The kitchen buzzed with frenetic movement. It was chaos on the face of it, but under everything, it was a finely calibrated machine. Everyone had their place and they knew what was required of them. Timing was everything.
Do the work, do it well, and do it in time.
Sweat stuck to Peyton like it had been glued there. It stuck to his skin, his hair, his apron, everything. His sweat mingled with the rest of the kitchen staff, the chefs, waiters, and busboys like him. The smell of it mixed with the scent of ripe fruit and sugar, almonds, and grease. Meaty, bloody steak sizzled on the grill with hot oil, peppers and onions. Broiling stew intermingled with the aroma of cheese pastries fresh from the oven. It filled the kitchen with delicious steam and heat.
Peyton’s stomach grumbled, reminding him that the muffin he’d snagged from the breakfast tray wasn't nearly enough to tide him over. He leaned over the sink to rest his aching back. His fingers trembled as another round of glass plates were dumped on the side of the sink, waiting for him to get them clean.
"Need more cups, kid!" Willow shouted at him. She pushed her way through the swinging door and Peyton nodded. He hurriedly filled another metal tray with glasses and lifted it into the dishwasher. The spray of hot water and heat did nothing to cool him off or banish sweat clinging to him. It was almost unbearable but Peyton could only adjust the bandana he had tied on his sweating forehead.
Being in the kitchen was nothing but effort. The days were long and exhausting. The kitchen was hot. The lunch rush was the worst. The little diner wasn't in the city proper but it still had a good, loyal customer base and new customers were discovering it everyday. Despite its location, it was always crowded. Especially around lunch. Everyone was tense and impatient and Peyton could barely keep up with the dishes. His feet ached, his back ached, and the bright lights made his head hurt but the chef paid him in cash and no one asked questions. Even if this was his third closing shift in a row, and second triple in a week.
The next two seconds happened in slow motion.
He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the dizziness and increasing feeling of nausea like he had earlier but he still found himself stumbling over his feet.
He stacked up the next round of dishes and returned to Willow's station when his hands trembled. The entire tray tilted horribly, glasses sliding to one side and catching on the rim of the tray, only to be sent toppling by the plates that followed.
A small gasp left his lips.
He’d never dropped a whole platter like that before. Willow ran around from the metal counter, shedding soaked gloves to grab Peyton's shoulders. He hadn’t realized he’d been tipping over, either.
Peyton blinked and his mind raced. Had he? All his thoughts were too fast, slipping through his fingers like water in a sieve. Willow pressed a hand to his face, warm, something to sink into, and seemed to get her answer.
“Peyton!” a voice shouted but it sounded far away and distorted.
He felt himself falling, the ground came rushing in suddenly, his vision tunnelling to dark and then nothing.. When the world righted itself again, he was freezing.
Confused, Peyton reached out, trying to find whoever called him but the next thing he knew he was laying on his back on the floor. Dazed, he tried to sit up only to be stopped by the feeling of hands gently pressing down on his shoulders. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening but nothing came out.
Licking his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, a blanket of fatigue washed over him. Almost like someone had sucked out all his energy. It felt like water being poured from the top of his head down to his toes leaving Peyton feeling heavy and light at the same time.
“Stop moving,” Willow commanded, pressing down more firmly on his shoulders.
Hearing that, Peyton felt some of the fog clearing and finally realized where he was and who was touching him. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he brought a hand up to try and push Willow’s hands off but she knelt next to him, cradling his head on her lap.
“Hey, Kid?” she tried softly, and he turned his head towards her voice, one eye cracking open.
“Hmmm, wh-what happened?” His voice was so weak, Willow had to lean forward to hear him.
“Seems you’ve gotten sick; you have a wicked fever.”
“That… That can’t be. I—” He tried sitting up again but collapsed back against her lap. “—I have to do this. We both do hard things.”
"No, Kid, you're going home and you're going to rest."
"But Dami. My bonded-" he snapped his mouth closed, paling further. He shouldn't have said that. What was a better word? He had to think of something equal to that. He scrambled to find something in his soupy brain. There was nothing equal.
"Your bonded will be fine," Willow said softly, "I'll drop by with some medicine and food."
He stared up at her, eyes and nose stinging with unshed tears. They made his head hurt. Dami wouldn't trust her. Dami would grunt and say "no thanks" and keep going. Dami wouldn't have failed.
Peyton wasn't Dami. He was tired.
He nodded, letting Willow help him up. "Okay. Okay. Um, yes. Please. Please help me."
[Just A Fling]... - or is it? Peyton tests the waters.
(Peyton and Valerian belong to @wildfaewhump, and they killed me with this idea that haunted me)
Content: no warnings; just serious talking during (non-explicit) consensual sex. Complicated relationship dynamics, extra-marital affair.
"Would you marry me?"
It's the worst possible moment to push Peyton off of her.
He's on top, doing that thing he does, where he angles his hips, and everything around Dany dissolves into bliss.
Usually.
That question does not dissolve.
"Fuck," she hisses, hands up against his chest to stop him from going on.
He slows down, catching one of her wrists with his hand and kissing the inside of her arm instead.
"Stop it," she says. Her voice is softer than the turmoil in her chest. She withdraws her arm and pushes herself back.
"Was I not good?", he asks with the cheeky grin that betrays he knows it's not that. He knows that he's good. He's the best she's ever had.
"You're married, Peyton."
"I said would. Hypothetically."
"Would I hypothetically marry you? In what world would that be?"
He leans down to press a tender kiss on her collarbone. His forehead rest against her skin for a moment, soft and warm. "I could get a divorce."
The wetness on her thighs feels uncomfortably cool. She shuffles uneasily. "We're not like that, Peyton. I thought we'd established that. I - I am not like that."
"Valerian could take the pets."
She closes her eyes, tiredly. "It's not about the pets."
"Is it about me?"
She looks up again, stares into his light green eyes, the speckles of gold and brown. There's something serious hidden in his frown, something earnest, something she thinks she's never seen.
"I could -"
She stops him with two fingers on his lips, before he says anything stupid. 'Change.' 'Be better.'
Could he, though?, a part of her wonders. Could she?
"I don't do romance, Peyton. I don't swing that way. I wouldn't get married for love. Not even hypothetically."
The pause isn't long. Two heartbeats. Maybe three, before he blinks, his frown smoothing out, a familiar grin creeping back on his lips.
