𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊

𝟐𝟎 | 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐌𝐘 neck, the remnants still lingering on the tips of my hair from my shower, as I coil two of my fingers and knock lightly on Aeron's door. I don't assume that I'm welcome enough to open it by my own volition after last night, but when I hear nothing moving inside, when I hear no contemplating from her, I grab the knob and turn it.

My head tilts as I take in the empty room.

As I notice the freshly done bed and Aeron's things gone.

I feel my heart fall and crash to the bottom of my ribcage as I dive inside and inspect every inch of the room. By the time I finish checking the bathroom and under the bed, I am certain that my girl has left my Estate without so much as a goodbye.

Not that I exactly deserve one after last night. 

My breath is quick in my lungs as I turn on my heel and peel out of the room, heading in the direction of my office. Aeron had crossed the line last night—she had taken the one thing I considered precious in my life, and she used it against me the second she didn't get her way. It made me angry enough, forced parts of me I try to keep hidden from the limelight, out of me.

I know that tossing her into the hallway like a stray cat in front of my many members was the wrong thing to do—but I did it against my better judgment at the time because I knew it would be an action I could salvage. I knew that if I had taken her out of my sights, I would still have a chance to be near her, to be with her, because if I hadn't, I might have killed her.

The coolness of my ring burns against the hotness of my chest as it moves underneath my black turtleneck. My dress pants slap at the tongues of my Converse as I pace steadily down the hall, seeking someone, anyone, to do my bidding and find my wreckage in the form of another human.

When I get to the outside of my office, I stall.

When my ears perk up, and the sound of muffled laughter appears on the other side of the oak, I feel my heartbeat begin to dilute—begin to thread lighter underneath my skin. I know my face is probably rosy with my annoyance and my exertion, but I toss open the door to my office, nonetheless, and walk in to find my two headache-worthy women inside.

Esmeralda sits on my desk with her legs crossed at the knee, her red, Louboutins daintily hanging off her toes. She rests on her hands, leaning backward, her mouth open with a spilling hilarity as she regards my white-haired beauty standing just a few feet to her side.

Aeron wears a flowing, black skirt and a pink tank-top, with a pair of tennis sneakers. Her face matches the shade of her shirt as she giggles alongside my right-hand woman, and as I breathe in the room, as I correct myself and try my best to appear as a masculine entity, I allow myself to fall under the spell of her melodic sound.

My mouth dries.

My fingers relax.

I was so upset with her last night—so fucking mad—but now that I've had time away, now that I've had space between the tension of our bodies, I can't seem to decipher why.