PATRICK

I've been acting like a pathetic lover ever since I received a call from Mia this afternoon proposing we should have dinner together. What the fuck is she planning to do now? I tap my fingers restlessly on the dining table, casting several glances at the elegant dinner setting made by Imelda, the only maid whose food was considered the best when my wife lived in this mansion.

It's a shame that Butler Lucas refused to stay. Talking about foolish loyalty, how could he quit just because Mia is no longer here? Stupid old man! I never liked him anyway so he can go to hell. He always fed my wife crap about me—I know he did. He was against me marrying Mia, claiming it was too sudden and whatnot.

Either way, my little butterfly will be in our house tonight. Every muscle in my body is tense with anticipation and nerves. She's Mia Kingston. My stubborn little wife that I can't live without. I know how tenacious she can be—something I've learned a hard way for over two months now—and I'm sure she's up to no good if I consider the impending divorce trial.

But I refuse to lose her. No matter what she did last night in the gala or whatever argument for divorce she may have for tomorrow, I still won't plead guilty to her accusations as she blindly expects me to. If necessary, I'll ruin her little business for good until she's left with absolutely nothing in her name. Maybe then she'll understand who keeps her name afloat in this city.

And that frigid lawyer of hers won't know what hit her when she glimpses the surprise I have for her. Nobel prize winner or not, everyone has a price, and if not a weakness will suffice. She's no exception. She'll have only two choices left by the end of tomorrow: to either quit representing my wife in court, or the two little kids of hers will suffer a crucial death on that school trip.

"Mr. Kingston," calls the old maid with a happy voice I almost forgot she had.

"What?" Only my eyes move to regard her as I'm still seated quietly at the dining table.

"Madam is here!" she announces jovially, and my legs bolt up as though they're on autopilot. "There!" She points out and Mia walks in.

The very first glance at her steals my breath away. Like a fool I've become for hours now, I freeze, watching the elegant steps of her flawless long legs in black heels, almost the same platform heels she was wearing on a catwalk in Versailles Palace when I first saw her in France.

Ten fucking years now. How did time fly by so fast? She looked like a princess back then, and now she's more of a queen, a goddess. My Aphrodite in a silky bronze dress, the color as radiant as her glowing skin. Mine. She'll always be my little butterfly and I'll make sure she never forgets that.

"Thank you, Imelda," I hear her say softly, the smile so sweet directed to the old maid.

"Always a pleasure, madam. I made your favorites," the maid rumbles on, but my attention is only on my wife.

How I miss her! For the first time, I just want to hug her and hold her against me for so long. As hard as my dick may become, I would be content with just having her in my arms without even fucking her. For once I only desire to hear her voice, her laughter, and to see her smile while we have dinner and talk as we used to.

Is it too much to ask? Is it so fucking hard for her to forget the past so we can have our home as happy as it used to be? Can't she just forget about Anne and any other insignificant woman I've fucked before and come back home? I can't stand this any longer! My life has been hell without her, and this house has been cold since the day she left.

"Hi, Patrick," Mia greets me.

Then I remember to breathe.

And at each breath, I take her in, the smell of her sexy perfume unleashing my predatory libido, reminding me that I haven't made love to her for three months now and there's no one else I desire but her.

I clear my throat and fix the jacket of my blue Armani suit. "Hi," I reply, stepping out of my seat to pull a chair for her like the gentleman I was when I had my first meal with her in one of the finest restaurants in Paris.

Good old days. I miss them. I miss her.

"Thank you," she says dryly, setting a box of champagne she's brought with her.

Veuve Clicquot Demi-Sec, the same one we had on our first date in Paris. What the fuck is she up to? Dread pierces through me like a sharp blade, turning me wholly innervated.

I don't think I like it.

My eyebrows harden as I slump back in my chair, sitting adjacent to her. "You didn't have to bring another champagne," I say, indicating another bottle on the table.

"You know me..." She sits upright, placing her black purse on the chair next to hers. "I don't visit anyone's house empty-handed. It's a tradition." She smiles that sensual, delicious smile of hers that always makes my heart leap.

It's true. She always brought along a bottle of wine or champagne, if not a pie or cake, to any place we visited together. And everyone would love her like a magic charm, and I don't know how I allowed that charm to slip out of my grasp.

My jaw tightens, self-guilt crushing me treacherously as I let the young maid serve food on our plates. Maybe I'm to blame for everything, now I start to understand. But I'm just a man and all men cheat; it's a law of the universe whether the majority agree with me or not.

As the maid leaves, Mia proposes a nameless toast, which I agree with so many questions inside. She drinks her champagne right away, but I don't. Instead, I take a long moment staring at the glass filled with sparking golden liquid, wondering what exactly Kia is trying to pull here.

"What? You think I poisoned it?" Her smooth voice breaks the silence, and she's playfully tilting her glass while reclining in her seat comfortably with one elbow propped on the table.

Poison it? That's unlikely. I know she can be all sorts of a spitfire when it comes to getting back at someone, but killing isn't her forte.

So I smirk and draw the glass toward my mouth. I take a long sip before setting it on the table and indulge myself with the silverware and a ceramic plate of risotto afterward.

"What is this about, Mia?" I finally succumb to curiosity, a big bite rolling in my mouth as I chew the food slowly.

Her lopsided smile returns, and more than wary, it always makes me hard. She's a fucking temptress! She always knows how weak I get when she does certain silly things like biting her bottom lip, eating a strawberry with her lips so red and moist, or when she's simply wearing lacy and heels.

"Why don't you just enjoy your dinner, Patrick?" she says suggestively, her delicate hand busy on her plate. "Who knows when we'll have such an opportunity again, huh?" Smiling, her eyes regard me this time and I hate how perfectly mocking they are.

