Page 100 of The Devil's Pawn

I’ve never been the sort of man who wishes things were different. If I want something to change, I make it happen. Yet I cannot change myself or the man I am. I willneverfather a child knowing one of my family’s enemies could snatch them from under my nose and murder them. I barely survived the loss of Annabel, then my mother. I know, with a hundred percent certainty, I wouldn’t survive losing a child.

And Imogen… she’d lose her baby because of me. Because of whoIam. Who my family is. I can’t do that to her.

She gazes up at me with hearts in her eyes, and agony engulfs my soul. There’s only one way to save her from me.

I have to let her go.

Lilian opens the door, her eyes widening at the sight of me standing on the front step four days before our scheduled meeting. This couldn’t wait until Tuesday. She’s the only one who can help me figure out the right thing to do.

“Alexander, I have a client.”

I push past her. “Get rid of them.”

“I can’t.” She gives me one of her stern looks that tells me my behavior isn’t acceptable, that my immense power won’t work here. It’s the reason I’ve been coming to her for so long. She’s not in fear nor in awe of the De Vil name.

“They have another thirty minutes of their allotted time.” She gestures to a three-seater brown leather couch in the waiting area. “Make yourself at home.”

“This can’t wait, Lilian.”

“I’m afraid it will have to. You might think you’re my number one priority, but every single client of mine is number one when they’ve booked and paid me for my time. So, sit down and wait until I am free, or leave and come back on Tuesday. Your choice.”

She sweeps into her office, firmly closing the door behind her.

Goddammit.

I pace, each minute feeling like an hour. For two days, I’ve tried to find the right words to tell Imogen that our marriage is over, and I’ve come up empty. I can’t believe howmuch has changed since I married her almost seven weeks ago. Then I’d been certain she’d crack first, and I intended to isolate her and make her miserable enough to ensure she did.

But she’s changed me in ways I didn’t see coming, and I cannot live with myself if, by keeping her, I deny her the chance to be a mother.

I can’t be that cruel to the woman I love.

I freeze on the spot. Love? Do I?

Oh, hell… I think I do.

It changes nothing, though. If, by setting Imogen free, I suffer, then so be it. She can live the life she should have had before her father made the deal with mine. She can return to Los Angeles, start working in the field she loves, find a man worthy of her, and have lots of babies as clever, witty, and beautiful as she is.

As for me… I can live a life of solitude. I’ll fix The Consortium issue. I could lie and say she’s the one who asked me for a divorce and I’m not in the habit of imprisoning women. Or perhaps I can say she’s sterile, and I need an heir, so she’ll have to go. Something. Anything. Whatever it takes, I’ll figure it out.

Eventually, the door opens, and a man in his twenties emerges. He looks like hell—something I’m all too familiar with. I’ve left Lilian’s office on many occasions looking similar to him.

“Alexander.” She beckons to me, then pivots and returns to her office.

I follow, closing the door. “I’m sorry for bursting in.”

The surprise that registers on her face is reminiscent of someone who has had a profound breakthrough in a therapy session, unlocking a new level of understanding and connection with their client. I guess she has. I’m sure I’ve neverapologized to Lilian, and there have been many occasions I probably should have, considering the shit she’s taken from me over the years.

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me what brings you here on a Friday?”

Lilian has a black leather couch for her clients, but I’ve never used it. I prefer to either stand and pace, or sit in an upright chair across from her desk, but for some reason today, I take the couch. Her eyes flare, recognizing another difference in my demeanor.

“I’m divorcing Imogen.”

She picks up a pen and opens the journal she uses to make notes on her clients. Lilian is old school. No tapping on a keyboard for her.

“Mmhmm.” She scrawls something. I try to read it, but her writing is only legible to her.

“Mmhmm? Is that it?”

---