Chapter Text
Landon King stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse that looked down upon the city. He remained draped in an air of effortless magnificence, a masterpiece in his own right. In his hand, he swirled a vintage wine imported specifically for him from a private Italian vineyard. He wore a custom-tailored, emerald-green shirt that cost more than a suburban home, catching the light in a way that made him look like one of the statues he spent his days sculpting.
At thirty, time had done nothing but sharpen his edges. The boyish beauty had evolved into a lethal maturity that only made him more devastatingly attractive. His light brown hair, usually styled to perfection, was slightly undone from the day's weight, with a few stray locks falling over his forehead. His blue eyes, reflecting the city's neon pulse, mirrored the most beautiful sky one could imagine. However, his brows had been knit together for quite some time, casting a melancholic shadow over a face that was otherwise a canvas of perfection.
"Daddy, papa is late," the small voice of the boy behind him broke through the silence of the room.
Landon instantly shook off the thoughts that had begun to pull him under. He smoothed his expression, and turned with one hand in his pocket toward the two children playing on the plush rug. "Don't worry, Leo. Your papa has probably found someone new to scare off. Let's pray for our sake that it takes him a while."
His little girl, Lyra, let out a small, huffy breath. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, trying to back up her twin brother. "But daddy, it’s Friday. Papa has to be here so we can all eat together." She pouted with a level of professional drama that belied her four years of age. "I want to show him the drawing I made yesterday because I missed him."
Landon rolled his eyes at the theatrical display. "Please, Lyra. I know for a fact that 'drawing' is just another thinly veiled bribe for a pony. You can't con a pro, darling."
Leo didn't look up from the tablet he was using to track the GPS on Jeremy’s car—a habit he’d picked up without anyone explicitly teaching him. "Papa said no to the pony three times this week, Lyra. Last week, it was four."
Lyra finally dropped the pout, her face lighting up as she flashed Landon a brilliant, wide-set grin. "See, daddy? My drawings are working," she chirped, her voice dripping with triumphant sweetness. "By next Friday, he’ll be saying yes."
Landon took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine, watching his daughter with a mixture of pride and weary recognition. "I wouldn’t call that a success, Lyra. I expected you to have that pony in the foyer by last week at the latest." He took a deep, theatrical breath, his eyes clouding with mock sorrow. "I’m disappointed. Truly."
Leo stood up with a level of gravity that Landon was certain had been inherited directly from Jeremy’s bloodline, his eyes never leaving the tablet. "He’s entered the garage. He’ll be here in sixty-four seconds."
"Sixty-four seconds," Landon echoed, his voice dropping an octave as his hand instinctively reached for the top button of his emerald shirt. He could already feel it—the air in the penthouse beginning to thin, charged with the approaching storm of Jeremy’s scent. "Leo, put the surveillance equipment away. Lyra, try to look like a child and not a tiny extortionist. And don't you children dare try to snitch on me to your papa, or I’ll cut your allowances until you’re forty."
Lyra giggled with her usual childish mischief, trotting over to her father and wrapping herself around his leg. She looked up at him with blue eyes crinkled in a smirk that mirrored his own. "No, you won't. You said the same thing when you keyed papa’s car."
Landon’s expression didn't flicker, but he felt a sharp jolt of annoyance in his chest—mostly because she was right. "That was a creative critique of his parking, Lyra. There’s a difference.” Even though he looked irritated, his free hand found the top of her head, and stroked her hair with a gentleness and affection.
The elevator doors hissed open behind them. Landon didn't need to look. He felt the shift in the room's pressure, the way the air grew heavy with the scent of storm, amber and honey as his ex-husband made his appearance, looking far too comfortable in a foyer he didn’t have a key to. He was wearing his black jacket, his tie loosened, looking every bit the alpha who had spent the day commanding an empire but still made it back in time for a Friday night argument.
“Papa!” Lyra and Leo cried out in unison, sprinting toward the opening elevator doors. Jeremy, a man clearly accustomed to this ritual, stepped into the foyer and immediately dropped to one knee, opening his massive arms to catch them as they collided into him with full force.
As he caught them effortlessly, a rare, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he hoisted them both up with practiced strength. “Easy, little lions,” he rumbled, his voice softening just for them. “We wouldn't want to topple your daddy’s masterpiece.” He gestured toward the imposing sculpture standing guard by the elevator. “From what I’ve heard, it’s worth more than my last two cars combined.”
Landon finally shifted his gaze toward his ex-husband, leaning his hip against the window frame with an air of practiced boredom. "Actually, it costs more than your first two apartments, Jeremy. But who’s counting? Certainly not you, given how late you are."