I hate how confident she is.

Frowning, I snap, "What do you mean by that?"

A guttural grown escapes her as she throws the fork onto her plate. "Okay, fine! All I wanted was to enjoy Imelda's special gastronomy without killing the buzz, but since you insist..." She sighs heavily, giving me a level look.

I don't like this. I don't fucking like any of this walking-in-riddles kind of conversation she came up with.

"What the fuck are you up to, Mia?" I deadpan, my heart pounding all too fast for my own good.

She'll be the death of me, I swear. If not I'll be the one to kill her right now if she insists on playing with my heart like this.

She smiles again and lays her perfectly manicured fingers on the table, her plate in between. It irks me that she took off her rings. I can't stand watching her fingers bare.

"Well, I'm here to have you willingly sign the divorce paper, Patrick. The same ones you tore when lawyers brought them," she says in a serious tone of voice, her one eyebrow quirked up in a very familiar fashion.

I burst into laughter, for this is too absurd. She's funny and stupid and all sorts of sexy by coming here only to demand impossible things from me. I laugh again and again until I take another sip of the champagne to quell my amusement.

"I thought we're having a trial tomorrow, butterfly. What happened to the virtue called patience, huh? Or could it be you're not even sure if I'll you'll be able to win even after all the stunts you've pulled since the day you left this house?" I ask because I'm somehow having a difficult time understanding her reasoning for this.

Her long neck tenses as she swallows thickly, and all I want is to grip it so tightly and bite the soft sensitive skin until a series of moans fill the dining room.

I don't think I'll let her leave this house after dinner. I must have her tonight and I don't care in what form because she belongs to me. Just the thought of her body crushing beneath mine as I fuck her missionary makes my blood hot, let alone the way I'd pull her hair and take her from behind like a little slut.

"I'll sign no shit, butterfly. So I suggest we enjoy this delicious food together and think of the long night ahead." To simmer my raging hormones, I finger my glass and down the rest of my drink in one go.

"Well," Mia whispers with a dejected sigh, "you should know better that I hate wasting my time, Patrick. And I didn't come all the way here to warm up your dining table and make your night as wonderful as you're already imagining."

Her body shifts when she cocks her head aside to grab her purse. I wait patiently until she produces an envelope, a tablet, and a flash drive.

"Perhaps this can change your mind," she goes on, winding the tablet to life while staring unblinkingly at me, all the food and drinks abandoned.

It takes a few minutes for me to get ahold of the tablet and see what's so important that it can make me give in to my wife's demands.

And that's when I come across some dangerous information that could shake the whole of Portland if not the entire USA once it leaks out or fall in the wrong hands.

It's the secret ledger involving the Drug Pricing Bill Amendment which failed miserably last year. All the lobbyists, politicians, and economic giants involved are mentioned here, and the strategies and mayhem employed are included with evident details.

"The Ex-File." I hear my chest tightening, shock and anger merging to make my muscles tense. I glare sharply at Mia and ask, "Where did you get this?"

She's chewing her food with ease as she replies, "I don't think that's any of your business, Patrick. And also... No, that is not the Ex-File. It's just a very tiny part of it and so you can imagine what else is there and what will happen if the whole world finds out about it."

Furiously, I lift the fucking tablet and smash it down the floor. Through gritted teeth, I tell her, "I don't think you're gonna use it anywhere, Mia, because you're not going to leave this house unless you tell me where you got it and who else knows about this."

"I knew you'd do that," she says, referring to the broken tablet. "But just know, there are several copies of it." She shifts in her seat, carefully abandoning the table by edging back her upper body and folding her arms across her chest.

I narrow my eyes at her, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turn white on the table.

"All I need is your signature on our divorce papers and we'll both have a rest from this, Patrick," she says softly as if she's pleading with me while I know she is not. "I don't want to fight you in court tomorrow because I'm so sick and tired of dragging this out while all it takes is a little understanding for everyone to protect what they have."

Protect what they have? I'm confused here. But I don't have time to play mind games because I feel cornered by this sly woman. Is it all? Does she expect me to just give in? Driven with uncontrollable ire, I try to jump on her when she flings a gun so swiftly and points it at me.

What the fuck! Does she now carry a gun? Another laughter rolls out of my chest as I look at the weapon sheathed upon me.

"Don't even think about it!" she warns, her eyes full of menace now. "Don't even dream of keeping me here against my will, Patrick" — she stands up, a gun still pointed at my face — "because it'll only worsen things for you. If I'm not out of this house in two hours to come the whole world will know about that file. If you don't sign that divorce paper, the same fate will fall upon you because everything is set! You taught how to play King's Chase, Patrick, so try to remember the "Finish in the middle technique, huh?" She laughs like crazy, the kind of laugh I know by heart.

It's the laugh of a King. The one with absolute power.

I'm trembling, my teeth clattering against each other, my breath so thick that it ricochets through my ears so soundly. If I let this information leak then everything I've been working so hard for will crumble. The Kingston Pharmaceutical—the one thing representing my blood and sweat will be over. No, I can't let that happen, but I also can't let go of her.

What the fuck should I do? I grip the edges of the table so tightly, staring at the little girl I've raised into a woman flipping my world upside-down. Maybe she's just bluffing, so I want to believe but I think she's serious about everything. But how can I let her go when I love her top much? I don't fucking want to lose her. She's my goddamn wife!

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A/N: Phuuf! Here we go, darlings. Do we have the bull by the horns or not? Would it be better to wait for the trial or this was much better? Let me hear your opinions and pardon this rushed chapter without editing lol. I was too excited.