Empire of Lust

ASPEN

“Congratulations for your narcissistic status. You might need a reality check about how your achievements and talents hold little to no value, and using others doesn’t make you grandiose.” “Then what does it make me?” “Subhuman.” “Subhumans are those who allow themselves to be used.” “Let’s blame the victim, shall we? A tale as old as time.” “A victim chooses to be a victim, whether through desperation or other circumstances. A lamb walking into the forest is well-prepared to be eaten.” “No lamb wants to be eaten. They walked into the forest for the food they need in order to survive.” “And the wolf eats the lamb, also to survive.” “Your predator mentality is revolting.” “And your blush is cute.” He motions at my neck with a smirk in his voice. “It’s visible even in the darkness.” I touch my nape, feeling more heated than when he said the words. “Stop looking.” “On the contrary, now is when I’ll keep looking. I’m bored and you’re interesting, so this should be a fun night, don’t you think?” Before I can answer, the ground is pulled from beneath my feet for the second time today. But this time, I was flung over a shoulder. His shoulder. Hard, sturdy, and so broad, it actually fits my waist. And then he’s marching with sure, purposeful strides in the direction of the mansion. “What are you doing?” I ask, mortified, as the blood rushes to my head. “I told you, sweetheart. You’re spending time with me tonight.

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 never wished—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 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 was 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 about “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 attempted that, I would probably try to 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.