Chapter 27

I'm a fucking coward.

The thought is on repeat as I knock my forehead on the double-paned windows at our reserved room in the gentlemen's club at The Orchid two weeks later. Maxwell used to make fun of how much I enjoyed looking out the windows.

Little does he know it's the freedom outside I crave.

It's one of the most beautiful times of the year in New York City, with summer bidding us farewell and fall welcoming us with open arms, dazzling bystanders with foliage of reds, oranges, and yellows, the weather brisk but not yet chilly. Central Park is sprawled beneath us in the near distance, a beautiful postcard, but I don't really notice.

Because I'm a fucking coward.

After the event at New Beginnings, where Millie came all over my fucking fingers, the image permanently branded into my brain, I've avoided her like a plague.

In the classroom and at the JEAP committee meetings, I've directed my instructions to someone else in her group, including Fred, even though my jaws will ache from clenching every time I see him flirting with her. When she asks a question, I answer it as succinctly as possible. I always leave right after class ends, exiting the room with the throngs of students, using them as protection.

I've canceled office hours, making up some bullshit reason about meetings and conflicts at Fleur for the IPO, and letting students know they can schedule appointments with me via email.

I know she's upset and hurt, judging from the hard glare in her cutting eyes when my gaze inadvertently meets hers in the middle of class. But instead of tears, she sits straighter, her nostrils flaring, her chin tilting higher.

No, she's no longer the fragile water nymph, stammering at my feet. She's a fighter, and I've been mistaken all along. Millie is a predator flying through the skies.

She's the snowy owl. A stealthy hunter. Rare and beautiful. Soaring straight into my heart whether I want it or not.

Letting out a ragged breath, I eye the pedestrians down below, roaming free on the streets, braving the honking traffic and the brisk elements while I sit on my throne, feeling restless, wanting to go to her, to see her, to feel her fall apart in my arms once more.

"Something is on your mind. Don't bother denying it. Now, spill," a deep voice speaks from behind me.

I look behind, finding the imposing silhouette of Steven, decked in his usual three-piece suit even though it's Saturday afternoon. He's early to an evening with the guys. His piercing hazel eyes narrow at whatever he sees on my face, and I straighten up and roll out the stiff muscles on my shoulders.

"What made you decide to go for Grace? You had your obligations at Pietra Capital, saving TransAmerica, not to mention your mom disapproving her. You guys were worlds apart."

He strolls to the wet bar, pours two glasses of whiskey, and walks up next to me before handing me a drink. "There wasn't another choice. My heart wants what its wants."

A heart wants what it wants.

The same sentiments from Sydney all those years ago, the only other woman I've let remotely near my heart, and not even as close as Millie has barged through those barriers.

"But what about right or wrong? Ethics? You know what you're bringing Grace into. Your family is old money like mine, with all the obligations, rules, appearances. The relentless paparazzi. It never ends. Aren't you afraid of suffocating her?"

He chuckles and clasps his hand on my arm. "It's for her to decide, not me, and I'm a lucky man because she chose me. Technically, Grace is part of the old money family now, since she's an Anderson."

I smile inwardly. That she is. Grace and Taylor are wonderful women, but ironically, because their mom wasn't married to Dad when they were born, they are illegitimate Anderson offspring as defined by the terms of the family trust and thus are spared the constraints of our obligations.

Not to mention, they aren't married into the family, nor have they taken our last names, so there isn't an expectation for them to give everything up and join the fold. But Grace, with her plans to open a consulting firm with our family name on it, is already stepping into tradition by choice.

Things don't end well for most of the women in my family, especially the women the Anderson men love. Despite my dad's intentions when he broke up with the second woman he's ever loved in his life, Grace's and Taylor's mom met with a tragic ending as well. She passed away from a car accident last year. Drunk driver crashing his car into her, killing her instantly.

I can't guarantee a happy future for Millie when everything seems to point to an unhappy ending.

How can I let her choose a life like that? How can I let her knowingly walk into a trap? How can I ask her to give up her dreams of teaching, the very thing she wants to do to honor her mom? And if one day she realizes the chains she has been wearing the entire time and how much she misses the skies, how will I survive when she leaves me?

And I can't risk that. I can't risk what's left of my heart, which has a hole in it ever since Mom died, then is overburdened by the weight of the Anderson name and constraints, on top of everything else.

The door opens and in stride my brothers.

Maxwell arches his brow at Steven and me, clearly sensing we're in a serious discussion. I give him a half-smile. Let bygones be bygones, Maxwell.

He returns my smile with one of his own and flashes his leather bracelet. Always, brother.

"Steven, why the hell are you in a suit again?" Rex grumbles as he slumps into the room, clearly hungover from what looks to be a night of partying.

"Some of us enjoy working," Steven comments.

"I work hard and play hard."

Ethan quips, "Aren't you tired of having different women each night? Haven't you tried out all the kink rooms on the Rose floors already?"

"Tired of pussy? Nah, no way. I like them however I get them. All beautiful—big, small, all colors. There's no such thing as being ‘tired of pussy,' old man."

He narrows his eyes at us. "And don't make fun of me embracing my kinks. Heck, Ryland over there likes to chase and pin down women like a savage and you don't see me making fun of him."

"Ryland has one kink, but you have countless. You're a deviant with a capital D."

"Mark my words, Ethan, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, I'm going to find out your deep dark kink because I know it's in there."

Ethan smirks and crosses his arms against his chest. "We'll see about that."

"Where's Charles?" Steven asks, looking for the signature blond of our group.

"The fucker is busy. Some meeting in the office. He's a workaholic like you." Rex unleashes a yawn.

"They are contributing members to society," Ethan corrects, waggling his brows at a scowling Rex.

They bicker and I shake my head, a spark of amusement lifting my lips.

Steven squeezes my arm before releasing it with a pat. He leans in and murmurs, "If she's worth losing sleep for, I think she's worth taking a risk for. Let her choose for herself."

The chains bind tighter around my chest, slowly restricting my breath. Perhaps there's a shred of humanity left within the beast. The sliver of conscience in my murky mind.

How can I let her choose when it will hurt her in the end? No, that's impossible.

Rex hollers in the background, "What are you two mumbling about over there? If this is about Ryland's ‘I'm not sulking over a woman but it's so obvious he is' problem, dude, no woman is worth losing sleep over. You know what I think? You just need to rip the bandage off and go schedule a scene at Noire. All that celibacy shit is affecting your mind and isn't good for your health, bro."

The guys burst into laughter. A minute later, Maxwell sidles up to me and echoes the sentiment. "This is going to be one of the few times I agree with Rex. The IPO is going smoothly, the press eating up all the information we're handing out, so your surly ass mood can't be about that. If you're trying to get over a woman, perhaps you need to put yourself out there. And if a scene is the easiest thing to start with, then why not? Think about it."

I nod and let out a sigh. Outside the windows, I see a small crowd of people gathering on the sidewalk holding up large signs. There appears to be a protest of some sort against one of the luxury clothing brands nearby. People are braving the crowds, taking time out of their day to fight for change.

Perhaps it's time for me to do something about my situation as well.