Page 38 of Unholy Nights

Because I will never, ever, let that happen. Emerald will never belong to anyone but me. I'll burn down the entire fucking town before I allow that woman to take her from me.

I'm not usually prone to outbursts of emotion, but something about Emerald brings out the worst in me.

The best in me.

My fists fly in a flurry of strikes, sweat beading on my forehead as I throw everything I have at the bag. It's not enough.

The home gym is empty, the sun barely risen, but it's all I've wanted to do since I left Emerald's room. But no matter how hard I strike, how much weight I bench, how many miles I run on the treadmill, it never lessens.

Sweat drips down my bare chest, and my muscles burn, but I don't stop. Can't stop. Not when I don’t know what I’ll do if I stop. Not when I can still hear Madeline's voice in my head, cutting into Emerald like a fucking knife, making her bleed.

"Everything you are belongs to me."

The heavy bag swings wildly, and I keep punching until my knuckles are bruised and raw. Until there's blood spattering the black leather, leaving tiny red constellations across its surface. Until my lungs ache, and my vision blurs.

The physical outlet is the only thing keeping me from storming upstairs and showing Madeline exactly how wrong she is about who owns what in this house.

Because Emerald doesn't belong to her mother. She belongs tome.Has since that first night when I saw her crying on a balcony, face lifted to the stars as tears tracked down her cheeks. Her pain mirrored my own, a kindred spirit that called to something deep in my soul.

It was like the universe had reached out and slapped me in the face, waking me from a long, dark dream.

I didn't know her then, didn't know why she was crying, or what she was running from, but none of that mattered. In thatmoment, I saw her. Saw the loneliness that matched mine, the aching emptiness, the need for someone to hold on to. And I knew I had to make her mine. No matter what it took. No matter the cost.

Her soul has been mine since that moment.

Of course, I had no idea then just how bad things were for her. No idea of the hell she lived in, of the nightmare her mother created. And knowing it now makes me want to murder someone.

Preferably Madeline.

Everything since then—marrying Madeline, moving into this mansion, playing the dutiful husband—has been leading to this moment. This opportunity to take what's mine and make it permanent. Irrevocable.

My father would be proud of this cold calculation, this careful restraint. Harrison Astor built the Astor legacy on control—ruthless, unrelenting control that crushed everything in its path, including his own son. But I learned from his mistakes. Where he used control to destroy, I use it to protect. Where he broke things, I save them. The iron grip I keep on my darkness isn't just about power—it's about making sure I never become him. Making sure I use this poison in my blood to shield rather than shatter.

The heavy bag shudders as I unleash a series of brutal kicks, the chain creaking above. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging them, and I wipe it away with the back of one hand.

But Madeline's words found their mark. I saw it in Emerald's eyes last night, the way doubt crept in like poison. The way she looked at me after Madeline mentioned Charlotte, fear warring with trust as she tried to reconcile the monster her mother painted me as with the man who held her while she cried.

"You're here early."

I don't pause my assault on the bag as Kendra's voice floats across the gym. Madeline's assistant hovers in the doorway, her usually impeccable appearance slightly disheveled. There are shadows under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide.

Madeline’s work, no doubt.

"What do you want?" I ask, landing another combination of punches and sending the bag swinging again.

"Mrs. Delacroix asked me to remind you about the menu tasting this afternoon." Kendra's normally uptight voice wavers slightly. "She wants to make sure you'll be there this time."

I catch the bag, steadying it as I turn to fix Kendra with a look that makes her take an instinctive step back. "Tell my wife I'll be wherever the fuck I want to be whenever the fuck I want to be there."

Kendra swallows hard but stands her ground. "She also wanted me to tell you that she's arranged for Daniel Montgomery Jr. to escort Emerald to the Christmas party. She says it's not up for discussion."

The rage that's been simmering in my blood reaches a boiling point. I stalk toward Kendra, satisfaction curling through me as she shrinks back against the doorframe. "Let me be very clear," I say, my voice soft and lethal. "Emerald isn't going anywhere with anyone except me. And if Madeline has a problem with that, she can take it up with me directly instead of hiding behind her messenger."

"I... I'll tell her," Kendra stammers, already backing away.

"Good." I turn back to the bag, dismissing her. "Oh, and Kendra? The next time my wife wants to threaten me, tell her to do it herself. I'd hate for something to happen to you just because you were following orders."

I wait until the door closes behind her before resuming my attack on the bag.

---