As Jeremy’s steel-gray eyes met Landon’s icy blue ones, the mate-bond flared—a violent, flickering flame that licked at Landon’s composure. Even the heavy suppressants Landon had forced down his throat were failing him whenever he stood before the man who possessed a gravity that bent Landon’s entire world toward him.
“I wanted to grant you a few extra minutes of peace,” Jeremy countered, his gaze lingering on the pulse point at Landon’s neck. “I know how much you need it tonight, especially after the week you've had.”
Landon let out a mocking hum, tilting his head back to expose his throat in a defiant display of indifference. "How thoughtful," he murmured, his voice dripping with elegant sarcasm. "Next time, try being thoughtful for a full hour. I was just getting to the good part of my wine."
Jeremy didn't move, but the temperature in the room seemed to rise. "The good part of the wine is usually the bottle you drink when I leave, Landon. Don't act like I'm the one ruining the vintage."
"You're not ruining the vintage, Jeremy. You're just... crowding the air," Landon smirked, taking a slow sip. "Leo, Lyra, go to the dining room. Your Papa clearly needs some food before I remember why I divorced him."
The twins didn't hesitate to pull away from their father. While Lyra’s pink dress fluttered as she sprinted toward the dining room, Leo paused, turning back to Jeremy with a look of startling gravity. "Papa, don't be long. Daddy ordered that steak you like so much."
Landon’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he shot his treacherous son a look of pure indignation. "No, I didn't. You two have been the ones pestering me for steak for the past two days."
Leo offered a mischievous giggle—a rare echo of his sister’s playfulness—before disappearing after her, leaving his parents alone in the sudden, deafening silence of the room.
Landon turned back to his wine, his knuckles white against the glass. "He’s a liar, Jeremy. I’m raising two tiny, silver-tongued sociopaths. I hope you're proud of your genetics."
"I am," Jeremy rumbled, the sound of his footsteps moving closer, vibrating through the floor and straight into Landon’s heels. "But I thought we agreed they took after you more than me."
Landon let out a mocking breath. "They certainly inherited my genius, but I’m convinced every other wicked trait they possess comes directly from you." His grip on his glass tightened instinctively as the other man drew nearer.
Jeremy didn't stop until he was standing directly behind Landon, his presence acting like a physical weight, pressing against Landon’s spine. "If I recall correctly, those wicked traits were exactly what fascinated you," Jeremy murmured, his mouth hovering just behind Landon’s ear. "In fact, you were fascinated enough that I remember you begging me to mark you."
Landon began to flush, caught between the sudden surge of lust sparked by the proximity and the sheer embarrassment of his ex-husband’s words. "How amusing. I, on the other hand, remember you begging me for weeks just to get me to say yes to your proposal," he countered, tilting his head slightly toward the heat radiating from the man beside him. "And look where we are now. See, Jeremy? Genius."
Jeremy inhaled deeply, catching the scent of his mate beneath the thick layers of suppressants, his lips brushing ghost-like against the mate mark on Landon’s neck. “A temporary arrangement doesn’t change this, kukolka,” he whispered, his hand settling firmly on Landon’s hip. “I know how much you enjoy my touch.”
Landon was gripping his wine glass so tightly he feared it might shatter and slice into his palm. The proximity of the man behind him was intoxicating to a point that felt detrimental to his health. He held his breath instinctively, and forced to use every ounce of his willpower to keep from leaning back into that broad, solid chest.
"Dinner," Landon managed to choke out, his pride clinging to the last shred of dignity he had left. "The children are waiting. Don't make me remind you that you’re supposed to be a father first and a nuisance second."
Jeremy lingered for a moment longer, his thumb stroking the curve of Landon’s hip through the expensive fabric before he slowly let go. The sudden loss of contact felt like a physical wound.
“As you wish,” Jeremy murmured, a dark, knowing glint in his eyes as he stepped back just enough to allow Landon to inhale again. “But you can’t hide behind the kids forever. Eventually, the suppressants will wear off, and I’ll make sure you’re the one who lets me breathe you in again."
He turned and walked away with the silent, predatory grace of a man who knew exactly how much damage he had just done. Landon stood alone by the glass, his chest heaving as he stared at his reflection. His face was flushed, his pulse was a frantic mess, and the emerald satin of his shirt felt like it was mocking him.
He waited until Jeremy’s footsteps faded before he drained the rest of his wine, the liquid burning a path down his throat.
It was going to be a long family night.