"For money, then?" He kisses her sternum. "For power? We could rule the world together." More kisses, a soft trail down her stomach. She groans, as he easily reignites her arousal. His hands are on her hips, his breath on her thighs. "Or maybe just for an exclusive claim on the best sex you could ever imagine?"
There's a snide comment on her lips, about faithfulness and loyalty, but she holds back. It's not about that.
She angles her hips, one hand reaching for his head, fingers running through his dark hair.
"Shut up," she says. "Stop talking. There's better uses for your mouth right now."
His eyes sparkle with amused excitement. She tells herself that's all she saw in them, before his head dips down between her legs and his tongue sends her back to that bliss.
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, HOMELESS WHUMPEES, RUNAWAY WHUMPEES, CONDITIONED WHUMPEE, PARA SOCIAL CELEBRITY RELATIONSHIPS, GRIEF, MENTIONED CHARACTER DEATH
Peyton belongs to @wildfaewhump and is used with permission.
@ailesswhumptober A.I. Less Whumptober day 1, "Public Torture." (Sorta)
They slept in the bus terminal the first night. That was the plan. Dami had looked up on one of the burners they’d pilfered, memorizing it before smashing it and throwing it away. LA to Phoenix to Denver to Chicago to Philadelphia to New York City - a total of twenty-one hours. Twenty-one hours and they would be with their partners. Twenty-one hours and they could hug Wick and Kes and let themself be hugged.
Peyton had stuck close to their side as they bought the tickets, the brim of his hat doing nothing to hide his wide eyes and nervous posture. He jumped at shadows and tensed when anyone came close. He hadn't stopped touching his collar and Dami had finally pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head.
He’d cried himself to sleep, curled up tightly on the seat beside them with his head in their lap. They couldn't sleep. Dami had stood in the line at the kiosk to get them the tickets that would take them out of California.
The sooner the better.
They felt like a criminal as they sat, cap pulled low. The headphones slid over their ears only to muffle the noise of the busy terminal around them. Unlike the last time they’d been here, the place had updated itself, equipped with tv screens and usb charging stations that Dami was somewhat grateful for.
They zoned in on the television as the news blasted through.
“Tributes are flooding in today after it has been confirmed that up and coming actor, Thane Barlow, has died. Officials reported the movie star deceased, his body found face-down in his bed. His sister has issued a statement outside his home this morning…"
No one would say what he had truly died from. The media would stick to the story she told them. No one wanted to be sued for defamation. Either way, there would be a private investigation and maybe a public one.
Each word was a nail in the coffin they'd been holding their breath for, had been listening for.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Their world was in the process of falling apart. The worst had come and gone–Thane was dead, that was that.
‘’A call to check on Mr. Barlow was made by his agent when the actor failed to make an appearance at the location of his next film and did not answer when visited at his home, despite the cars in the driveway. Mr. Jones claimed he was worried about the well-being of Mr. Barlow, stating it was unusual for the star to not show up to work.
Not much is known about Mr. Barlow’s background before immigrating to America. Nevertheless, audiences were captivated by his outstanding performances throughout the years. Fans across the globe are mourning his loss, and it is fair to say that Hollywood has lost a truly unique spectacle.”
“Man, that’s just so sad. He was so talented,” someone commented, biting into their sandwich.
There was a lot of chatter going on around them as people stopped to listen and watch the news. They did their best to pick out bits and pieces of the conversation but they couldn't focus. Their eyes stayed glued to the screen. The cameras were twenty deep, with three helicopters going overhead. Even the tourists had been crowded back: they were packing the sidewalks three blocks in every direction.
“Damn, that’s too bad. He was young too.”
“It blows your mind…like…celebrities are like us, they don’t just live on forever.”
Dami grit their teeth, grateful Peyton was still asleep. All they could do was keep going and try to keep Peyton from shattering. He never got to say goodbye, never got to see him one last time. He was still on the edge of falling apart.
"He played all these villains, all these dark people, see? But he was anything but dark in his regular life. Everyone loved him, and said he was the most fun man to be around."
They wanted to scream. These people didn't know him. They hadn't known him.
They pulled the hat lower and covered Peyton’s head with the hood of their jacket again at the mention of Thane Barlow’s missing pets. There would be a reward for their safe return. They tried not to roll their eyes at the anchor saying how scared and lost they must feel without their owner, how frightened they must’ve been to run.
They snorted and looked away from the tv. They didn't need to see helicopters whirring and police cars flashing around the place they’d once called home. If they returned a third time, Dahlia Barlow-Smith would rain hell on them.
Perhaps, to some members of society, they were and would always be a criminal. Dami had accepted that the first time they’d run away that their very existence was a crime but Peyton….Peyton wasn't used to it. He wasn't used to the sideways looks, the quiet whispering, the way your shoulders would always feel tense interacting with anyone and everyone. Trustworthy, compassionate, empathetic people were few and far between.
There was always someone more desperate than you. Another lesson they’d learned the first time they’d run.
He’d learn and he’d learn quickly.
Dark eyes scanned the crowds of people rushing through the terminal, each in a hurry to reach the bus that would take them to their destinations. They nudged Peyton awake. The time had come. He raised his head to one almighty screech of burning rubber, hearing it skid to an abrupt halt. I looked up and stared into the doors of perhaps the last bus I would ever travel on.
The shuttle was large: it had many compartments to store luggage on top of the seats as well as another compartment to store larger suitcases on the side of the vehicle. The bus was relatively crowded with most of its seats being occupied and had air conditioning blowing through its entirety. Although the bus was filled with passengers, the environment was mostly quiet with people listening to music, reading or sleeping. There were a few conversations going on but Dami paid them no mind. They negotiated the aisle, head down, focused on the filthy, grungy floor. They found an empty seat and parked themself down in it. Peyton clung to their back.
The journey continued, the bus increased its speed appearing to be traveling faster than a speeding bullet, the view outside became a blur of black and gray whizzing by at what seemed like hundreds of miles an hour.
Perhaps, one day, it would feel like enough. Like they weren't moons forever caught in the orbit of the same planet-sized grief. They weren’t there yet. It still hurt so very, very much.
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, PAST REFERENCED NONCON, GASLIGHTING
TAGLIST: @siren-of-agony , @girlsjustwannadrawwhump , @gottawhump , @flowersarefreetherapy , @writingbackwards, @winedark-whump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert (please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist)
Every panting breath, light and fluttering against his ribcage, caught in his throat as his fingers curled into tight fists in the duvet. Whatever nightmare it had plagued him was already beginning to slip through his fingers like sand until the details were only hazy, shapeless things he couldn't hope to grasp. And as that dissipated, the real and waking world began to seep into his senses. The sunlight spilling through the curtains to play against his eyelids; the smell of linen with each slowing intake of breath from the pillow and sheets; the distant commotion of the streets beyond the penthouse.
