Empire of Desire(Empire #1)(3)

And it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Nothing does.

“She’s growing up so fast.” King sighs, watching Gwyneth help the catering staff. “I want her to go back into being my little angel.”

“Kids aren’t constant.”

“Don’t I fucking know it. The other day, she was having a virginity talk with her friend.”

“Why the fuck are you talking about your daughter’s virginity to me? Or at all?”

He waves me off and continues, “I should’ve known this was coming, but I still had dark thoughts about all the ways someone could take her away. Then I started to seriously consider the option of becoming a killer to protect her.”

“Just so we’re clear, I won’t be your attorney.”

“Fuck you, Nate.”

“For abandoning you when you do something stupid?”

“For being a jealous motherfucker because I always win, not only in the street fights and with my higher grades, but I also had a child before you.”

“First of all, you didn’t win all the fights and the ones you did were always by some dirty play. Second of all, grades are subjective. I still win more cases than you do and my methods are smart and efficient, unlike your hard, ruthless ways that are more trouble than necessary. As for children, no thanks. I practically raised my nephew and he’s enough children for a lifetime.” I check my watch. Twenty minutes since I arrived. Five minutes more than I’d planned to stay. I place my glass on the counter. “I’m out.”

“Where to?”

“A meeting with a client.”

“On a weekend?”

“No rest for the wicked.” I turn and start to leave, but his voice stops me.

“Wait.”

“What?” I glance at him over my shoulder.

“You didn’t wish Gwen a happy birthday.”

“Do it on my behalf. I’ll leave you the gift.”

“Fuck no. You’ll go over there and do it yourself. I don’t want to see the disappointment on my angel’s face when she learns that her uncle Nate completely ignored her on her special day.”

Five minutes. I won’t stay any longer than that.





Gwyneth





I’m officially an adult now.

Or that’s what I like to think. Dad definitely still considers me a little girl that he needs to protect at all times.

I can sense him watching me, even when he’s out of sight. Especially during the moments when I plan to do something he doesn’t approve of.

Ever since I showed up at his door when I was less than one day old, Kingsley Shaw has made it his mission to protect me at all costs. It didn’t matter that he was seventeen going on eighteen and in high school at the time and had no damn clue how to raise a kid.

Especially a naughty, active one like me.

He still singlehandedly raised me while he went to college and then law school and passed the bar. Let’s just say that toddler me didn’t exactly make Dad’s college life easy, but he never once made me feel like he was absent.

I’ve always been a well-loved daughter, albeit lonely, with a brain that suddenly becomes blank for no apparent reason. The therapist Dad took me to says it’s depression. I call it an empty brain that no therapist can cure, but that’s not the point. The point is that I was loved but never spoiled or treated as if I were royalty just because my grandpa was rich or Dad owns a law firm.

He’s still strict as fuck and gives me a curfew—that I will hopefully get rid of today.

I tell my dad’s friends that I’m going to grab something to drink. I don’t really have many of my own friends, so Dad usually brings his. When I do invite my classmates, they get super intimidated by all the hotshot businessmen and political figures that are present, so I stopped making them and myself flustered.

I don’t like my birthday anyway. It reminds me of the day when my empty brain was born.

And the woman who gave it to me.

Anyway, I walk among the crowd, forcing smiles. They don’t come naturally to me, not like they do for Dad. Many things he excels at are my weaknesses, such as physical activities, charisma, and a complete brain, I guess.

What I’m good at, though, is multitasking, so I don’t have any trouble running my gaze over all the people present while smiling and playing my birthday girl role—the role I play every year for Dad.

My dark red dress clings to my skin, but that has nothing to do with the perspiration after so much moving around. I resist the urge to wipe my sweaty hands on the material. Not only is it designer, but I also chose it carefully, so I’d look like an adult.

It molds to my curves and shows off my waist, and it also has a deep V-neckline, accentuating my breasts and teasing some cleavage. I even sacrificed my favorite white sneakers for the black high heels that are currently murdering my poor feet.

But it’s all for nothing if I can’t find him.

My nape heats and strands of my long hair stick to my neck and temples. The more distance I cross, the more I clink my nails together.

Almost everyone Dad knows is here, almost, because my step-grandma is never welcome in Grandpa’s house, per Dad’s words.

And him.

The man I’ve started to look for in a crowd when I have no right to.