Page 5 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

“About?”

“Business.”

I inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly. “It’s handled.”

He studied me. “Is it?”

I sat down across from him, legs spread wide, one arm resting on the back of the couch. “What’s therealreason you’re here, old man? I know it damn sure ain’t about Parker.”

He chuckled low, setting his glass down. “You know why I never looked at you to take over, Sebastian?”

My jaw tightened. I truly hated when muthafuckas called me by my government. “We both know why, but what’s done is done now, right?”

His expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker in his eyes. The grudging acceptance. The truth that neither of us could ignore. “What’s done is done,” he said, leaning forward. “But if you gon' wear the crown, you better be ready for the weight of it.”

I met his gaze, unblinking. “I was born ready. Regardless of who you stuck your dick in, I’m here and I got this.”

Silence stretched between us. Then he reached for the decanter, pouring whiskey into the other glass. He slid one across the table to me. “To more wealth and power,” he said, raising his glass.

I picked mine up, eyeing him as we both took a slow sip. This wasn’t a moment of fatherly approval. This was a transaction. A silent agreement. He didn’t have a choice but to acknowledge me now. And I would make damn sure he never regretted it.

He didn’t linger. He never did. After finishing his Hennessy, he stood, straightened his suit, and gave me one last look, like he was sizing me up, measuring whether I was worth the name I carried. Then, without another word, he left.

I sat there for a long moment, the taste of Hennessy sharp on my tongue, my mind running over every unspoken thing between us. The tension, the resentment, the guilt, the years of being kept at a distance while Silas was molded into the perfect heir. Now the golden boy was dead, and the bastard was left to carry the weight.

I let out a slow breath before downing the rest of my drink. The city stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, a sea of lights blinking against the dark. The world outside was sleeping, but I never did. Not fully, anyway.

So I did what I always did when my thoughts got too loud. I worked them out. I made my way to the private gym on the lower level of the building. The weights were already lined up, the bench press waiting. I stripped off my shirt, the cool air hitting my skin as I wrapped my hands, flexing my fingers. My muscles ached from tension, from all the shit sitting heavy on my shoulders.

I pressed play on the sound system, andDuffle Bag Trappy’slatest EP filled the room, the bass vibrating through the floors. Then I got to work.

Breath after breath, pushing the weight, feeling the burn, letting my body drown out the storm in my head. By the time I was done, my arms were tight, my chest burning, sweat slicking my skin. My body felt lighter, but my mind was still tangled. I rolled my shoulders, exhaling deeply before heading back into the penthouse to shower.

The water was scalding, just how I liked it. I let it run over me, washing away the sweat. My hands pressed against the cool tile as I let the steam rise around me, my thoughts circling Parker. The way she looked tonight. The way she covered her fear with attitude. The way she sat in my passenger seat, arms crossed, chin lifted like she wasn’t already mine. Still thought she could outmaneuver me.

After drying off and throwing on a pair of boxer briefs and sweats, I made my way to my master bedroom. I sat down, rolling a blunt and lit up, taking a slow drag as I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.

The wedding was in three days. In three days, Parker Whitmore was gon’ be mine. And no matter how hard she fought, she’d come to understand one thing real soon. There was no getting away from me. This shit was just the beginning.

Parker

I f e l t l i k eI was suffocating in this fucking dress. The lace of my wedding gown, delicate and hand-stitched, felt like a noose around my throat. The diamond tiara nestled in my pinned-up curls sparkled under the soft lighting, but it might as well have been a crown of thorns. I was beautiful. A princess ready for her fairy tale but this shit wasn’t a fairy tale. This was a prison sentence wrapped in money and power.

The mirrors in the bridal suite reflected a picture-perfect bride, but all I saw was a woman trapped. My hands clenched at my sides, the weight of my engagement ring—a new one, picked by Shooter—burning against my skin. It might’ve been the biggest rock I’d ever seen, but it was truly nothing special.

A knock on the door made me flinch. “Ten minutes,” came my father’s voice, cold, clipped and impersonal.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. I turned away from the mirror, forcing myself to breathe. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I should’ve had a father who actually gave a damn about my happiness. I should’ve had a mother to help me, to wipe my tears, and to tell me I was making the wrong choice. But my mother had run away when I was a toddler, unable to take this life anymore.

And now, I was standing here, dressed for a wedding I never wanted, about to marry a man I feared, resented, and—God help me—found devastatingly attractive.

The church was filled with power players from both sides of the family. Criminals disguised as businessmen. Women draped in designer gowns, whispering behind champagne flutes. The weight of a legacy built on blood and wealth pressed down on me with every step I took down that fucking aisle.

Shooter stood at the front, a picture of control. His black tux was sharp, perfectly tailored to his tall, muscular frame. The crisp white shirt beneath it was unbuttoned at the collar, like he couldn’t be bothered to play the perfect groom. But those blue eyes—cold, dark, and piercing—never left me. I gripped my bouquet tighter, my pulse pounding. He looked good. Too damn good. But his presence was suffocating.

The priest droned on, and I barely heard a word. My vows were spoken on autopilot, my lips moving but my heart numb. Then Shooter’s deep, measured voice cut through the haze.

“I do.”

---