Wick was vaguely conscious of there being something odd about the bed that hadn't been odd when he had fallen asleep.
He could tell that Valerian wasn't in bed with him, though with the sunlight promising that it was at least late morning so that wasn't too much of a surprise. There was even a chance it was nearly noon already. Wick let out a low huff while a small, weary smile pulled at his lips, smoothing away the sharp edges of fear that still lingered within him, despite the shake that still settled in his hands.
For once, he was alone. A lump formed heavily in his throat at the thought. With considerable effort he swallowed the it back down and stood up. He wanted to go home.
He opened the door to his room and rolled his shoulders.
"Finally."
A familiar voice came from across the room. The taunting tone is impossible to miss, and Wick could just imagine the sneering grin on the their face. His eyes lifted to the source. He tensed for a second before forcing himself to relax.
He rolled his eyes. "Leave me alone, Val."
“Don't be rude, Wicky. Greet our guest.”
Valerian sat up so that the sofa was no longer hiding them.
The panic set in.It surged in his chest and gripped around his heart tightly.
Flexing his now sore fingers, Wick’s heart lurched.
As he came into view, he stumbled and stopped dead in his tracks
It wasn't a ruse nor was it a figment of his imagination; Peyton knelt at Valerian’s feet. Their nails scratched his head. Static filled his head. Static and rage and the sound of his heartbeat rushing through his ears like a storm. Unease roiled within him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, echoed a strangled noise that sounded eerily close to his name.
“It’s so nice that we could all be together again, isn't it, Darling?" Their piercing glare softened into a far more cunning look, and the corners of their mouth quirk into something like a smirk as their face set itself in an expression he couldn't fully read. It was plain they were taking some sort of pleasure in this.
Of course they were.
“It has been some time since we saw one another,” Their voice rang with amusement. Wick scowled at them, quickly, before it fell. His gaze returned to Peyton.
“Peyton..... Bunny..... you're not, not... you're not supposed to be h-here.”
Peyton paused, taken aback both by the greeting. He spoke slowly, hesitantly, hands fidgeting in the sleeves of Dami's hoodie. “You... texted. you asked me to come? You um….I saw the text. You asked for help. You were crying.”
The last sentence was said barely above a whisper. Peyton's brows furrowed, concern shining deep in his eyes. Second-guessing himself, he pulled out his phone to check and flipped the screen to show him.
Wick's body froze with the words. Oh, oh fuck. Oh fuck. When? When had he done that? He couldn't have done that. He wouldn’t have included any of them in this even if he were actively dying. No. Val had to have done something.
“And then you called,” Peyton continued, “You were, um, really upset. You had a really, um… high fever and were kinda saying things…like when Dami was sick at the motel. You were really sick, Wick.”
Confusion warred with disgust. His mind slowly processed what he was seeing in parts, images, like a series of disconnected paintings.
"It would seem like you did,” Valerian confirmed. Their lips twisted into a red-coated smirk, dark eyes gleeful. "Don't you remember, Wicky?"
They leaned across him and plucked Peyton's phone away. They didn't return his phone, and when he took off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen they tuck both into a small box under their arm.
"You, you said you wouldn't include him," Wick snapped. "I fucked him for you. I, I, I begged, Val....please."
"You did, and it was so good.”
Almost instinctively, they reached for Wick. He recoiled.
"Please, Val."
"Sshhh." They kissed him. "There's a time for begging, and we'll get to it later. For now, play along.”
“He's not supposed to, to, to be here."
He broke off the kiss with a defeated murmur, the quiet demand nearly spoken against Valerian's mouth, though there’s an undercurrent of steel in his tone. They leaned in further, nipping at his lower lip, but he turned his head, breaking away again to add, “Haven't you done enough?”
“Wicky was just saying how much he missed you, Peyton. Weren't you, Wicky?"
For a moment, he couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, could only stare at Peyton with the heavy weight of Valerian's arm wrapped around his shoulder before he managed a surprisingly calm, slightly broken and hoarse, "No."
Green eyes darted, again, to Valerian. His tongue slid out and over his parted lips. His wavering voice spoke, softly enough to break his heart, to shatter it, "That's um, okay. I missed you. I wanted to see you."
"Peyton," They swung around to look at him, "why don't you make Wick some lunch. He and I need to have a chat."
Valerian's arm tightened around him. Peyton’s eyes continued to dart between him and Valerian, several questions written in them. Wick could see his mind turning, slowly, in an attempt to answer them, to come up with something that made sense.
Wick silently let Valerian lead him into his room, and didn’t protest when they quickly closed the door open with a small crack.
"I've done everything, done everything, you've, you've asked," Wick hissed, feeling the tension of the situation winding through his aching body. He wanted to scream in frustration. "I'm, I'm, I'm here Val. You, you, you have me. I'm not, I'm not leaving you. Please. Let him leave, Val."
For "A for Apology" for this month's @alphabetofwhump Alphabet of Whump event. (It's in fact "a very Dany apology", as Vic called it). Also, inspired by a prompt I was sure I still had open: "In a friend's bed", for these smut places asks.
[Just A Fling Masterlist]
This is set before the events of 'that night'. Geoff, Peyton and all characters except Dany belong to the wonderful mind of @wildfaewhump.
Geoff Cortlandt's smile is lazy and dangerous, and for a moment, Dany wonders if coming to meet him in his office was the right call.
Geoff takes a slow sip of water, lets his gaze wander over her body, before he finally - finally - speaks up. "Given how… intimately our lives are intertwined, it's a surprise you come visit me that late, Ms Hammond."
She can't stand him. Yup. It's confirmed.
Dany lifts her chin, counts to five in her head, before she exhales. "I'm sorry Geoff. We made a mistake."
"It's fine," Geoff says mildly. "I understand how it could happen. I talked to him. We're very close, Peyton and I, you know. It's alright. We're all good."
His lip twitches the slightest bit, and the pitch dark dread spiraling out in Dany's stomach tells her that no, this situation is anything but.
---
Before
Michael Cortlandt's birthday party is exclusive and what most people would call 'magnificent'.
