Page 174 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
He moved into an apartment in the same building, five floors below ours. It might as well be on another planet.
His silence is worse than the distance, leaving me gutted.
And Isla…
She’s out there, living her life, having coffees with her sister, going to campus, attending events where Margaux’s husband is playing. It’s as if I’m nothing. As ifwe’renothing.
I curl my fingers around the pink diamond ring in my pocket. Its sharp edges carve into my palm until the pain slicks with heat. I should have left it behind, but I couldn’t. Instead, I keep it with me constantly.
I don’t actively rap on the door. I simply allow the knocker to fall, then I glance to the right so the camera can perform its magic of ascertaining who’s allowed in and who will receive a visit from a shadow somewhere in the distance.
A soft, almost inaudible snick tells me the lock has released.
The door eases inward. Taranis, Altair’s dungeon master, fills the frame, a mountain of muscle. His eyes rake over me like I’m a trespasser he could crush without effort. “Vale.” The rumbled word is a warning and a welcome at the same time.
“I’m expected.”
He glances over his shoulder. Receiving confirmation, he nods and steps aside.
The foyer swallows me whole—polished wood gleaming under muted light. Pew-like benches are stiff along the wall. Probably because it’s a BDSM club, and the owner wants to telegraph his intent, that no comfort is offered here.
Miss Watson is seated at her old-fashioned desk, her gray suit pressed within an inch of its life. This evening, her obnoxious purple bow tie provides a splash of insolence.
Beyond the alcove is the club’s actual dungeon with bass thumping like a second heartbeat. I know there are shadows in there, twisting in Shibari ropes, and no doubt a woman’s barely covered rear swaying in the red-painted spanking booth.
For the first time in my life, none of that holds my interest.
Miss Watson scratches my name into the ledger without pause, her expression unreadable.
“Mr. Vale.” Her voice is crisp enough to slice through glass. “Alone tonight?”
The words hit harder than they should. I flinch. Every day for years—until now—Brennan has been a constant presence at my side.
While Isla has become as necessary to me as my next breath.
At the wedding reception, I imagined us bringing her here, dressing her beautifully and provocatively as we introduced her to the delights of flogging.
Instead, I fucked everything up.
“Mr. Vale?”
I understand her confusion. She’s never seen me without Brennan. “Yeah. Alone.”
If Altair hadn’t said this was urgent, I wouldn’t be here.
He has intel, no doubt. Too delicate for a phone call, too dangerous for anyone else’s ears. Otherwise, I’d still be clinging to the penthouse like a ghost haunting my own ruin.
“I’ll buzz you through, Sir.”
I make my way across to a side wall, then navigate around artfully arranged greenery. After I press my palm to the wood, a hidden panel slides back to reveal the elevator. Cold light scans me before the doors part.
Inside, I press my finger to the call button. The compartment hums, carrying me upward.
Moments later, the doors open onto the second floor, and Altair Montgomery’s domain spreads out before me—modern art glinting under soft light, leather and crystal, representations of a man who values privacy as much as he does power.
I walk in, the ring still clenched in my fist.
Altair stands by a chessboard that’s been moved onto a small round table angled between two chairs.
