cannibal; kendall roy

70

The heir with the flair and his wife had returned to Los Angeles after their stint in Norway. Kendall Roy was feeling more invigorated than before and more concerned on the state of his own marriage. Especially, after what he had born witness to in Norway. Which had been the fact that Lukas Matsson wasn't only trying to buy everything, take everything, he wanted everything.

Which now included his wife. No, he wasn't crazy in that aspect. Kendall knew that. From the looks he'd seen Frank shoot Karl, to the comments from his siblings. He knew that Matsson was bad news. Although, he hadn't wondered to think why his wife might push herself in the direction of Matsson. Or that it had anything to do with his own actions.

Kendall didn't think like that.

Sure, he was a bit of dork. A bit of a narcissist. And someone you shouldn't necessarily place your trust in.

Which meant he wasn't exactly able to competently understand why or what had been done.

He knew there was something.

But he didn't know what.

Which is why he decided to pick a bone with Marguerite Roy in their home, freshly furnished and renovated. Thank god it was their home, previously the pair had been stuffed inside of Roman Roy's home and it had driven Marguerite, and Kendall up the walls.

And so he found her.

His illustrious partner, practically sprawled across their bed, son sleeping elsewhere, her shopping bags dumped across the floor. Evident that she was exhausted from her long day of nothing, while he had been preparing for his own future.

The interim CEO had been in battle, or at least liked to think of it as such, as the only words he had seemed to mutter as of late had been Living+, or to Roman— they had focused on fucking the deal. Screwing Matsson.

In the eyes of Kendall Roy, Marguerite Roy had been given everything.

She was everything.

So why would she want to fuck any of it up?

He took care of her, just like he always had.

Why fuck Matsson?

He didn't know if she was. He just felt that something was wrong. That the woman in his house didn't love him like she was supposed to. Or like he was used to. So he carefully sat down on the bed, looking over her, one of his fingers tracing her nose. A habit he hadn't indulged in for quite a bit.

Their intimacy had been limited. Forever fluctuating. Someone was always angry.

"Hi" was all she had spoken to him, murmuring gently, a confused smile bracing her face, half expecting him to kiss her. He doesn't. His hands linger, fingers reaching down to physically graze the skin on her face.

From her nose, to a thumb brushing over her lips, feeling the thick and plump bottom lip, starting to pick at a piece of dead skin lingering on her colored lips. Red. He instead just presses his thumb down.

Not harshly, no. Never.

"You uh, you have a good day?" He finally asks

She just nods her head, his thumb still resting on her lips.

"Why do you do this?" Kendall asks, pinching her bottom lip before finally moving his hands away, letting them sink slower "It doesn't make you uh, look any younger. If that's what it's for."

One of his hands moves up to run a hand through her hair as he finally plops down next to her on the bed, sinking down. "I thought you had them dissolved" he adds, squinting as he looked over a strand of hair, caressing it gently in his hands.