It's also superficial and loud and pretentious in a way that makes Dany's fingers curl up tightly around her elegant purse.
She's come as her father's plus-one; she intends to leave as Peyton Montgomery's, and the latter is the only reason she's still here.
They haven't seen each other in weeks. She's been on the far coast for business in one of their new container ports, while Peyton has had to pull severe overtime over the financial contracts in a high profile takeover by his parents' company.
It's not like Dany hadn't found a man to share her bed with in the meantime; but she'd shamefully come to realize that flirting with Peyton gave her something these casual hook-ups with strangers just couldn't any longer.
Every inch of her body craves for Peyton. And judging by the texts he's sent her, the feeling is mutual.
She just has to find him.
Glass in hand - a champagne flute, ironically enough, she hates its bubbly texture - she roams the mansion.
He's not in the huge living room, where most of the sofas are occupied with the heads of the town's family companies politely talking about hostile takeovers, and some drunk plus-ones are trying to gather a crowd to dance to the low electronic music. He's not on the terrace, which seems to be the preferred spot of the lazy second and third born teenage offspring, gathered between pool and champagne coolers, showing off perfectly sculpted bodies and wildly expensive designer swimwear. The generation in between - the one she's probably looking for, Peyton's clique of decadent firstborns - is further out in the garden, at the tennis house. She sees Valerian first, their perfect platinum blonde hair shimmering as they toss back their head in an exaggerated laugh. She grimaces, takes a big sip of the disgusting bubbly champagne. Of course, Peyton had conveniently failed to mention that his spouse would be here as well.
Geoff Cortlandt, tonight's host, tall, dark and surprisingly enough, smiling, is the second familiar face in the group, his Romantic companion in a revealing black dress clinging to his arm. Not the same one she's seen him with before, she thinks, even though the similarity of their features is striking.
Another sip of champagne.
Dany can't stand that pet system. She can't stand knowing that more than half of the guests here literally own other people. That Peyton does, too.
She clicks her tongue, tries to ban the thought. Great job, ruining her own night. After all, she knows Peyton isn't a great human being. It's not like she wants him for his character. She wants him for -
A hand grabs her arm and yanks her behind one of the garden bars. Her shoulders are pressed against the metal of a huge fridge, and every last thought she's just had dissolves, when Peyton's hands bury into her hair and he pulls her into a passionate kiss.
"Fuck, Dany," he mumbles against her lips, before kissing down her neck. "We need to get out of here."
"Valerian is here," she reminds him. Still, she lets get head fall back against the fridge, offering her neck to Peyton's caresses. "Can you leave without them?"
"Mmmhh no, but we can -"
Behind Peyton shoulder, a server appears, making himself known with a polite hem. "Madam, Sir, could you -"
"Shut up," Peyton says, retreating from her only to fold some bills and stuff them into the server's chest pocket. "Go find another fridge for the next ten minutes, alright."
"Ten minutes?" Dany lifts a brow teasingly, as the server retreats. "I was expecting more than that."
Peyton wiggles his fingers. "Oh, Dany, There's a lot these hands can achieve in ten minutes." He holds her gaze, as he slips a tentative hand under her dress. An amused chuckle escapes his lips, when his fingers graze her panties. "Especially when it seems you've come prepared."
"Sir," someone else says, voice more urgent than the server's. "Mr Montgomery. I know you're a family friend, but we need this bar up and running and we need this fridge. Please consider relocating to a more… private area?"
Peyton rolls his eyes dramatically, but steps back. "Fine", he huffs, takes Dany's hand, fingers easily interweaving with hers. "Follow. I've got just the place on my mind."
He peeks around the corner to where Valerian and their friends group had been standing. "Introducing Geoff's new Lourdes to the gang, huh? They'll be busy out here for a while."
Dany's lost her glass somewhere. She'd have finished it in one go, otherwise. It's better for the mood not to think about what he's referring to, she's pretty sure. Neither does she think about, where he's taking her.
She focuses on other things, instead. On the way his boyish giggle rings in her ears, when he navigates her towards the mansion's service entry. On the smell of his cologne, wafting over her, mingling with that of the Cortlandts' rose garden. On the firm hold of his hand around hers. On the shape of the muscles in his shoulders, perfectly highlighted by the cut of his white shirt.
Next to the huge service kitchen, a small door leads to a stairway, and Peyton pulls her upstairs.
"There's security on the main stairs," he whispers. "But none here. Staff don't come into the private area at this time. And the Cortlandts are just so busy entertaining."
He opens the narrow door on top. Their feet sink into the thick carpet on a wide corridor. Family portraits line the walls, almost like they're looking at the intruders disapprovingly. Peyton is still giggling like a schoolboy.
She all but groans. "Fuck, Peyton. Are you high?"
"What else should I be, looking at someone like you?", he counters and winks at her. His eyes are bloodshot. His smile makes her knees weak. "We're there."
Peyton leans against a door and pushes down the handle, swaying into the room as the door swings open.
She doesn't know why she's expected him to lead them into some sort of broom closet.
This sure as hell isn't one.
It's the entrance to a suite, open door to a huge bedroom in front, closed doors to smaller rooms off to the side. Faint music from the garden dances through the air.
Before she can ask him, he's pressing her against the wall, pinning her hands over her head. "You're thinking too much," he whispers. "Don't."
"Is.. Is this Geoff's space?"
"Really?" He kisses her. "I've been yearning for you for weeks, and you're thinking about Geoff right now?"
"We can't -"
"Shhh." He shifts to pin her wrists up with one hand, his other hand slipping between her legs. "Geoff loves me. He won't mind. And even if he did - sure as fuck I'm not going to tell him."
He knows her body as well as she knows herself, she realizes, as he rubs at her clit through the lace of her panties just right. She can't fight the soft moan his touch elicits. His gaze sinks into hers, blown pupils so deep she wants to drown in them. "So." Peyton hums, slowly nudging her away from the wall and backwards into the darkened main room, until the backs of her legs hit the bedframe. "You want to go on thinking about him, or are you ready to forget Geoff Cortlandt and making this about what really matters?"
"Huh." She lets herself fall back on the soft covers, frowning up at him in the room's dim light. "And what would that be?"
The bed dips, when he follows her and spreads her legs open gently. "You, Dany," he mumbles, shoving her dress up to her hips, before he dips down to kiss her through her sheer panties. "I want to make it about you."
---
"Is there anything else?" Geoff asks, with feigned innocence.
"The tape," Dany says flatly. "The camera in your bedroom."
