more. "Why did you tell my mother Charlotte was your girlfriend then?"

"Because I knew it would intrigue her." I let my fingers trail down the side of her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. "Your mother has a weakness for powerful men she thinks she can't have. She likes to hunt. I used that to get close to you."

"To me?" Her voice catches as my thumb traces her collarbone. "But why?"

I study her face in the soft winter light filtering through the window, committing every detail to memory. The way she leans into my touch without realizing it. The perfect mixture of innocence and curiosity in her expression. The slight parting of her lips as she waits for my answer.

Two years of watching. Planning. Waiting.

And now she's finally asking the right question.