Page 92 of Sweet Torment

The dinner at my family’s estate earlier was an exercise in barely contained hostility. Our mothers floated through the space like elegant ghosts, pretending everything was fine. My mother’s pearls caught the light as she entertained, her eyes never quite focusing on anything real. Freddie’s mother kept touching his arm, the concern obvious. Her eyes were dull. Owen’s mother didn’t speak unless spoken to, her gaze fixed on her plate.

Emma had been there too, slipping Owen a note while their father was deep in conversation with mine about some property acquisition. Owen had tucked it into his pocket, his face giving nothing away, but I’d seen the slight relaxation in his shoulders afterward. Small victories in a war we’re currently losing.

“Don’t forget to re-raise when I check to you,” Vincent tells Owen now, his voice low but perfectly audible to everyone at the table. Owen’s eyes flash with anger at being treated like a child who doesn’t understand the game.

“I know how to play poker,” Owen says flatly.

“Do you?” Vincent challenges, eyeing his son. “Because lately, I’ve been questioning your judgment on all fronts.”

A scantily clad omega appears at my elbow with a fresh drink I didn’t ask for. Her scent is all wrong. Not Bianca. I take the glass just to make her go away.

“Having fun, gentlemen?” Charles Miller asks, his public charm firmly in place even here in private. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper boys’ night.”

“Fascinating definition of ‘fun’ you have,” Freddie mutters, just loud enough for us to hear. His father’s smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes go cold.

Across from me, Owen tenses as another omega in lingerie places her hand on his shoulder. She leans down, pressing her breasts against his back, her lips brushing his ear. I can’t hear what she whispers, but Owen’s reaction is immediate.

“Don’t touch me.”

She giggles, misreading the threat in his tone. “Don’t be like that, handsome.” She slides onto his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck as she tosses her hair. “I could make this night so much better for you.”

One second she’s on his lap, the next she’s sprawled on the floor, looking up in shock. Owen stands, towering over her, his fury evident.

“Get. The fuck. Off me.” He turns to our fathers, his voice dropping dangerously. “Either these women leave, or I do.”

“Mind your manners, boy,” Vincent growls, rising to his full height. “Sit back down.”

“No.” Owen’s hands clench at his sides. “I’ve had enough of this shit. We played nice, we had dinner with the family, we smiled for the mothers. But I’m done.”

Alexander laughs darkly. “What’s the matter, Owen? Afraid the omega might smell another woman on you? She got you that firmly under her thumb already?”

Tristan is close to snapping next to me. I press my knee against his under the table in warning.

“Her name is Bianca,” I say, my voice even despite the anger I’m struggling to control. “And I suggest you start using it.”

My father’s eyebrow raises slightly—the only sign that he’s surprised by my outburst. “The omega is quite the topic of conversation lately,” he says, deliberately ignoring my request.

Our fathers continue playing as if nothing is amiss. Vincent leans back in his chair, spreading his arms wide. “Come on, boys. Lighten up. These lovely ladies are a gift.” He winks at the woman Owen just shoved to the floor, who has now retreated to a corner. “A little palate cleanser between courses, if you will.”

“Fuck you,” Owen spits.

“Is this how you talk to your father now? Seems you’ve all forgotten your place.”

“You sold me. You stopped being my father a long time ago.”

“It was a strategic alliance,” Vincent corrects, dealing another hand of cards. “Which you boys royally fucked up for pussy.”

I grip the edge of the table, forcing myself to breathe evenly.

Charles points his cigar at Freddie. “Do you have any idea what you’ve lost?”

“Our souls?” Tristan suggests dryly.

Vincent laughs. “Don’t be so dramatic. It was a business arrangement. A damn good one.” He signals to one of the women hanging around, who immediately comes to perch on the arm of his chair. He runs his hand up her thigh. “Besides, no one said you couldn’t have your fun on the side. What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

Touching anyone other than Bianca would be utterly repellent. And I know I speak for all of us. Alexander chuckles, raising his glass in a mock toast as Vincent’s hand disappears beneath her skirt.

“We’re done here.” I place my cards face down and push my chair back.