Geoff grins and leans back in his chair, lounging comfortably. "Ah, that, yeah. Funny Peyton forgot I had it installed, isn't it? Anyway. I gave him a copy. Made one for you, too." He pulls a USB drive from his desk drawer and looks at her from hooded eyes. "We can watch it together, if you like."
"Oh, fuck, no." Dany's hands clench around the arm rests, as she keeps her voice professionally steady. "This wasn't for you."
His eyes harden. "My bed isn't for you either, Ms Hammond. Peyton isn't for you. Nothing of that seems to inhibit you in any way." He taps the flash drive on the heavy wooden desk tentatively. "You really don't want it?"
She exhales sharply. "No."
"Your call." He takes his time looking her down, eyes mapping her body. She feels naked suddenly. In a bad way. "I think you could've seen it as a training experience. I certainly had some notes on your performance while I watched."
"My performance was exclusively for Peyton. And as I have no doubt you're aware of, we both were very satisfied." Dany's jaw is set. "Sorry, Geoff. Wasn't aware you'd feel excluded."
His eyes are hard, as he drops the drive back into the drawer. "I think this conversation is over. You're not sorry, Danielle. I can see that. You're far from it." His hands clasp on the table as he looks her down once more and purses his lips. "You should be." He gestures to the door. "Bye, Dany. Close the door behind you."
-
---
Dany tag list (let me know if you wanted to be added or removed, or just not in it for this AU): @whumplr-reader @whumping-on-the-ridge @queenofthenoobs @ocean-blue-whump
A small orchestra played on the other end of the room, right next to the door to the garden. Fancy parties and social events had their downsides. Most of which came with being partnered with Wick and Kestrel. Too many people held the belief that they were a means to gaining access to the other two. There were too many fancy words, too many pleasantries. Damiel could only endure so much. It was worse than Saint Andrew’s Cross - at least that device had been intended for pleasure. There was none of that to be found here and Dami’s face ached from the smile they’d been forced to hold onto all night.
They were going to be out of this party the moment they deemed they’d had spent enough time here. From his vantage point at one of the bar tables, he let his eyes sweep through the room and watched as a young woman smiled up at their boyfriend. She placed her hands on the small of her back, pressing her chest forward. They stilled, champagne glass in their hand, and leaned against the wall. They trusted him. Peyton could handle himself. He wasn't new to this arena, neither of them were, and Dami wasn't in charge of who he talked to. They weren’t his knight in shining armor. They didn't control him.
That didn't stop them from keeping an eye on the two of them.
A moment later it was starting to turn out this young woman wasn't just overly friendly, she was plain out flirting. She laughed at something Peyton said, and he smiled down at her. The woman’s giggles could be heard where they stood by the buffet table.
Overly friendly and probably a little drunk too. Flirting. Dami hummed, lips pinched, eyes narrowed, as they searched Peyton’s face and waited. He didn't show any signs of distress. He wasn't touching alcohol himself, naturally, since it would take until next year until he was legally old enough to drink, and he was already considering leaving drinking to a minimum in official parties. Then again, with the type of people they had to talk to, something alcoholic was always a bit tempting.
It was difficult not to flirt with Peyton. He was picturesque. He had beautiful skin and gentle eyes and dark, black hair His emerald green eyes sparkled in the light from the chandeliers.
He was being polite about all the touching, but his eyes and the lines around his mouth said otherwise. He seemed to shrink even more. He tilted his head and looked down at her, biting his lip and graced her with another shy smile.
One that didn't quite reach his eyes. She took it as an invitation. Dami stiffened.
A hand moving across his back, threatening to move lower as he shifted to squirm away. hin tilted to his chest as he attempted to avoid her eyes. Everything about him screamed how uncomfortable he was and his eyes grew wide when she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her.
Peyton gave them a quick glance, silent check in. Their eyes met, if only for a split second, but enough for Dami’s hair to stand on end.
That was it. The silent cry for help and Dami nodded. Abandoning their drink, they crossed the room. The ballroom was trimmed with tables and filled with people. They weaved through the crowd, brushing past them.
Looming over him, they took a moment to admire him in all his tone and muscled beauty.
They didn't have to say it. As it often did, their body spoke for them. Their arms wound around Peyton’s from behind, pressing him back against them. The smile they reserved for times like these, times they had to wear a mask, slipped into a genuine smirk as the other man melted into them. His fingers slipped through their; the perfect fit.
Control didn't take words, especially not with Peyton. This guest had yet to realize it. Damiel looked them up and down, gaze burrowing into them until they blushed and were forced to look away. It was only then, Dami kissed their boyfriend’s neck. Their lips brushed his ear, their smirk growing when they felt the heat radiating from it.
“Find Kes,” Dami ordered him, leaving no room for objection, “Leaving now. Excuse us.”
“Nice try, pretty boy,” she taunted, breathing acidic with alcohol, “you’re both gonna stay right here. And you’re both going to show me the respect I deserve.”
The music faded into the background. A strangled noise ripped out of Peyton’s throat.
They stepped out of his space and into hers, putting their hands in their pockets and pressing their arms as tight to their sides as they casually could. They didn't have to turn around to know Peyton was on his knees. They could see it all over her smug face. It twisted with a sick sort of glee that made Dami clench their fists in their pockets. They couldn't embarrass Wick at this function. Kes would throw a fit. The press would be bad and their face would be all over the tabloids in the morning.
She laughed. Shrill, greedy, vicious. "So that's what Imogene Montgomery has been hiding. Her son. A damned pet. A fucking Romantic. Oh, that’s rich."
Still, they wanted to hit her. They bristled at her smug words. Peyton’s wide, glassy eyes looked up at her, concern and curiosity filled them with the slightest hint of true fear. Both of them knew how bad this was.
“What are you doing? I didn't order you to give respect.”
They looked up, startled when they saw Wick's expression and almost flinched at the ice in Wick’s voice. They hadn't heard him come up.
They stood frozen in place, barely breathing, unable to think. Their body locked with tension, at war with their desire to escape and desire to give into the authority flowing from Wick. They stayed, although they kept their eyes off of him.
Between them, still on his knees, palms up and head down, Peyton stayed kneeling. Dami almost wanted to run their hands over the graceful arch of his back.
“Allow me to ask again, pet,” Wick said, “What are you doing?”
“She told him to,” Dami said quietly. Their answer was met with a raised eyebrow. He was feeling far from gracious. He frowned and shook his head in irritation.
