Page 175 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
Our months-long game is a frozen war—my black king cowering on e8, queen exposed on d4, a mirror of my shredded empire, and, ironically, my heart.
His eyes glint, otherworldly, seeing into me. “Vale.” His voice is smooth as sin as he extends his hand.
I shake it, his grip firm, grounding.
“You look like shit.” He crosses to an ornate bar. “Whiskey?” Then without a pause, adds, “You should probably say no.”
Fuck you.“Make it a double.”
Though he raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t argue.
Moments later, I take the crystal from him and down half the contents.
As if it can dull the pain rotting inside me.
“Your move, if I recall.”
We sit, and I shove a pawn to f4. It’s a weak move, and it shows Altair that my hand is shaking. “You had information?” I don’t want to be here.
Altair slides his rook to c1, pinning my bishop. “You’re alone tonight.” His carefully wielded words sear.
Fuck you. Again.
Altair leans back, his gaze cold, as hard as granite.
The chessboard sits between us, a battlefield of carved wood and unspoken truths, but it’s his silence that pins me in place. He swirls the special reserve Bonds in his glass, the amber liquid catching the light, and I brace for whatever he’s about to unload. The man didn’t summon me to his inner sanctum for small talk.
“You’re unraveling, Dorian.” His voice is low, deliberate, each word a stone dropped into the hollow pit of my chest.
“And how the fuck would you know that?”
Then it hits me.
The first couple of times he called, I didn’t answer.
So no doubt he reached out to Brennan.
Gritting my teeth, I bite back the urge to snap at him, telling him to mind his own damn business. After all, Altair is not my enemy, even though I’m looking for one right now. Someone I can lay out cold, for the satisfaction of punching something solid.
Anything to get rid of this gut-churning hopeless energy. “You invited me here to play therapist?” My tone’s sharper than I intend, laced with the raw edge of a man who’s been barely hanging on for days.
He tilts his head to one side, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved. “I invited you because you’re no good to anyone like this. Not to yourself. Not to Brennan. And sure as hell not to Isla.” Her name lands like a punch, stealing my breath. “I thought you were a lot of things, my friend. But I never believed you were a goddamn idiot.”
The whiskey burns my throat as I take another swallow, trying to drown the truth in his words. My eyes flick to the chessboard, to my queen on d4, exposed and vulnerable. Like Isla. Like everything I’ve built. “You don’t know shit about my life, Montgomery.”
“Don’t I?” He leans forward now, elbows on his knees, the intensity in his gaze unrelenting. “You see it here in the club all the time. Wannabe Doms who think control is the answer to everything. They come in here, all bluster and chains, thinking dominance is about bending someone to their will, forcing submission like it’s a prize to be won. But that’s not power, Dorian. That’s weakness dressed up in leather.”
His words slice through me, sharp and precise, cutting to the bone. I want to look away, but his gaze holds me, unyielding. The pink diamond ring in my pocket bites intomy palm, a reminder of the control I’ve tried to wield, the cage I built around Isla’s fire.
“Real dominance”—Altair’s voice drops to a near feral growl—”is about trust. It’s about creating a space where someone chooses to surrender, not because you’ve forced their hand, but because they believe in you. Because they know you’ll catch them when they fall. You’ve been so busy trying to own Isla, to lock her down, that you forgot the first rule of this world: submission, love, trust, loyalty… They’re gifts, not a right. And you’re pissing it all away.”
The air is too thick, and my chest is tight with the weight of his truth. I see Isla’s face—her green eyes blazing with defiance, her body trembling under my touch, not just from desire but from fear of losing herself.
And Brennan…
His loyalty is a constant, something I’ve always taken for granted. Now his silence is a wall I don’t know how to breach. “Fuck…”
“Pull your head out of your ass, Vale.” Altair’s tone is unrelenting, but there’s a flicker of empathy in his eyes. “You pushed them both. Brennan’s been your shadow for years, taking bullets for you—literal and otherwise—and you’re letting your guilt over Lena blind you to what you’re doing to him. To her.”
