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“Goodnight, Miss Korsgaard.”
“Goodnight, Master.”
He left the room and headed back to his own, knowing it would take forever before he slept again.
*
The tap, tap, tap of Miss Korsgaard’s patent kitten heels on his office’s flagstone floor distracted Severin from the documents he was supposed to be reviewing. Figures danced and writhed before his eyes as he struggled to make sense of the information Rodrigo had brought for him to review.
“So, as you can see, it’s finally done. The property. The house. All yours.”
Severin leaned back in his chair, staring at the paperwork. He’d never completed high school, let alone college. All he knew was how to manipulate metal and fire to do his bidding. He wasn’t someone who could think in chess moves, three steps ahead. His life was designed to be controlled, predictable. Thoughts about certain things, like fighting and art and finding balance in a piece he created – physical things came fast. There he could be decisive.
But he wasn’t a businessman. No one would ever discuss philosophy or literature with him. He’d read a lot, but couldn’t analyze what he’d read the way people like Rodrigo and Miss Korsgaard could. And numbers like Rodrigo dealt with? They didn’t make sense to him on the best of days.
“So the investments you suggested turned out in our favor.”
“Yes.” Rodrigo’s expression was neutral. It was never like the man to pat himself on the back, but he’d taken Severin’s stipends from his family over the years and turned them into a fortune for them both.
Severin sighed, the turmoil of his thoughts confusing him. The money meant freedom from people who’d never cared about him in the first place. Rodrigo had helped Severin put an offer on this house, and they’d accepted. No other Leduc had set foot on this land in almost twenty-five years. Sutton once claimed his mother had come when Church’s mother died, but if she’d been there, Severin hadn’t recognized her.
There’d been many strangers in the house that day, and he’d spent most of it locked in his room listening to loud music. He hadn’t been there for Church. Couldn’t be. She’d died, and Severin had tried never to speak of her again. She’d betrayed them both by leaving. She’d fucking promised. It had been a pretty lie.
As for the Leducs – he didn’t know how to feel. He’d given up his stipend years ago, paying Sutton, himself. The money that transferred into Miss Korsgaard’s account every two weeks came from his personal account. He monitored each transaction to make sure she was adequately compensated for her work. He’d told Rodrigo to double it because she’d taken over Sutton’s work in her absence. Miss Korsgaard had objected, but her reaction had been fleeting, guarded, until he’d explained his reasoning. Their sexual dynamic wasn’t what she was being paid for, even though her nipples, which poked impudently at her blouse, distracted him through the entire conversation.
But enough about Korsgaard and her perfect body and lovely face. Enough of how he caught her giving him looks of longing, and how he could hear her squirming in frustration in her bed at night.
Focus, man.
The house.
The house and the property were his last tie to his fucked-up family. Once he signed the paperwork – that was it. Done.
“As you can see, it’s a fair price. More than fair.”
Yes. The number they’d set was almost a gift – to finally be rid of him, he assumed. The house had been bought specifically to store him. A mansion for a child. They’d never lived there as a family. Never slept in it overnight. It was a pretty cage for the animal they hadn’t wanted to keep.
Miss Korsgaard set out the coffee she’d made them then lingered on the threshold of the room. None of this had to be a secret from her. There were things he’d pieced together that he didn’t want her to know, but then Rodrigo didn’t know those things either. Sutton knew, and Church, but there was no reason to cheapen harsh memories with too much retelling. His childhood wasn’t a sideshow.
“Join us if you’d like, Miss Korsgaard.”
Gingerly, she sat.
He scanned the document in front of him. The pen in his hand bent and almost snapped as he stared at the name of the other signatory.
“Who is Loïc Leduc?”
Rodrigo cocked his head. “I’m not sure. We know Martine, Aurelie and Camille. Loïc is a new one.”
His mother, Martine. His sisters, Aurelie and Camille – if he was even remembering their names right – had been born before they sent him away. Who was this Loïc? They’d tried to find out his father’s name, but that man was elusive. Maybe this was an uncle or something?
“Like I’ve said before, Sev – if you want answers, we can hire another private investigator. They don’t have much online though, and the last two investigators came up empty for some reason.”
Severin nodded, but he didn’t want to know. Not really. If they didn’t give a shit about him, why would he go out of his way to find out more? They were strangers to him because they’d chosen to be strangers. He’d harbored a small hope that his sisters would initiate contact with him when they became adults, but the years had passed with nothing. They would be twenty-five and twenty-eight now. Did they even remember he existed?
“They don’t deserve you, Severin.” Rodrigo’s tone was harsh.
Severin smiled automatically. Well-meaning people had been saying that to him for years, but it didn’t erase the feelings that came with knowing he wasn’t worth keeping. Not even worth giving to a new family. He’d been mothballed and forgotten, like the cars he kept at the back of the garage.