“The pet can speak for himself.”
Their mouth snapped shut.
Despite the order, Wick didn't look at them and Dami blinked, raising their own brow as their stomach clenched. So did their fists. God, they wanted to reach out and throw the other man against the wall. This was an act. It was all an act. Wick was playing a role. He would never talk to Peyton that way. Never talk to them that way unless they wanted him to. It was him or this woman who didn't give a shit about how this would affect Peyton.
That didn't stop their stomach from dropping as Wick began playing with Peyton’s hair, running his fingers through his scalp and down his back. He gripped his boyfriend’s chin.
Peyton’s eyes clouded and his jaw relaxed. Wick watched him attentively.
“Good boy.” Wick petted the strands and then shoved his face back down. “Show respect.”
Peyton dropped. He bent in half, forehead on the floor. “Tell me what you are.”
“A, a whore.” Doubt could be heard in the back of his tone, fear and need, craving, everything could be layered in front of it.
Wick wasn't finished. “Whose whore are you?”
“Y-Yours.”
Wick wheeled himself forward.
"Then be mine. Get up,” he snapped, “Don't embarrass me again. Go find your Mistress.”
Slowly Peyton crawled up, flinching a little when he did.
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
The woman’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, it widened. She stepped forward and extended her hand. Wick gave her a chilling stare. She retracted it with a shrug, and returned it to her side.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to share? It could be a lot of fun for all of us.”
She gestured to Dami. “Perhaps you could introduce me.”
Dami couldn’t help but bare their teeth, letting out a low growl. Wick raised a cautious hand across their chest to stop them from launching at her and ripping out her throat.
He scowled.
“Perhaps you're new to the rules of pet ownership,” he looked her up and down, glaring daggers, “You never, ever give someone else’s pet an order. It’s like breaking into someone’s home and sleeping in their bed.”
“Oh dear,” she purred, “Am I Goldilocks then? Will you have your three little bears come and eat me up? I was told you only had two pets. How the hell did you get Peyton Montgomery?”
“None of your damn business. Excuse us. We have other engagements.”
Next installment of @wildfaewhump and I's Just A Fling AU. The perfect Geoff, Peyton and their mentioned friends are Vic's characters and they penned a lot of this piece.
[Just A Fling Masterlist]
Content / warnings: Intimate whumper, whumpee meeting whumper in public, past trauma and not ideal coping with it, mentioned serial killings, mention past noncon drugging and assault, sexually derogative language, mention of BBU-pets; pretty frank discussion of past noncon.
2B is Dany's favorite seat on most long distance flights. Best class available, be it First or Business or whichever names they came up with. Aisle, meaning she can get out without the need to talk to anyone. Second row instead of first so there's a bit more air in front of her instead of a wall.
She's gotten it for this flight as well, the way home after some intense days of preparing and ensuring the final acceptance of their newest freight terminal. It's been a success. Another one. Dany is good at her job, and she knows it.
She leans back in her plane seat and opens her laptop to check on the press release the company is about to send out, tuning out the busy noise of the last passengers boarding and filing to the back of the plane.
"Excuse me, Madam" someone next to her says, half bored. "I'm 2A."
She's not sure if its his voice that sets her off, the smell of his cologne, or his looming figure, some inches too close to be entirely polite, but her whole body is on alert suddenly.
Geoff Cortlandt.
"Oh. Ms Hammond," he says, eyebrows up. "Hadn't recognized you, fully dressed."
Dany's hand, halfway to the tray table, freezes mid-air. Geoff's gaze feels heavy on her skin. Even without looking up, the smug amusement radiating from him is almost palpable.
She sets her jaw and reaches out to pick up her laptop and slide back the tray table to let him pass. "Mr Cortlandt."
"Just kidding," he whispers, as he squeezes past, too close for the amount of legroom the plane offers, and pauses, his mouth next to her ear. "You were not actually memorable undressed, either."
"Peyton saw that differently." It slips out, before she can think twice, her voice perfectly even. She's taken seminars on it, on her way to becoming the negotiator she is today - quick comebacks, how to deal with low blows.
Paying back in turn ranks very low on the list.
And it is downright stupid, when it's about the exact thing Peyton's tried to warn her about in his very own, very inappropriate manner. 'We were getting pretty close. And I was… distracted by you. In a way that wasn’t working for Geoff.'
Geoff freezes for a moment, and she thinks she sees a muscle in his jaw twitch, before he breaks into an easy smile. "Well, he's luckily left that behind him now, didn't he?"
He slides into his seat next to her, just as a flight attendant leans into their row. "Can I offer you a drink before take-off?"
"Champagne," Geoff says smoothly. "For both of u-"
"Vodka for me," Dany interrupts. She'll have to sit through this. She's not going to fold, not again, not after she panicked at the tennis match and let him have it. "Straight."
The attendant lifts his eyebrows, but doesn't say a word, while he prepares a plastic flute of champagne for Geoff and then bends down to the bottom of his cart to hand Dany a tiny bottle of Vodka and a glass.
"Well, then." Geoff waits until the attendant has left for the next row, before he raises his glass. "Cheers, Ms Hammond. Go on. Drink up. We both know you're more fun once you've got a little liquor in you."
"We both know it wasn't just liquor. We both know it wasn't fun." Dany screws open the cap of her bottle and pours it into the glass, pausing before she looks at him again. "And we both know you walked away. Is it just like that? Do you always just happen to get away with it?"
He smiles, and it's shaped like it should be charming. It's not. It's just empty. "I'm here, aren't I? Makes you wonder. Is it really possible for someone to do 'wrong'? Or are we just afraid? If right and wrong were the immutable forces we treat them as, wouldn't it be impossible for us to do wrong?"
Dany chuckles dryly and shakes her head, then downs the vodka in one go. "I didn't say anything about right or wrong, you started that yourself. My degree is in psychology, not philosophy." She puts the glass down and grimaces. "Pretty sure you, Mr Cortlandt, are an interesting case for both fields."
He laughs a little in return, and it makes her stomach churn. "I like that." He sips too, his eyes wandering over the cabin, before he turns back to her, shifting in his seat to pull up one knee and cross his opposite ankle under it, leaning in like they're good friends. "So," he says. "What did you like most about fucking Peyton?"
"There's a reason you and I were only intimate when I was unconscious, Geoff, and that's because I don't fucking want you in my bed. Not physically, and not mentally either." She smirks and tilts her glass at him. "You'll never know."
His grip on his glass is tight, but he doesn't retreat, and his smile doesn't drop. If anything, it gets more dangerous. "Fair enough. You know-" He glances around like he's about to share a secret. "There was this one time, he and I. We had a little bit of a threesome, there was this girl. We had her between us, on her hands and knees like a whore, she was so hot for it. Peyton has this way he angles his hips- her whole body seized. She wasn't really my type, but the way she looked right then, coming undone for him with my cock so deep in her throat she couldn't breathe... I almost had to keep her." He takes a deep breath and smiles brightly. "Anyway. I can only imagine he was a great lay for you too."
Dany can't breathe. Couldn't then. Can't now. It is her, it was her, the woman caught between them, betrayed, helpless, powerless. Images she can't remember, but dreams of anyway.
She has to get away. Her hand flies to her waist, unbuckles the security belt, and she staggers to her feet to escape towards the restroom.
"Madam," someone yells, and before she can flee, a stranger is over her, presses her back into her seat. "You cannot get up, Madam, we're in the middle of takeoff, are you insane? Mr Cortlandt, Sir, could you please take care of your friend? She's endangering everyone."
There's more hands on her, Geoff's hands, on her shoulders, wrapped around her own hand, and he's talking over her, her own voice stuck in her throat. "Of course, I'm so sorry about her. She's a nervous flyer. You'd never want everyone on the plane in danger because of you, would you, Dany? We're going to get through this together, I promise. You just need to put your seatbelt back on."
"You got her?", the other man asks sharply.
It's all too much. The shaking of the plane, the hands all over her, the images, and Geoff, Geoff, Geoff, he's next to her, he's over her, he's inside her, 'my cock so deep in her throat that she couldn't breathe', she's dizzy and nauseous and nothing makes any sense.
"No," she whispers weakly, "No, I don't want this, please."
He's not leaving. His hands are on her hips now, almost tender, pulling at the seatbelt, locking her back in. "I know, but there's nowhere else to go. You're just going to have to endure. I'll stay right here with you the whole time, alright? You're not getting rid of me."
Louder, to someone else, he adds. "I think I've got it from here. Thank you for your help."
The plane's rattling gets heavier, then stops, as it raises from the runway, pushing her back into her seat even deeper.
Dany's whole body is trembling. Tears are catching in her lashes, but she's not even able to cry. "Why?" she whispers tonelessly.
Geoff whispers in her ear, one arm around her shoulders. "Why not? You were just a fling."
-
They stay like that, Dany locked in her seat, caught in her own body, Geoff leaning in over her, holding her hand in his like a friend would, until the plane has reached cruising altitude and the seatbelt lights turn off with a little ping.
Only then does Dany manage to shake her shoulder and brush his hand away from her.
"I hate you."
Geoff settles back into his own seat, the grin on his face satisfied and smug. "Whatever helps you sleep at night." He pulls out his phone and opens his picture gallery. "Hey, want to see pictures of my pets?"
She can only shake her head tiredly. "I want you to die"
"You first, princess."
It's almost casual, almost like smalltalk, but it cuts deep. Peyton's words ring in her ears. 'If we hadn’t done what we did, you would be dead. Pieces of your body would have been hidden from here to Georgia, and no one would ever have found you.' Geoff had been ready to kill her. He'd not, he'd found another way, but he'd been close.
"Don't call me princess," she says, even though she knows it's hollow and empty and he'll do whatever he wants anyway. It's easier to reply to that part of his line, than acknowledging the meaning of the other.
He leans closer again anyway, swiping through pictures of a young Philipino person, sultry eyes thick with mascara and shadow as they watch the camera from repose in a king-sized bed. "This one's Lourdes. They're my latest, just got them a couple weeks ago. I always like to have one picture when they're brand new." He swipes again, and the next picture shows someone with similar features. This one, a young man, is hollow-eyed and clearly frightened as he sits stiffly on an ornate couch, hands clasped tightly between his knees. "See? They just... lose that spirit, after a while."
She doesn't want to look at his phone, but it's not like she can go anywhere. Pets are people, she thinks, she's said it so often, but she doesn't now. Because if anyone is aware of this, she's sure it's him. That's why he's showing her these pictures. Because they're people and because he enjoys to make them miserable.
Like he enjoys to make her miserable.
You first.
"You kill them," she says flatly. "Don't you? That's what you're going at with flashing this photo gallery at me."
He glances around, as if to make sure no one is taking an undue interest in their conversation. "What a horrible thing to say! I love all of my pets. And they're all still with me in one way or another. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that bond, since you have none of your own. You're not very caring, are you, Dany? You flit through life without ever really taking anyone with you. It's why I didn't like seeing Peyton get caught up as your latest infatuation. You would have moved on eventually without a drop of care for what it did to him."
"I did move on," she says, carefully. There's something about the way he's phrased it that rubs her wrong. "He moved on, even before I did. Without a drop of care. You made sure of this." She chews her lip, processing what he's said. "What difference would if had made, if I had 'cared' for him?"
His phone screen darkens as he puts it away, voice turned into an angry hiss. "He deserves better! He actually liked you. 'Dany this' and 'Dany that'-- he sounded like he was twelve, discovering Emiliana all over again. And all you wanted was his dick."
His sudden anger is frightening. Still, it's more manageable than whatever mood that was he's been in before. "All he wanted was my body," Dany hisses back. "He didn't care about anything else. He didn't even care about my consent, for fuck's sake. And, he's married. He didn't deserve better. He just didn't deserve anything I ever gave him. He even handed me to you, to shove your fucking cock into me. What the fuck more did you want? For me to actually love him? Or for him to only have eyes for you?"
"Please," he rolls his eyes. "His marriage is as real as the tits Valerian's always going on about getting someday. What I want--" He breaks off to smile, as the steward passes down the aisle. "What I want," he resumes in a whisper, plastering on a smile again, "is for you to be forgotten so entirely that it's as if you never existed. But I'd settle for getting off this plane."
Dany laughs, sudden, harsh, almost broken. She doesn't bother putting up an act, just stares at Geoff plainly, waits for him to meet her gaze. "You wouldn't ever get that," she says then. "Whatever Peyton does or does not forget about me, the problem is yourself, Geoff. Because wherever I am, whatever you do to me, you, you will remember there was someone else in Peyton's life, someone he couldn't get enough of, even while he had you." The corners of her lips pull up, almost a grin, but it's too desperate. "Which means you always lose."
The armrest creaks under his grip. His grin is a macabre stretch of lips over teeth. "Have a pleasant flight, Ms Hammond. Wherever you're going after this, I hope you reach your destination safely."
He slips out of his seatbelt and grabs his jacket with clipped, angry force.
This time, when he passes her, he keeps his distance.
Dany doesn't turn around, when he passes her to go towards the back of the plane, just hears a whispered apology to someone else and the re-buckling of a seat belt.
He's in front of her, when they disembark, walking away from the plane, from her with long, determined strides. Dany pulls out her phone. She still has Peyton's number. She never even bothered to block him. She's pretty sure he didn't either.
*You're the one in danger, Peyton. You know he can't stop. And you're the centre of it all.*
*He'll kill you.*
*Take care.*
She puts the phone down and looks through the huge airport windows at the cloudy sky outside, before she adds,
*Or don't. I don't actually care.*
The messages are marked as read right away. He doesn't reply.
-
Just a few hundred meters away from her, Peyton Montgomery looks through the windows of his car, spotting the tall figure of his best friend stepping out of the airport doors.
A quick flick of his thumb deletes Dany's messages.
Geoff would never hurt him.
When Geoff gets into the car, Peyton's smile is as easy as ever.
Written for the Peyton / Dany "Just A Fling"-AU. Peyton belongs to @wildfaewhump.
References this and this.
[Just A Fling Masterlist]
Content warnings: implied past assault (partly within a relationship), gaslighting, victim blaming; Peyton is an asshole.
The invitation card Dany can't stop staring at is settled right on top of a stack of other mail.
Business correspondence, all of that, she's sifted through it already; a signed copy of their collaboration agreement with a major freight airline, offerings from consultancies, the preprint of the upcoming issue of a logistics magazine featuring her in its cover story about their new automated container terminal. All items that should demand her attention.
All items that have ceased to exist in the instant she pulled the card from it's heavy white envelope, and all she can feel is dread pooling in her stomach.
It's a carefully designed layout, maritime imagery, golden letters in an elegant yet fancy font, all set around a photo of Peyton Montgomery looking casually stunning.
Just like Peyton had looked casually stunning leaning in the doorway of his house the last time she'd seen him, when he had shrugged and rolled his eyes at her and told her nothing she remembered was real. I think you need to take some time to figure yourself out, he'd said, and closed the door.
She hasn't even managed to get herself to hate him.
If anything, she hates herself. For accepting her defeaf, for allowing him, them, to be in control. Control of the narrative. Control of her.
It takes all of her effort to reach out for the card. It trembles slightly in her hand, as she turns it around to read its back.
The details are printed in golden letters. Party of the year. Peyton Montgomery's 30th birthday. His yacht, Davenport Marina. Next month.
It's not even a clerical error that she's receive one, not his office sending out a bunch of impersonal invites to an anonymous mailing list. No. It's personal. Dany, is handwritten on top of the card with an undoubtedly expensive fountain pen, and it makes her stomach turn how easily she recognises Peyton's handwriting from dozens of notes he's sneaked into her pockets during the few months of their affair.
Dany,. Nothing else.
It's a punch in the gut.
As if nothing happened.
No. As if what happened didn't matter.
The number next to the RSVP isn't his. She knows it from one glance, easily, because she knows too horribly much about that man.
Before she can think it through, she hits call on her phone, and his intitals light up on the display, over a photo of his hand holding a drink. Just a guy with no face. Just a casual fling. That's what they were always supposed to be. Not more.
Not less.
"Dany," Peyton answers, almost cheerfully. Dany. Just like on the fucking card. Just like she hears his voice say in her nightmares.
"What the actual fuck, Peyton?"
She hears someone talk in the background, and his voice muffled when he replies something, about wine coolers and ice cubes and tables, before he's back with her.
"Sorry, Party stuff. Event planner keeping me on my toes. You know how it is. So, what's up? Did you get the invite?"
She focuses on her hands, forces herself to stay steady. "Peyton," she presses through clenched teeth. "Are you even fucking aware of what happened at the last party we went to together? Hint, that was the one where you let your best friend spike my drink so that the two of you could have your way with me, and I wouldn't even remember."
His tone sounds like he's rolling his eyes. "Please, that didn't happen. Don't come if you're going to be a bad sport, but i thought you'd be over that ridiculous story by now, c'mon."
"Oh yeah?" Dany's fingers clench the phone, while she tries to control her breathing. To let the anger win, not whatever else it is she's feeling. "Pretty sure even Geoff remembers that different from you. Or Valerian. They - I -" She closes her eyes, trying to ban the images from her memory. Tears are stinging in the corners of her eyes. "That night," she starts again, "the two of you shattered me to fucking pieces. Nothing, nothing's been the same. I can't sleep. I can't feel safe. You took that from me. And now you expect me to rsvp to your fucking birthday party?"
The other end of the line goes quiet, the event planner shooed away.
"Fine." Peyton's voice is chilling, suddenly. "Consider your invitation rescinded. And I'll let my security know, so please don't show up and cause a scene. I really thought you'd be more mature about this, Dany. We had fun that night. You got drunk and high and scared yourself, and you've been on a crusade to blame me ever since. Don't call me again."
"Fuck you," she hisses. "I've kept fucking quiet about this everywhere, Peyton, because Geoff and you made sure your fucking lies are airtight. A crusade? That's the fucking opposite of this."
"You're lucky you're so fuckable," he sneers. "Because I certainly wasn't seeing you for your personality. Goodbye, Dany. You'll hear from my lawyers if you try to contact me again."
Dany stares at the phone for minutes, after he disconnected.
Slowly, there's something icy settling inside her and she allows it to grow; a cold rage gathering under her skin, a barrier settling over the dread and heartbreak and self loathing.
She's going to call her own lawyers, too.
But before that, she's going to make another call.
Her gaze flicks to the birthday card again. His yacht. Peyton's fucking proud of that thing, as proud as he is of his mind blowing parties.
She won't ever go on a crusade against him publicly, they both know that.
But there's one thing he doesn't know.
Her company doesn't just own commercial harbours.
She presses the button that connects her to her assistant. "I need to talk to the head of operations of Davenport Marina. About an event next month. The matter is confidential."
She'll never get back what Peyton took from her that night. He's won. But at least, he's given her opportunity to take something of his, something that signifies more to him than she ever did.
It's petty, it's small, it's beneath her; but at least it's something she can do.
